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the Wisconsin
Academy of
Sciences,
Arts &
Letters
Volume 67
1979
TRANSACTIONS OF THE
WISCONSIN ACADEMY
OF SCIENCES, ARTS
AND LETTERS
Volume 67, 1979
Editor
FOREST STEARNS
Copyright ©1979
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts, and Letters.
Manufactured in United States of America.
All Rights Reserved.
TRANSACTIONS OF THE
WISCONSIN ACADEMY
Established 1870
Volume 67, 1979
STATE OF THE ACADEMY 1
Robert A. McCabe
PALEOLATITUDE AND PALEOCLIMATE 4
R. H. Dott, Jr.
SOILS AND SURFICIAL GEOLOGY OF FOUR APOSTLE ISLANDS 14
S. J. Cary, P. F. McDowell, L. J. Graumlich
THE CADDISFLIES (TRICHOPTERA) OF PARFREY’S
GLEN CREEK, WISCONSIN 31
Thomas S. Karl and William L. Hilsenhoff
GARRISON LIFE IN THE NOVELS OF CHARLES KING 43
Kathryn Whitford
AGENTS OF THREE NATIONS IN THE
FOX RIVER VALLEY 1634 TO 1840 51
Charles D. Goff
PERCEPTION OF THE PRAIRIE IN A LETTER
FROM PRAIRIEVILLE 63
Charles F. Calkins
THE PHYCOPERIPHYTON COMMUNITY OF THE
LOWER BLACK RIVER, WISCONSIN 69
Michael R. Strenski
PRELIMINARY REPORTS ON THE FLORA OF WISCONSIN
NO. 67 VERBENACEAE— THE VERVAIN FAMILY 78
William E. Tans and Hugh H. litis
A MASS BALANCE OF NITROGEN IN WISCONSIN 95
Dennis R. Keeney
PRELIMINARY REPORTS ON THE FLORA OF WISCONSIN
NO. 68 CAPRIFOLIACEAE— HONEYSUCKLE FAMILY 103
Peter J. Salamun
DROUGHT IN WISCONSIN 1 30
Val L. Mitchell
T. C. CHAMBERLIN: THE KETTLE MORAINE AND
MULTIPLE GLACIATION 1 35
Susan Schultz
100 YEARS OF WISCONSIN PUBLIC WATER SUPPLIES 149
Alexander Zaporozec
CHANGING RAIL PATTERNS IN WISCONSIN 154
Curtis W. Richards
FIELD IDENTIFICATION OF PEROMYSCUS LEUCOPUS AND
P. MANICULATUS WITH DISCRIMINANT ANALYSIS 159
Mark R. Stromberg
THE NORTHERNMOST STATION FOR
ASPLENIUM PINNATIFIDUM 165
Martha G. Hanson and Robert P. Hanson
SENECELLA CALANOIDES JUDAY (CALANOIDA, COPEPODA),
MESOCYCLOPS LEUKARTI CLAUS (CYCLOPOIDA, COPEPODA),
AND DAPHNIA LAEVIS BIRGE (CLADOCERA) IN
INLAND WISCONSIN LAKES 171
Steven E. Mace
WISCONSIN ACADEMY OF SCIENCES, ARTS AND LETTERS
The Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters was chartered by the State
Legislature on March 16, 1870 as an incorporated society serving the people of
the State of Wisconsin by encouraging investigation and dissemination of knowl¬
edge in the sciences, arts and letters.
OFFICERS
PRESIDENT VICE PRESIDENT — SCIENCES
Robert A. McCabe Kenneth W. Dowling
Madison Cross Plains
IMMEDIATE PAST PRESIDENT
Dale O’Brien
Spring Green
PRESIDENT ELECT
Thompson Webb
Waunakee
VICE PRESIDENT — ARTS
Tom Bliffert
Milwaukee
VICE PRESIDENT — LETTERS
Ruth Shaw Worthing
Fond du Lac
SECRETARY-TREASURER
C. W. Threinen
Middleton
ACADEMY COUNCIL consists of the above officers plus
COUNCILORS-AT-LARGE
TERM EXPIRES 1983
Emily H. Early, Madison
Hugh Highsmith, Fort Atkinson
TERM EXPIRES 1982
H. Clifton Hutchins, Madison
T. N. Savides, Merrimac
TERM EXPIRES 1981
Malcolm McLean, Ashland
Hannah Swart, Fort Atkinson
TERM EXPIRES 1980
David A. Baerreis, Madison
F. Chandler Young, Madison
PAST PRESIDENTS
(Presently serving on Council)
Katherine G. Nelson, Milwaukee
John W. Thomson, Madison
Adolph A. Suppan, Milwaukee
Norman C. Olson, Milwaukee
Louis W. Busse, Madison
APPOINTED OFFICIALS
EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR
AND PUBLISHER
WISCONSIN ACADEMY REVIEW
James R. Batt
Steenbock Center
1922 University Ave.
Madison, WI 53705
ASSOCIATE DIRECTOR
WISCONSIN JUNIOR ACADEMY
LeRoy Lee
Steenbock Center
Madison, WI 53705
MANAGING EDITOR WISCONSIN
ACADEMY REVIEW
Elizabeth Durbin
Steenbock Center
Madison, WI 53705
EDITOR TRANSACTIONS
Forest Stearns
Botany Department
UW Milwaukee, WI 53201
LIBRARIAN
Jack A. Clarke
4232 Helen White Hall
UW Madison
Madison, WI 53706
EDITORIAL POLICY
The TRANSACTIONS of the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and
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Contributors are asked to submit two copies of their manuscripts. Manuscripts
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The style of the text may be that of scholarly writing in the field of the author.
To expedite editing and minimize printing costs, the Editor suggests that the gen¬
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Figures should be prepared to permit reduction. Lettering should be large
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Editor: TRANSACTIONS
Dept, of Botany
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HI!
ROBERT A. McCABE
57th President 1979
WISCONSIN ACADEMY OF
SCIENCES, ARTS AND LETTERS
STATE OF THE ACADEMY
Robert A. McCabe
Presidential Address
April 1979
Seven score and 19 years ago our fore¬
fathers brought forth for this State a new
association . . . our Academy. It was dedi¬
cated to the proposition that there was a
need to encourage investigation and dis¬
seminate views of the various departments
of Science, Literature and the Arts. Now we
are engaged in a grave financial crisis testing
whether this academy or any academy so
conceived and so dedicated can long endure
without direct public support — in whose
interest it directs its efforts and its programs.
5|C
I acknowledge paraphrasing our most il¬
lustrious U. S. president for that introduc¬
tion. It would have been a great relief for
me at the outset to recite for you our ac¬
complishments over the past year, compli¬
ment those who have performed well, tell
a light story or perhaps a few jokes and to
have thus amused you without being very
enlightening.
What I am about to relate to you is not
meant to be nor should it be construed as
criticism or complaint, neither is it a herald¬
ing of doom. But . . . our Academy is in
serious financial difficulty. The full impact
of this difficulty has not yet been felt in our
programing or by the membership. Infla¬
tion and a virtually static source of income,
coupled with litigation of the McCoy trust
suspending income from that source are
parties to the problem. In short we have had
to borrow from the capital of our endow¬
ment fund to maintain our program of ser¬
vice. This has been an anathema to the
Academy Council. Belt tightening has al¬
ready begun and more will doubtless follow.
Although some money saving adjustments
have been made, the major effort has been
voluntarily undertaken by our Executive
Director. He has launched a fund raising
campaign with the backing of the Academy
Council. Three quarters of the Director’s
time has been and will continue to be de¬
voted to this effort. Results thus far have
been encouraging but not overwhelming.
Laudable as this effort is both as a per¬
sonal undertaking and as an Academy pro¬
gram for self maintenance, the following
facts must be understood and acceptable to
the membership.
1. That the funds raised and to be raised
are not to increase the endowment, or
repay funds taken from the endow¬
ment; instead, they are to be used to
meet current expenses.
2. That until we adjust our life style or
obtain outside financial aid, this fund
raising effort will be an annual affair.
How long we can expect donors to re¬
peat on an annual basis is yet to be
determined.
3. If the Executive Director does indeed
spend most of his time fund raising,
who then minds the shop? We have a
dedicated and competent office staff,
but it would be unrealistic and unfair
to saddle them with responsibilities not
in their job descriptions.
4. Can we afford, financially and admin¬
istratively, to use our Executive Di¬
rector nine months of each year as a
fund raiser? My personal reply is that
we cannot!
5. Lastly, unless the Academy is the sole
winner in the McCoy court case our
financial woes will become chronic.
1
2
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
If this untenable situation distresses you,
as it does me, then we must delineate and
examine our options. When any company
or organization is losing money, its first
remedial action is to cut back on goods and
services. Our goods are our publications
and our first line responsibility. The Acad¬
emy Transactions by common accord must
not be diminished or diluted, but since most
scientific journals today require a page
charge for published articles, this possibility
is being exploited but is also under careful
study. The Academy Review is our most
popular publication and is perhaps the ma¬
jor offering the Academy makes to the lay
membership. Recent discussions on the Re¬
view have called for expansion, not retrench¬
ment. Our newsletter, the Triforium, is the
Academy tom-tom that keeps the member¬
ship informed of what is happening in the
organization, what events are to take place,
and what the status of the Academy pro¬
grams are at that moment. Who will say
what shall fall to the budget ax? Let him
also say, how, and then produce a consen¬
sus. The savings by reducing publication to
Transactions alone would not save enough
to keep us solvent, and our losses in mem¬
bership support would very likely outweigh
any hoped-for gains.
Raising dues is the standard “easy-out” of
a financial bind and it is also an “out” of
another kind, namely membership drop-out.
The gains of increased levy balanced against
lost members and hence lost participation
and revenue must be carefully considered.
This course should be taken only if it solves
the problem and only as a last resort.
The sum total of cost savings by discon¬
tinuing nonessential service programs now
conducted by the Academy is roughly $200
to $300. The sum is small because the
bulk of the cost is hidden in administration
and not obvious as cash outlay. This brings
us to staff salaries. These salaries by all odds
are not even competitive in today’s job mar¬
ket for the limited staff now conducting
Academy business. Indeed we have not been
able to increase salaries commensurate with
the rise in cost of living. Whatever services
we provide are those generated by the office
staff.
The last drain on our budget is the Steen-
bock Center. We are for all intents and pur¬
poses locked into this facility by today’s
housing costs and appreciating real estate
values. Maintenance costs of the Center
would be about equal to rent charges for less
desirable and certainly less functional quar¬
ters, if we were to sell the Center property.
* * *
So much for background. The basic op¬
tion in my opinion and one under which we
should have been operating from the outset
is: That the Academy be financially sup¬
ported by the State of Wisconsin. Histori¬
cally the Academy was meant to be state
supported and indeed it was in part until
1960. Each year prior to that time the
Academy presented its annual program re¬
quest (a pittance in relation to other re¬
quests) to the legislature and defended the
request. The Academy request was not but¬
tressed by great political clout and so was
undoubtedly on the list of easy-to-cut items.
Eventually by gentle but painful attrition
the small budget was cut . . . completely.
With the advent of the Steenbock bequest
to the Academy and later by the McCoy
trust the need to seek state support through
an annual hassle was diminished and all
effort abandoned. Ironically this occurred at
a time when Academy programs for the
people of Wisconsin were increasing.
On the surface this could be regarded as
a mistake, but if the Academy could sup¬
port itself and eliminate the time consum¬
ing and arduous task of budget preparation
and defense, then the move to become self
supporting was correct. Although the mon¬
etary saving to the state was insignificant,
it served notice to the legislature that we
were trying to help ourselves.
The fact that we assumed a financial
burden that had heretofore been in part a
1979]
McCabe — State of the Academy
3
state responsibility does not abrogate legis¬
lative involvement in the welfare of the
Academy as an agency serving the people
of the state.
If it were at all possible, we would not
now ask for renewal of state support and
conceivably there may come a time when
we will again become self sustaining.
We do not come with hat in hand to re¬
quest help in difficult times but we respect¬
fully ask for financial support because our
cause is just.
We ask for no brick or mortar financing.
We ask for no support of our publications.
We ask for no funding of our programs.
We ask for no remodeling or physical ex¬
pansion monies.
We ask for no land or real estate pur¬
chase.
What we request is a sum sufficient to
maintain our physical plant and an adequate
Academy staff. All other aspects of Acad¬
emy functioning will be covered by mem¬
bership dues and endowment proceeds. It
is rare when any Academy or professional
society can provide services or engage in
programs for public benefit on membership
dues alone.
The Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts
and Letters is 4th in size among 45 state
academies and in prestige we rank near the
top. We are not elitist in membership; any¬
one interested in our three major disciplines
is welcome to join and participate.
We offer a forum for all who speak or
write through our meetings and publica¬
tions.
We have offered and hold open the offer
to provide an unbiased sounding board on
legislative or public policy discussions under
consideration by our elected representatives
at all governmental levels.
We will continue to provide programs
of education and enlightenment to the peo¬
ple of Wisconsin (and elsewhere).
We will exchange our Transactions of the
Academy with over 600 institutions in 60
countries promoting the progress, and the
scholarly stance of our State in the fields of
science, arts and letters.
We will strive to be self-supporting and
frugal with public funding.
We will promote Wisconsin’s people, its
programs and its products by all means at
our disposal.
* * *
The National Academy of Science is sup¬
ported by the U. S. Government and per¬
forms a service to the nation by its response
to problem solving and to policy solutions
for the national welfare.
We ask only that the Wisconsin Acad¬
emy be supported by the State of Wisconsin
so we may likewise respond for the welfare
of our State.
* * *
Thus my presidential address is ended.
The epilogue that I pass on to fellow mem¬
bers of the Academy is this: I will appoint
a committee to prepare an official position
on this basic premise of state support and
to develop a strategy on which to proceed.
There are key people I have in mind and a
tentative plan as a starting point for action,
but the team is not complete. If we are to
strive in this direction every last member will
be asked to help. At the proper time when
all is in readiness the program will be made
a matter of Academy record and member¬
ship participation will be solicited for sup¬
port in an effort to enlighten our legislature
on the necessity and wisdom for providing
state support.
So important is this effort that it must not
rest solely with a small committee of dedi¬
cated people. The Academy rank and file
must become involved. The need is urgent
and our cause justified!
PALEOLATITUDE AND PALEOCLIMATE
R. H. Dott, Jr.
Department of Geology and Geophysics
University of Wisconsin, Madison
A bstract
In light of large-scale displacements of continents through time, restoration
of paleolatitudes is critical to any paleoclimatic reconstruction. Paleomagnetic
studies over the past two decades have provided estimates of paleolatitude that are
more and more widely accepted. It was important, however, to test those estimates
with independent geologic evidence — especially for pre-Permian time for which
paleomagnetic data is less satisfactory. On the other hand, geologic coupled with
paleomagnetic evidence should provide powerful constraints for paleoclimatic
interpretations.
Paleomagnetic data suggest a Paleozoic equatorial position for most of North
America with a progressive relative counterclockwise rotation of the continent of
about 60°. Long-recognized reef and species-diversity patterns support a Paleozoic
low latitude, and Ordovician and Devonian volcanic ash fallout by trade wind
dispersal is consistent with the paleomagnetically-indicated equator positions. Mid¬
continent early Paleozoic paleocurrent and conglomerate size-rounding data also
agree with a tropical location characterized by episodic violent storms. And Permo-
Triassic plant and evaporite evidence is consistent with both latitude and terrain
restorations. As North America moved northward (and more counterclockwise)
since the Triassic, its central part came into the westerly wind belt as evidenced by
fallout of volcanic ash from the Cordillera. Most post-Triassic geologic indicators
of humid-arid conditions, paleocurrents and oxygen-isotope data, are consistent
with latitudinal and terrain restorations.
Introduction
III 1958, when I began teaching, enough
paleomagnetic evidence of ancient latitudes
had accumulated that the student of earth
history could hardly ignore it. Yet, there
were large gaps in the data and some un¬
tidy anomalies. Many, if not most, geolo¬
gists doubted the results, perhaps because
shifting poles or continents seemed non-
uniformitarian. But by the mid-sixties, the
data had begun to show enough of a sys¬
tematic pattern of latitudinal change that
one could begin to consider a number of
geologic implications of the paleomagnetic
results in addition to continental drift. In¬
deed, it became intriguing to compare — and
even test — the paleomagnetic data against
sedimentologic and paleontologic evidence
of latitude. While paleoclimatology still
seems more art than science, it is nonethe¬
less fruitful to examine the consistency of
phenomena.
The distributions of ancient reefs, evapo-
rites, tillites, coal, certain fossil plants, red
beds, and presumed eolian desert deposits
have long been used to try to interpret pa¬
leoclimatic zones and even paleolatitude
(e.g. Koppen and Wegener, 1924). Clearly,
all of these geologic phenomena should pro¬
vide tests of the paleomagnetic data. In 1956
Shotton and in 1960 Opdyke and Runcorn
presented the first comparisons of wind-
influenced cross bedding orientations with
paletomagnetically-indicated latitudes (see
also Opdyke in Nairn, 1961, and in Run¬
corn, 1962). Then Eaton in 1963, Powers
4
1979]
Dott — Paleolatitude and Paleoclimate
5
and Wilcox in 1964 and Wilcox in 1965
showed that fallout distributions of volcanic
ash could reveal prevailing paleowind direc¬
tions, adding still another dimension to
paleoclimatic and paleolatitudinal analysis.
About 1960 I began cataloguing these di¬
verse kinds of data on paleogeographic maps
(Dott and Batten, 1971).
To many the present large mass of paleo-
magnetic evidence of drastically different
past latitudinal positions of continents may
make further comparison of paleomagnetic
and paleoclimatic data seem redundant.
However enough skepticism exists (e.g.
Meyerhoff and Meyerhoff, 1972; Stehli,
1973) to warrant a concise, up-dated assess¬
ment. Although this paper deals almost ex¬
clusively with North America, the approach
is universally applicable. My objective is not
to prove or disprove continental drift, but
only to assess consistency of unlike data.
Distributions of reefs, evaporites, red beds,
coal and the like have been catalogued be¬
fore (e.g. Nairn, 1961; Runcorn, 1962,
Schwarzbach, 1963; Dott and Batten, 1971
and 1976). Therefore, more attention is
given here to paleowind indicators and to a
few stratigraphic intervals that have not pre¬
viously received adequate treatment.
Working Assumptions
Certain climatic assumptions provide a
background. We must first assume that a
significant temperature difference has always
existed between the poles and equator sim¬
ply as a consequence of the difference in
angle of incidence of solar radiation. The
intensity of the pole-equator gradient has
almost certainly varied through time, and
such variations would have greatly affected
world climate. This thermal gradient, cou¬
pled with the rotation of the earth and the
positions of land masses, controls the first-
order patterns of atmospheric circulation.
One consequence of variations of the pole-
equator gradient is the positioning of sub¬
tropical high pressure cells. With a stronger
gradient, these highs are pushed equator-
ward, whereas with a weaker gradient they
move somewhat poleward.
The general climatic importance of the
ratio of land to sea (or continentality) was
appreciated as early as Lyell’s time. It is
well known that the relative area of sea and
land greatly affects the overall heat budget
of the earth because of the 10-15 percent
difference in albedo of land versus water.
Moreover, being fluid, the seas can trans¬
port heat from low to high latitudes. It
follows that the location of a pole in a con¬
tinent or a restricted sea (such as the pres¬
ent Arctic Ocean) will be much colder than
a pole located in an open ocean area.
The spin of the earth and the resulting
Coriolis effect, allow steady trade winds on
either side of the equator to be assumed for
all times. The Westerly wind belts probably
also have always existed, but seemingly they
were more variable than the trades because
of variations of the pole-equator tempera¬
ture gradient and of land masses. Land-
masses greatly influence second-order atmo¬
spheric circulation patterns by localizing or
blocking the more or less permanent high
and low pressure cells. Mountainous barriers
obviously may produce strong rain shadows.
Paleomagnetic Latitudinal
Restorations for North America
Latitudinal shifts of North America are
indicated by paleomagnetic data for the past
700 million years (Fig. 1). The paleo-
equators have been up-dated from those of
Dott and Batten (1971 and 1976). Loca¬
tions are better established for some ages
than for others, nonetheless, the counter¬
clockwise rotation and northward motion of
the continent presents an impressively syste¬
matic picture. Only the details of exact po¬
sition for the more poorly controlled periods
remain to be documented.
Paleoclimatic Phenomena Compared
With Paleomagnetic Evidence
Working backward through time, let us
compare some climatically sensitive geo-
6
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
sf PALEOFLOW- PROBABLY WIND CONTROLLED
ASH FALLOUT
Fig. 1. Ancient latitudinal positions of North America based upon paleomagnetic data com¬
pared with sedimentary data. Note systematic counterclockwise rotation and northward shift
of the continent. (Paleomagnetic results from: Irving, 1964; McElhinny, 1973; Hicken, and
others, 1972; Van der Voo and Williams, 1975; French, and others, 1975; Proke and Har-
■ graves, 1973; McElhinny and Opdyke 1973; Van der Voo and French, 1974. Sedimentary data
after Dott and Batten, 1971 and 1976, who include detailed maps and references.)
EQUATOR AND TRADE WINDS
R-REEFS E-EVAPORITES T-TILLITES
logic phenomena with the paleomagnetic
latitudinal data to see whether or not the
two independent types of evidence agree
paleogeographically. The fallout patterns of
late Cenozoic (especially Pleistocene) vol¬
canic ash erupted in the Cordillera (Wilcox,
1965) and paleontologic evidence of a rain
shadow effect east of the mountains agree
with the present location of that region in
the mid-latitude westerly wind belt (Dott
and Batten, 1971, chapter 14). The same is
true also for Cretaceous and Jurassic ash
fallout (Fig. 1; Slaughter and Earley,
1965). Cretaceous humid, subtropical plant
types (Arnold, 1947; Andrew, 1961) and
oxygen isotope evidence for warm sea tem¬
peratures of 20°-25°C (Lowenstam and
Epstein, 1959) are consistent with a lower
latitude (Fig. 2). Cretaceous plants appar¬
ently adapted for humid conditions in the
present Rocky Mountain region, however,
seem anomalous as they grew leeward of the
rising Cordilleran mountainous mass. Ac¬
cording to Millison (1964), the lack of a
clear rain shadow here is the result of humid
air flowing from the southeast over the ad¬
jacent Cretaceous epeiric seaway and along
the eastern front of the Cordillera. In light
1979]
Dott — Paleolatitude and Paleoclimate
7
of the probable paleolatitude, however, it
appears more probable that moisture was
acquired from that seaway by winds of the
sub-tropical high pressure system flowing
south along the mountain front (Fig. 2).
However, fine ash blown higher into the
atmosphere would be blown straight east by
upper atmosphere winds.
The latest Jurassic Morrison Formation
of the western United States was deposited
to the lee of the embryonic Cordilleran
mountains (Fig. 3). The Morrison accumu¬
lated at about 30°-40° N latitude; it was
within a westerly wind belt as indicated by
volcanic ash that could only have blown
Fig. 2. Generalized Cretaceous paleogeography
and paleoclimatology showing paleomagnetic lati¬
tudinal results, volcanic ash dispersal (wide ar¬
rows), oxygen isotope results, and paleobotanical
evidence. Superimposed are the expected atmo¬
spheric circulation patterns; subtropical highs ap¬
pear at higher latitudes than today because of a
lesser pole-equator temperature gradient. Small
arrows indicate dispersal of warm- and cool-water
faunas. Sea water temperatures are obtained from
oxygen isotope studies. (Modified after Dott and
Batten, 1976). Compare with Figure 1.
from the west. Oxygen isotope studies of
shells from underlying Upper Jurassic (as
well as overlying Cretaceous) marine rocks
indicate warm ocean temperatures around
20°-25°C (Bowen, 1961), at least 10°
warmer than is typical of that latitude today.
Moreover, Bowen (1961) argues that the
maximum latitudinal surface Jurassic sea
water temperature gradient then was only
about 20°C as opposed to 60°C today.
Local evaporites in the same underlying
strata also indicate high evaporation poten¬
tial.
Sedimentary facies, petrography, and pa-
leocurrent data prove that the Morrison was
deposited on an eastward-sloping, low
coastal plain; Dawson (1970) estimated the
Fig. 3. Paleogeography during deposition of the
nonmarine Morrison Formation clastic wedge in
the western United States. The formation was de¬
posited on a coastal plain sloping eastward from
the rising Cordilleran volcanic arc whence ash
was carried by westerly winds. (Adapted from
Dawson, 1970 and Dott and Batten, 1971; see
latter, Fig. 13.19, for ash fallout.)
8
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
gradient to have been of the order of 0.5-
1.0 m per km. Widespread fresh-water lime¬
stones attest to a rather wet landscape, and
the large herbivorous dinosaur fossils for
which the formation is famous suggest at
least moderate humidity. Yet, coal is almost
totally lacking and fossil plant material
(chiefly cycad wood and reeds) is rare.
Why? Dead plant material must have been
thoroughly oxidized at the soil surface,
which seems consistent with the abundance
of red- and yellow-colored sediments. Either
the Cordilleran mountains were not yet high
enough to form a strong rain shadow, or the
Morrison coastal plain was relatively dry
except along broad river valleys. Dawson
(1970) suggested a strong seasonal distribu¬
tion. This was based upon the apparent
thorough oxidation of vegetation, well-de¬
veloped growth rings in fossil wood, and the
texture of fluvial conglomerates interstrati-
fied with the dominantly fine-grained Mor¬
rison sediments. To move the largest cobbles
(13 cm), which are now at least 200 km
from their western upland source, maximum
shear velocity must have been at least 50 cm
per second, while the maximum river ve¬
locity near the water surface could have
been roughly 200-600 cm per second.1 Such
large velocities seem surprising for the ap¬
parently low gradient of the Morrison
coastal plain; the most probable explana¬
tion is that the coarse gravel was moved
only incrementally in wide, braided chan¬
nels during seasonal flooding.
Westerly winds are also indicated for lat¬
est Triassic to earliest Jurassic time in the
western United States by the orientations
of large-scale cross bedding in the Navajo
and related sandstones. Whether this famous
sandstone represents entirely eolian or partly
shallow marine dunes — both of which have
been claimed — they must have been de¬
posited under the influence of the prevail¬
ing westerly winds of that time as first sug¬
gested by Poole (1957). 2 If the Navajo is;
in fact, largely eolian, as I now believe, it
would seem to represent a large dune field
Fig. 4. Alternate paleogeographic interpretations of the Navajo Sandstone. A. Classic hy¬
pothesis of a vast eolian dune field, for which the evidence seems strongest; B. Hypothesis of
a combination of shallow marine and coastal eolian dunes (Stanley, Jordan and Dott, 1971).
In either case westerly winds apparently controlled sand dispersal.
1979]
Dott — Paleolatitude and Paleoclimate
9
formed by onshore winds from the north¬
west (Fig. 4A). In its western extent, some
of it appears marine and one can infer that
nearshore dispersing currents were induced
by westerly winds, with a strong southerly
longshore drift component (Fig. 4B), (see
Stanley, Jordan and Dott, 1971; Dott,
1979).
For Permo-Triassic times, both the paleo-
magnetic and geologic data bearing upon
climate are among the most complete.
Tropical to sub-tropical latitudes for North
America are indicated by paleomagnetism
with the paleoequator (Fig. 1) almost ex¬
actly coincident with that inferred by Wege¬
ner a quarter of a century before any paleo-
magnetic data existed. The consequences of
expected atmospheric circulation patterns
for Permo-Triassic North America can be
tested geologically (Fig. 5). Paleowinds
over the western United States as indicated
by widespread Permian cross bedded sand¬
stones (whether eolian or very shallow ma¬
rine) conform well with expected trade wind
orientations. Extensive evaporites in the
central United States conform well with a
down-wind tropical continental margin to
the leeward of high mountains. Permian
plants with features adapted to aridity oc¬
cur in Arizona, while the inferred humid-
tropical lowland plants associated with
Pennsylvanian coals had given way to
drought-tolerant gymnosperms in eastern
United States and humid-temperate forms in
East Greenland (Frederickson, 1972). But,
with Africa and Europe adjacent to eastern
North America how could eastern America
have been humid? One would expect a dry
interior of the Gondwana supercontinent
like central Asia today? Apparently the
Tethys seaway and epeiric seas over central
Europe during part of Permian and Triassic
times supplied moisture to westerly-blowing
trade winds (Fig. 5).
The Carboniferous latitude of North
America seemingly was similar to that of the
Permian. Widespread Mississippian organic
phy and paleoclimatology showing comparison of
equator positions from paleomagnetism with sedi¬
mentary and paleobotanical evidence (see also
Fig. 1). Superimposed are the expected atmo¬
spheric circulation patterns with sub-tropical highs
shifted poleward for the same reason as in Fig. 2.
(After Dott and Batten, 1971 and 1976).
reefs are consistent with a low latitude loca¬
tion, and trade winds apparently influenced
the deposition of cross bedded Pennsylva¬
nian quartz sandstones over the western
United States as it did later in the Permian
(Fig. 1). Unlike Permian time, however,
no strong rain shadow is evident across the
continent, for humid-tropical to sub-tropical
lowland swamp forests cloaked the eastern
interior. This suggests that the Appalachian
mountains were not yet very high. Nonethe¬
less Mississippian evaporites of the Williston
Basin and Pennsylvanian ones in Utah indi¬
cate an evaporation potential that was sig¬
nificant where marine circulation became
restricted.
The abundance and widespread distribu-
10
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
tion of organic reefs in Devonian and Si¬
lurian times long ago provided arguments
for a low-latitude location of North Amer¬
ica, although a good case also could be
made for a weaker pole-equator temperature
gradient and a generally warmer, more uni¬
form climate during a time of small, low
continents (Dott and Batten, 1971, Fig.
11.46 or 1976, Fig. 13.24). Major evapo-
rites attest to high evaporation potential and
areas of restricted circulation. The inferred
tentative windward side of some of the Ca¬
nadian reefs (Andrichuk, 1958) would face
into the trade winds expected for the re¬
stored paleoequator. Finally, Late Devonian
volcanic ash distribution over the eastern
United States conforms to fallout for winds
expected for the paleoequator (Fig. 1).
For the Ordovician, ash fallout from vol¬
canic events in the Appalachian region con¬
forms well with trade winds expected for the
apparent paleoequator (Fig. 1). What little
is known of the dispersal patterns for the
St. Peter Sandstone also conforms to such
Fig. 6. Paieogeographic restoration of the middle Late Cambrian Baraboo (Wisconsin)
islands according to paleomagnetic evidence for a southern tropical setting. Trade winds in¬
ferred from regional cross bedding orientations in shallow marine sandstones. Episodic storm
waves must have approached from all sides judging from the uniform distribution of largest
rounded quartzite clasts (dots). Fine pebbles were dispersed to the left (lee) by normal cur¬
rents following storms (shaded area). (From Dott, 1974.)
1979]
Dott- — Paleolatitude and Paleo climate
11
winds (Dapples, 1955; Dott and Roshardt,
1972). Finally, the great species diversity
and sheer abundance of Ordovician marine
faunal elements is consistent with a tropical
to subtropical setting.
Cambrian strata of the central United
States provide some additional evidence for a
low latitude for early Paleozoic North Amer¬
ica. The paleocurrent pattern, for which
there is abundant data, conforms to trade-
wind-driven shallow marine currents expect¬
ed for the paleomagnetically indicated equa¬
tor. In Wisconsin, the presence of Cambrian
islands that shed coarse gravel has provided
an unusual opportunity to estimate the mag¬
nitude of ancient storm waves and also to
contrast effects of day-to-day processes with
those of so-called rare events. A broad range
of gravel clast diameters from 1 cm granules
up to 8 m boulders occurs, but there is no
rounding of boulders larger than 1.5 m.
Clearly the waves that pounded Cambrian
sea cliffs around Baraboo, Wisconsin were
not capable of moving larger boulders fre¬
quently enough to abrade them. Two slightly
different approaches are available for mak¬
ing quantitative estimates of the Cambrian
storm wave heights.3 Both results indicate
that breakers at least 8-10 m high crashed
upon the islands and tumbled boulders up
to 1.5 m in diameter with moderate fre¬
quency; almost certainly still higher waves
developed on rare occasions. Rounded
boulders occur all around the Baraboo is¬
lands, thus rare-event storm waves must
have approached from all directions, not
just from the apparent normal trade winds
direction suggested by paleocurrent data
(Fig. 6). Trade winds themselves, though
very steady, are not sufficiently strong to
generate the large waves required to move
boulders. Therefore, large storms are indi¬
cated, and, while other types are possible
(e.g. mid-latitude Nor’easters on our present
Atlantic coast), tropical storms seem most
probable in light of the conformance of the
regional paleocurrent pattern with the paleo¬
magnetically indicated latitudinal position
of Wisconsin (Fig. 1).
Conclusions
Comparison of climatically-sensitive ge¬
ologic phenomena with paleomagnetic evi¬
dence for ancient latitude presents generally
consistent restorations. North America ap¬
parently was dominated by Trade Winds
throughout Paleozoic time, but moved into
the Westerly wind zone during Mesozoic
and Cenozoic times. For some eras in North
American (e.g. late Mesozoic, Permo-Trias-
sic and Late Cambrian times), a satisfying
degree of completeness of paleoclimatic res¬
toration is possible. At best, however, such
restorations are largely qualitative. Not all
available data provide a clear picture; the
hardly disputable Eocambrian glaciation is a
case in point. Tillites or tilloids are known
today in Eocambrian strata from all conti¬
nents except Antarctica. Indeed, their wide¬
spread distribution is the problem, for they
seem to occur at all paleolatitudes. Was the
climate so rigorous and completely unzoned
that glaciation occurred from pole to equa¬
tor (Fig. 1)? At present the Eocambrian
paleoclimatic data cannot be satisfactorily
reconciled with paleomagnetic evidence,
which points up the need for additional
comparative studies of both phenomena.
Acknowledgements
My work and that of several former stu¬
dents that bears upon this paper has been
supported by grants from the Graduate
School of the University of Wisconsin,
Madison, from funds donated by the Wis¬
consin Alumni Research Foundation and the
University-Industry Research Program. Rob
Van der Voo of the University of Michigan
was extremely generous in helping me up¬
date the paleomagnetically indicated paleo¬
latitudes, and colleagues in the Department
of Meteorology, at the University of Wis¬
consin, notably R. A. Bryson, E. Wahl, and
J. E. Kutzbach, have been of great help over
12
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
the years in trying to educate me on cli¬
matology. I have drawn upon the thesis re¬
search of James C. Dawson, William M.
Jordan and Kenneth J. Stanley, some of
which has not been published. Their work
and many stimulating discussions with them
are gratefully acknowledged.
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- . 1979. The Nugget-Navajo envi¬
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cross-strata (abs.). Geol. Soc. America Bull.
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H., Jr. 1971. New hypothesis of Early
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Notes
'Bed shear velocity (U*) was estimated from
the relation U* = V r/p where r is shear stress
(derived from the Shield’s Diagram) and is fluid
density. The lower limit for maximum channel
velocity above the bed was determined from the
Hjulstrom-Sundborg graph, while the upper limit
was estimated from the relation
assuming a value of about 0.05 for f for a grav¬
elly bed. (See Blatt and others, 1972). This equa¬
tion is suspect for hindcasting channel flow, how¬
ever, because the friction factor (f) is based upon
flow in pipes; it is very sensitive to bedforms and
hydraulic radius as well as to grain size and ve¬
locity in channels.
2 Some prominent cross bedded sandstones long
interpreted as eolian have been reinterpreted as
shallow submarine sand wave deposits like those
of the present Georges Bank, North Sea, Irish Sea
and English Channel (Stanley, Jordan and Dott,
1971). When they were first interpreted to be
eolian, the existence of underwater dune forms
was unknown. Because in shallow epeiric seas
currents are so strongly influenced by prevailing
winds, the orientations of cross strata formed in
submarine dunes also should reflect such winds
unless tidal currents (or the Ekman effect) com¬
pletely masked the wind’s influence on sand dis¬
persal. The thorny issue of environment of these
sandstones is sidestepped in this paper because
none of the cross bedded sandstones in question
show any definitive tidal features.
3 Breaker height can be estimated from experi¬
mental data for breakwater design derived in large
wave tanks, and from empirical equations relating
threshold velocity to boulder diameter and ve¬
locity to breaker height:
Ut = 9d12
and Cb = 2Ut and Hb
Where Ut is threshold velocity to move boulders
of diameter d; cb is solitary wave velocity at the
point of breaking, and Hb is height of breaker.
(Dott, 1974).
SOILS AND SURFICIAL GEOLOGY OF
FOUR APOSTLE ISLANDS
S. J. Cary, P. F. McDowell and L. J. Graumlich
Department of Geography
University of W isconsin-Madison
Abstract
The soils and surficial geology of Rocky, Oak, York, and Raspberry Islands,
members of the Apostle Islands group, were surveyed in 1976 and 1977. 1 The con¬
siderable diversity of environmental conditions affecting soil development has given
rise to complex soilscapes. Most common on Rocky, York, and Raspberry Islands
are fertile deciduous forest soils (Eutroboralfs of the Alfisol order) formed in de¬
posits of fine-grained glacial and glacio-lacustrine material. On Oak Island the
soils are primarily sandy Podzols (Harplorthods of the Spodosol order) formed
in coarse beach deposits more than one meter thick. Since moderate slopes of 5
to 20% provided the best opportunity for thick sand and gravel accumulations
in the ancient beach zones, the pedologic uniqueness of Oak Island is explained
by the sloping surfaces it presented to subsiding post-glacial lake levels.
Introduction
The Apostle Islands are located in the
northernmost part of Wisconsin, clustered
at the tip of the Bayfield Peninsula. Except
for Madeline Island, the Apostle Islands
are accessible only by boat. Isolation of the
islands has protected some of the best ex¬
amples of wilderness remaining in the east¬
ern United States. Although logged as re¬
cently as 50 years ago, the islands still har¬
bor some stands of mature northern mesic
forest. Many species of native animals also
inhabit the islands and are relatively undis¬
turbed.
In recognition of the special quality of the
recreational resources present in the area,
the U. S. National Park Service has been
assigned jurisdiction over most of the islands
(see Fig. 1). To provide a basis for deter¬
mining the recreational carrying capacity
1 Work was done under the general direction of
Prof. R. T. Brown, Michigan Technological Uni¬
versity, and funded through that institution by
the U. S. National Park Service. Work was guided
by Prof. F. D. Hole, University of Wisconsin-
Madison. Terminology is from Soil Taxonomy
(Soil Survey Staff, 1975).
the Park Service launched a program of re¬
source evaluation studies. Results of study
of soils and surficial geology of Bear Island
were reported by Kowalski (1976). This
paper presents observations made during
two field seasons on York, Raspberry,
Rocky, and Oak Islands. Descriptions and
maps of the major soils are supplemented
with a discussion of the environmental fac¬
tors which influenced soil development. Fea¬
tures of the soil landscapes and an impor¬
tant relationship between soils and topog¬
raphy are also discussed.
Geologic History of the
Apostle Islands Area
Although tectonically stable at present,
the Lake Superior region in early Precam-
brian time (about 3 billion years ago) was
a region of active mountain building. The
crystalline rocks which constitute the bed¬
rock in northern Wisconsin and most of
Canada are the fluvially and glacially eroded
remnants of the once broad mountain belt.
Further tectonic activity opened a huge
trough, or graben, which eventually filled
with thick deposits of sand and gravel
14
1979] Cary, McDowell and Graumlich — Soils and Geology of Apostle Islands
15
eroded from the nearby highlands and de¬
posited in the Precambrian sea (Martin,
1965). Excavation of some of the sandstone
over many millions of years by rivers and
glaciers created the Lake Superior basin.
The Bayfield Peninsula and all of the Apos¬
tle Islands are underlain by portions of the
remaining sandstones belonging to the Bay-
field group.
Much of the Lake Superior basin was
hollowed out during the Pleistocene Epoch
—the most recent 3 million years of geo¬
logic history. Continental glaciers repeatedly
advanced southward from Canada, follow¬
ing and deepening the lowlands in which
the Great Lakes now lie. Evidence from
the most recent glacial advance indicates
that after ice filled the Lake Superior basin
the Bayfield Peninsula upland forced the
growing ice mass to split. The Superior lobe
16
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
CA
CO
c
o
CO
>
Q)
<D
Oak Is.
Rocky Is.,
Raspberry
York Is.
Is.
years before present (xIOOO)
Fig. 2. Postglacial changes in the level of Lake Superior; names of some abandoned shore¬
lines are given. The topmost elevation of the four islands studied is given at right (after
Farrand, 1969).
flowed westward while the Chippewa lobe
filled Chcquamegon Bay and spilled into
what is now the Chippewa River basin. The
Apostle Islands were probably separated
from the mainland by glacial enlargement
of preglacial river valleys (Collie, 1901;
Irving, 1880). Its interlobate position caused
the Bayfield highland to receive great vol¬
umes of glacial debris. In general, the cur¬
rent land surface of kettles, kames, and mor¬
aines is more than 120 m (400 ft) above
the bedrock. Some of the till deposited by
the ice is very sandy and acid, but other till
bodies arc very clayey and somewhat cal¬
careous. The contrasting source materials,
Bayfield sandstone and Pleistocene lake
sediments, arc responsible for the differ¬
ences.
Retreat of the last continental glacier be¬
gan about 12,000 years before the present
(BP). As the ice mass wasted back into the
Lake Superior lowland, meltwater accumu¬
lated between the ice front and the southern
rim of the basin. Glacial Lake Duluth sta¬
bilized at about 329 m (1,085 ft) above sea
level and drained south at Solon Springs,
Wisconsin into the St. Croix and Mississippi
Rivers. These conditions lasted until about
11,000 years BP (Farrand, 1969, p. 195),
at which time all of the Apostle Islands
were submerged. The ice mass then wasted
rapidly, opening lower eastern outlets into
the Lake Michigan basin. Subsequent rapid
lake level decline was marked by only
minor halts until about 8,000 years BP,
when the low-water Houghton stage, 114 m
(375 ft) above sea level, was reached. In
about 3000 years the water level fell about
210 m (700 ft), for an average rate of 70
cm (2.33 ft) per decade, or almost 8 cm
(3 in) per year (Fig. 2).
During the first part of this period of lake
level recession all of the Apostle Islands
emerged. The abandoned strandlines visible
on the islands, including the Highbridge,
Moquah, Washburn, Manitou, and Beaver
1979] Cary, McDowell and Graumlich
Bay shorelines named by Farrand (1960),
were formed between 11,000 and 8,000
years BP. At the time of the Houghton
stage water levels were so low that the Apos¬
tle Islands were part of the mainland. Buried
peat found in places beneath 12 m (40 ft)
of water and 4 m ( 13 ft) of sand marks this
lake level minimum among the Apostle Is¬
lands (Taylor, 1931).
Lake level gradually rose for the several
thousand years which followed as isostatic
rebound lifted the outlet at Sault Ste. Marie,
Michigan. The Nipissing stage, only slightly
higher than the present water level, was
reached at 5,500 years BP (Saarnisto, 1975,
p. 312). Beaches formed at that time are
difficult to distinguish from current Apos¬
tle Islands beaches, as they are only 1 m
(3 ft) higher than the present lake eleva¬
tion of 182 m (602 ft) above sea level
(Farrand, 1969).
As soon as dry land became available,
colonization by tundra and boreal forest
plants and animals began. Spruce was the
dominant tree in these early woodlands, but
as climate ameliorated, spruce was grad¬
ually superceded by pine. Eventually the
transition was made to the present northern
mesic forest, which contains both hardwoods
and conifers (Saarnisto, 1974; Maher,
1977). Thus Quaternary geologic history
provided diverse initial conditions for de¬
velopment of the soils presently found on
the Apostle Islands.
Environmental Factors Affecting
Soil Formation
Initial Material
The recent geologic history of the Apos¬
tle Islands is one of continental glaciation,
inundation by postglacial lake waters, and
reexposure. In most places, deposits of gla¬
cial till are covered by lake sediments of
varying thickness. High water levels in the
Lake Superior basin and copious amounts
of sediment from melting glacial ice pro¬
moted deposition of clay and silt in deep
-Soils and Geology of Apostle Islands 17
water and coarser-textured material in shal¬
lows and on beaches. Typically one would
expect to find lacustrine sediments deposited
in a vertical sequence which coarsens up¬
ward because lake levels were falling, but
in many places there are only small amounts
of sand or gravel overlying clayey material.
Some soils formed in thin coarse deposits
over fine-grained lake sediments or till
(which are often difficult to tell apart),
while other soils formed in thick sand and
gravel deposits.
Surface modification of the islands, since
their emergence from receding glacial lake
waters, has been chiefly by stream activity.
On Oak Island, deep ravines are prominent.
In the ravine bottoms one finds small allu¬
vial terraces and narrow incipient flood-
plains.
Time
All soil formation presently evident on
the Apostle Islands has taken place in the
last 11,000 years. As soon as the topmost
points on the islands were exposed, weather¬
ing, plant colonization, and soil formation
(pedogenesis) began. The only major varia¬
tion results from recent increasing emer¬
gence of the lower parts of the islands. Soil
formation has proceeded for a longer time
on the top of Oak Island than on low-lying
York Island, for example. However, this
potential time difference is not very great
(Fig. 2). Rapid lake level recession exposed
all land elevations in about 2.000 years.
The 9,000 years that have since elapsed
have been sufficient to obscure any time-
related differences between the soils at high
elevations and those on the lower flanks of
the islands. This is particularly true for
Spodosols, which may be formed in only a
few hundred years (Buol, Hole, and Mc¬
Cracken. 1973. p. 254). On Oak Island,
spodosols with well-cemented ortstein hori¬
zons, indicators of advanced pedogenesis,
were identified throughout the full range of
elevations.
18
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Formation of soil horizons depends on
downward water movement. Soil develop¬
ment has not proceeded as far on steep
slopes where much water runs off as on
more nearly level areas where most water
percolates into the soil. Thus, rates of pedo¬
genesis are different in different landscape
positions.
Topography
There are considerable differences be¬
tween islands with respect to topography.
Most of the 22 islands in the group are rela¬
tively level and low-lying; York, Raspberry,
and Rocky Islands are good examples. On
these islands runoff is limited and drainage
networks are poorly developed. Most rain¬
fall and melted snow must move downward.
Such infiltration is often slow, as lacustrine
clays are frequently near the soil surface
where they impede drainage. The subdued
relief provides relatively uniform micro¬
climatic and hydrologic environments for
plant growth and soil formation.
Oak Island, on the other hand, is com¬
paratively rugged. Although it is less than
19 km2 (8 mi2) in area, it has almost 150
m (500 ft) of relief. The sloping landscape
is cut by numerous deep ravines. A diversity
of microclimates, microhabitats, and soils
matches the complexity of landform.
Climate
Although the Apostle Islands, at nearly
47° latitude, constitute the northernmost
land in Wisconsin, the climate is more tem¬
perate than in many areas to the south. The
moderating influence of Lake Superior
causes cool summer temperatures, relatively
mild winter temperatures, and growing sea¬
sons of more than 150 days — much longer
than in most of northern Wisconsin (Finley,
1975). Like much of Wisconsin the area of
the Apostle Islands receives about 0.75 m
(30 in) of precipitation each year. Most of
this precipitation falls as rain in the summer
when convectional storms are most frequent.
By comparison, winters are relatively dry,
although snowfall usually exceeds 1.75 m
(70 in) (Finley, 1975). Northwesterly winds
bring cold, dry Canadian or arctic air which
gains moisture from Lake Superior and oc¬
casionally drops snow. Springs and autumns
are moderately wet. In summary, the Apos¬
tle Islands experience moderately long grow¬
ing seasons and receive enough moisture to
provide significant downward movement of
water for leaching.
Organisms
The dominant plant communities on the
Apostle Islands are northern mesic forests
(Curtis, 1959). Although heavily logged in
the early 20th Century, the second and third
growth forests appear similar to presettle¬
ment composition. Important tree species
are sugar maple ( Acer saccharum ), hem¬
lock ( Tsuga canadensis) , yellow birch ( Be -
tula lutea), paper birch ( Be tula papyrifera) ,
and basswood (Tilia americana ). Locally
common are red oak ( Quercus borealis ),
white pine ( Pinus strobus), white cedar
( Thuja occidentals) , and balsam fir ( Abies
balsamea). Red oak and hemlock were se¬
lectively logged during the 1930’s (Beals
and Cottam, 1960). While conifers and
hardwoods make up the canopy, the forest
floor is usually heavily populated with sugar
maple seedlings. The Canadian yew ( Taxus
canadensis) was once a major ground cover
species, but over-browsing by deer has
made it rare on some islands (Beals, 1958).
Scarcity or absence of deer on some of the
smaller islands has allowed yew to remain
dense. The importance of coniferous and
hardwood vegetation and litter to soil de¬
velopment is discussed by Buol, Hole, and
McCracken (1973). Also important on the
Apostle Islands is the high frequency of
wind-throw. When trees are uprooted by
strong winds, tip-up mounds are formed.
This process creates depressions and mounds
and churns the soil locally. The impact of
the process on soil horizon development has
1979] Cary, McDowell and Graumlich — Soils and Geology of Apostle Islands
19
been studied by Gaikawad and Hole ( 1961 )
and Graumlich (1978).
Soils
Since the landscape of the Apostle Islands
is geologically young, soil forming processes
have had relatively little time to work. Con¬
sequently, soil development has usually af¬
fected no more than the upper 1.3 m (4 ft)
of surficial material. Soil profiles are shal¬
low. As stated earlier, the climate pro¬
vides sufficient water to ensure soil leaching,
a regime conducive to downward transloca¬
tion of nutrients and organic colloids as part
of the process of podzolization. Similar
downward movement of colloidal clay is
termed lessivage (Buol, Hole, and Mc¬
Cracken, 1973). Leaching occurs in most
humid climates. If nutrient-rich litter and
organic matter is not continually added to
the soil surface, podzolization will create a
Spodosol (Podzol), an infertile soil. Spo-
dosols are commonly found associated with
coniferous vegetation and loamy or sandy
parent materials.
Most evergreen trees produce nutrient-
poor, acid litter. Coarse-grained parent ma¬
terial is easily leached and is incapable of
retaining many nutrients necessary for plant
growth. The profile of a Spodosol usually
has an ashy grey, well leached zone at the
top over a dark brown horizon of illuvial
organic matter, iron and aluminum oxides,
and some colloidal clay. Beneath that spodic
horizon the concentration of illuviated ma¬
terials decreases and the brown color fades.
At depths of 1 m or more the geologic ma¬
terial has not been significantly affected by
pedogenesis.
Spodosol formation is inhibited if base-
rich litter is available to the soil, permitting
organic matter to accumulate. Most decidu¬
ous hardwood trees, particularly sugar ma¬
ple, supply abundant fertile litter to the
forest floor. Substantial amounts of silt and
clay, if present in the soil profile, allow re¬
tention of nutrients within reach of plant
roots and soil organisms. The soil which
forms under these conditions is called an
Alfisol (Gray-Brown Podzolic). The vertical
profile differs from that of a Spodosol in
that the B2 or illuvial horizon (called an
argillic horizon) is largely a zone of clay
accumulation rather than of iron and organic
material. Also characteristic of Alfisols is
a dark surface horizon rich in organic mat¬
ter, 7-16 cm (3-6 in) thick, overlying the
grey leached horizon.
In the Apostle Islands, conditions pro¬
mote development of Spodosols in some
areas and Alfisols in others. Where glacial or
lacustrine fine-grained material is at or near
the surface, Alfisols have formed. The initial
material was somewhat calcareous and the
clays have retarded leaching of the calcium
and other cations. Where surface drainage
is good these soils are termed Typic Eutro-
boralfs (Hibbing and Ontonagon series)
(Fig. 3a). Where drainage is somewhat
poor these soils are termed Aquic Eutro-
boralfs (Rudyard and Selkirk series). Eu-
troboralfs are fertile northern Alfisols and
are extensive on four of the five mapped
Apostle Islands.
Sand mixed with gravel occurs in deposits
which may exceed 1 m in thickness. These
materials have experienced long-continued
podzolization and typically have formed
Spodosols. On steep slopes, where much
water runs off, the development of soil hori¬
zons has been retarded, giving the soils a
young appearance. In other areas, the spodic
horizon and podzolic profile are well formed.
These two kinds of soils are classified as
Entic (young) and Typic Haplorthods (Bi-
bon, Vilas, Rubicon, Rousseau, and Karlin
series). Moderately well drained soils in the
catena are included in the Typic Haplor¬
thods (Croswell and Orienta series) (Fig.
3b), but somewhat poorly drained mem¬
bers are Typic Haplaquods (AuGres series).
Extremely gravelly deposits associated with
ancient beaches have also given rise to Typic
Haplorthods (Pence, Waiska, and Allouez
20
Wisconsin Academy oj Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Fig. 3a. Schematic diagram of a Typic Eutro-
boralf on the Apostle Islands. The soil is well-
drained, fertile, and characteristic of northern de¬
ciduous forests.
Fig. 3b. Schematic diagram of a Typic Hap-
lorthod on the Apostle Islands. The soil is sandy,
well-drained, infertile, and characteristic of conif¬
erous forests.
series) (Fig. 3c). Typic Haplorthods rep¬
resent the central concept of the Spodosol
soil order.
In many areas, coarse materials overlying
the glacial and lacustrine clays are of only
moderate thickness (.3-1 m). There soil
formation can be complex. The usual se¬
quence of events includes leaching and for¬
mation of a spodic horizon in the coarse
upper layer followed by leaching and clay
concentration at and below the clay contact.
The appearance is that of a Spodosol formed
on top of an Alfisol (Fig. 3d). Such soils are
termed “bisequal” (Hole, 1976). Bisequal
soils are one form of intergradation between
Spodosols and Alfisols; appropriately they
are called Alfic Haplorthods (Superior, Dry-
burg, and Manistee series) when well
drained, and Aqualfic Haplorthods (Allen¬
dale and Dafter series) when somewhat
poorly drained.
In scattered depressions drainage is so
poor that pedogenic processes have done
little in 10,000 years but add organic ma¬
terial. These youthful soils are placed in the
Inceptisol order and are called Mollic Hap-
laquepts (Munuscong series) because of
the thick organic-rich surface horizon simi¬
lar to that of Mollisols formed under prairie
vegetation.
1979] Cary , McDowell and Graumlich — Soils and Geology of Apostle Islands
21
Description
forest litter
pale, leached loamy sand
iron-rich and humus-
rich sandy loam
pale, leached sandy loam
reddish, blocky clay loam
clayey sediments,
slightly altered
Fig. 3c. Schematic diagram of a Typic Hap-
lorthod formed in gravelly beach deposits on the
Apostle Islands.
Fig. 3d. Schematic diagram of an Alfic Hap-
lorthod formed in surficial beach sediments and
underlying clayey sediments on the Apostle Is¬
lands. The soil is well-drained and has character¬
istics of both Alfisols and Spodosols.
Since soils are three-dimensional bodies
(Buol, Hole, and McCracken, 1973) study
of horizontal soil variability is important.
The soil maps of Raspberry, York, Rocky,
and Oak Islands (Figs. 4, 5, 6, 7) show
major soil bodies. The soil pattern is more
complex than can be mapped at the scales
indicated. Not shown are inclusions of
smaller soil bodies and the gradual and in¬
terfingering nature of lateral boundaries for
which a drawn line is a gross simplification.
Also designated for each soil body is the
approximate land surface slope. Level land
is placed in slope category a (0-2% ), while
land inclined at 20-30% is placed in slope
category e. The steepest land, with slopes
greater than 30%, usually occurs in associa¬
tion with bluffs or ravine systems, shown as
land types.
The physiographic uniqueness of Oak
Island is evident in the slope designations.
Oak Island has a large part of its land sur¬
face in moderate slopes in contrast to York,
Rocky, Raspberry, and most other Apostle
Islands, which are chiefly level (0-2%) and
gently sloping (2-6%) land (Fig. 8).
The soil maps reveal that Oak Island is
also pedologically distinct. The soilscapes of
the three smaller islands are dominated by
Eutroboralfs and Alfic Haplorthods — soils
22
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Table 1. Legend for figures 4, 5, 6 and 7.
Eutroboralfs
A Typic Eutroboralf
(Ontonagon, Hibbing)
B Aquic Eutroboralf
(Rudyard, Selkirk)
Haplorthods
C Alfic Haplorthod
(Superior)
D Alfic Haplorthod
(Manistee, Dryburg)
E Aqualfic Haplorthod
(Allendale, Dafter)
Haplaquepts
F Mollic Haplaquept
(Munuscong)
Haplorthods
G Typic Haplorthod
(Bibon)
H Aquic Haplorthod
(Orienta)
I Typic (Entic) Haplorthod
(Vilas, Rubicon)
J Typic (Entic) Haplorthod
(Croswell)
L Typic Haplorthod
(Rousseau, Karlin)
M Typic Haplorthod
(Waiska, Pence, Allouez)
Haplaquods
K Typic Haplaquod
(AuGres)
Miscellaneous Land Types
V Shallow to bedrock
W lake sand
X organic material
Y ravine complex
Z bluff
Slope Classes
a 0-2%
b 2-6%
c 6-12%
d 12-20%
e 20-30%
SOIL MAP OF
Fig. 4. Soil map of Raspberry Island.
1979] Cary, McDowell and Graumlich — Soils and Geology of Apostle Islands
23
Fig. 5. Soil map of York Island.
24
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Hg. 6. Soil map of Rocky Island.
SOIL MAP OF NORTHERN
1979] Cary , McDowell and Graumlich — Soils and Geology of Apostle Islands
25
Fig. 7a. Soil map of northern Oak Island.
SOIL MAP C
SOUTHERN
OAK ISLAND
26
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Fig. 7b. Soil map of southern Oak Island.
Cary , McDowell and Graumlich — Soils and Geology of Apostle Islands
27
1979]
slope class (%)
Fig. 8. Proportion of land area on Raspberry, Rocky, York and Oak islands
in different slope classes.
formed in less than 1 m of coarse sandy ma¬
terial overlying glacial or glaciolacustrine
clayey material. The coarse surficial layer,
deposited by beach processes at times of
higher water levels, is generally thin (less
than 1 m) on these islands. On the other
hand, more than 75% of the surface of Oak
Island is covered with Typic Haplorthods
or less well drained Spodosols, which typi¬
cally form in thick (more than 1 m) de¬
posits of coarse-grained materials. In only
a few locations on Oak Island does the basal
clayey sediment lie close enough to the sur¬
face for soil formation. However, the clayey
substrate can significantly affect pedogenesis
even if it is buried by more than 1 m of
coarse beach deposits. Indirect evidence of
subsurface clayey material, in the form of
mottling was often present in profiles which
were of loamy or sandy texture throughout
their upper 1.5 m (5 ft). Oak Island soils
are sandy and sloping, while the soils of
Raspberry, Rocky, and York Islands are
generally fine-textured and fairly level.
More detailed analysis suggests that sandy
soils are associated with sloping land while
clayey soils are associated with level land
(Table 2). Observation points were selected
by randomly overlaying grids (adjusted for
differences of scale) on the soil maps; ob¬
servations were recorded at each grid point.
If no relationship existed between thick¬
ness of coarse surface deposits and land sur¬
face slope, the observation frequencies
should resemble those of Table 3. A con¬
tingency table analysis was performed to
test for a possible relationship. The Chi
Square statistic (x2) was calculated accord¬
ing to the formula
X2 - X fo2/fe - N
where f0 is the observed frequency at a given
position in the table, fe is the expected fre¬
quency assuming no relationship between
the variables, and N is the total number of
observations (252) (Blalock, 1972). The
calculated chi square value was 62.6, highly
28
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Table 2. Frequencies (%) for given combina¬
tions of land surface slope and surficial sand
thickness, includes all points on Rocky, Oak, York
and Raspberry Islands.
Thickness of coarse
surface layer (cm.)
Table 3. Frequencies (%) at which points on all
four islands would be expected to possess the
specified combinations of land surface slope and
surficial sand thickness, if the two properties are
not related.
Thickness of coarse
surface layer (cm.)
significant at a probability level of 0.001.
There is less than one chance in a thousand
that the positive association between land
surface slope and coarse surficial material
thickness results from chance.
The most probable explanation for the
observed correlation between land surface
slope and thickness of the coarse surficial
material relates to the beach processes which
deposited the sandy, gravelly sediment 8,000
to 11,000 years ago. Thick layers of coarse
sediments can accumulate in the littoral
(beach) zone only if three conditions are
more or less satisfied:
1) a sediment surplus must exist; incom¬
ing material from erosion or longshore
transport must exceed outgoing ma¬
terial;
2) a suitable depositional zone must be
present; in excessively steep areas the
suitable zone is very narrow; on
broad, level beaches wave action
causes the sand deposits to be exten¬
sive but thin;
3) sufficient time must be available; for
sedimentation to build thick deposits,
i.e. lake level must remain constant
for a period.
The degree to which these three conditions
were met differs between the islands, thus
there are differences in the thickness of
coarse beach sediments.
Although longshore drift has created a
few small spits and forelands at former and
present lake levels (Engstrom, 1972), the
major source of sediment for beaches on
all of the islands has been bluff erosion.
Bluff erosion is favored by the presence of
steep slopes above the beach level. When
a relatively steep face is present, sediment
is eroded from the face through under¬
cutting by wave and ice action, followed by
slumping, through sheet and rill erosion on
the bluff face, and through gravity-induced
slope processes. Sorting by wave action at
the beach may remove the fine fraction of
the bluff material, leaving coarser beach
deposits, including boulders.
If conditions are favorable for bluff ero¬
sion, sediment surplus at the beach will lead
to the accumulation of thick beach deposits.
During emergence of the Apostle Islands
these conditions were met on Oak Island, an
island with great vertical relief and relatively
steeply sloping flanks. There bluff erosion
has contributed large amounts of sediment
to beaches at all lake levels throughout the
post-glacial period. On York, Rocky, and
Raspberry Islands a large proportion of the
land surface is in gentle and flat slopes, with
no steep land above these surfaces to con-
1979] Cary , McDowell and Graumlich-
tribute sediment. Wave action on the rela¬
tively flat tops of these islands probably
sorted and reworked the original surfaces,
but the supply of new beach material was
small.
Slope of the island surface at beach level
determines the zone available for deposition
of beach sediment. Thick accumulations of
material are favored by moderate slopes.
When the littoral zone is fairly level expen¬
diture of wave energy over a wide area dis¬
courages thick sand accumulation by spread¬
ing the material laterally. On flat-topped
islands like Raspberry, York, and Rocky,
the wide littoral zone has a thin layer of
beach deposits spread over the fine-textured
material from the original surface. On an
island with moderately steep slopes, such as
Oak Island, the width of the littoral zone is
limited, and sand accumulation is thicker.
On a very steep original slope, a shelf-like
littoral zone, with relatively thick sediment
accumulation, may be constructed by wave
action if ample time and surplus sediment
are available. Some of the flatter slopes on
the west side of Oak Island may be beaches
built onto or cut into the original steep face.
Although the lake level fell rapidly, the
unconsolidated glacial debris mantling the
islands and the relatively high wave energy
of Lake Superior allowed beaches to build
rapidly. An island with moderately sloping
sides always had sand accumulating as long
as island emergence continued. The flat-
topped, steep-sided islands were less likely
to receive similar accumulations. Regard¬
less of the elevation at which lake level tem¬
porarily stabilized, thick sand accumulations
were unlikely; either there was a paucity of
coarse sediment or there was an unfavorable
depositional zone. Moderate slopes (ap¬
proximately 5-20%) thus seem to be impor¬
tant in the accumulation of thick sand de¬
posits. Differences in initial soil material be¬
tween islands can be partially explained by
this phenomenon.
The above discussion is important from
a practical, as well as a theoretical, view.
■Soils and Geology of Apostle Islands 29
Recreational development of the Apostle
Islands is proceeding under the direction of
the U. S. National Park Service. Assessment
of soil resources and evaluation of soil limi¬
tations for various recreational activities is
essential for planning. Drainage is an im¬
portant soil property and poor drainage pre¬
sents serious problems for septic tank dis¬
posal fields or for more primitive waste dis¬
posal methods, as well as for paths, trails,
and campgrounds. Poor drainage is most
often encountered on level, fine-textured
soils. Steep, sandy soils may present a seri¬
ous problem because of the great erosion
potential. The apparent correlation between
surface slope and thickness of coarse sur-
ficial material suggests that most areas will
have one problem or the other. Level land
with loamy or sandy soil has few limitations
but is not common on the mapped islands.
It does not seem likely that other islands
in the archipelago will have soils more suited
to recreational uses, because all the islands
were subject to the same beach processes.
The biologic and pedologic environments of
the Apostle Islands are fragile and develop¬
ment will demand great care.
Conclusion
This paper presents the findings of two
field seasons work in the Apostle Islands.
The prevalent soils on the four islands stud¬
ied are of two basic kinds: fertile Alfisols,
formed in deposits of fine-grained glacio-
lacustrine material (Eutroboralfs), and
sandy Spodosols developed in coarse beach
deposits (Haplorthods). The Apostle Is¬
lands possess a landscape with widely vary¬
ing characteristics of initial material and
topography, and which, in conjunction with
the cool, humid continental climate, allow
a variety of biotic communities to thrive.
The coexistence in this region of Alfisols,
usually found in more southerly locations
under deciduous forest, and Spodosols, typi¬
cally found in more northerly climatic zones
with evergreen vegetation, attests to the di-
30
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
versity and complexity of the pedogenic en¬
vironment.
Development of soil maps for the four
islands surveyed allows analysis of the spa¬
tial variability of soils. Reconnaissance soil
surveys completed 10 or more years ago
(Ableiter, and Hole, 1961; Hole, et al,
1968) show virtually all the Apostle Islands
as having soils formed in thin coarse de¬
posits overlying basal clayey material (Eu-
troboralfs, Alfic Haplorthods). This por¬
trayal is accurate for York, Rocky, and
Raspberry Islands, but not for Oak Island.
Oak Island is dominated by thick surficial
sand and gravel deposits and the Typic and
less well drained Haplorthods formed in
them. The preponderance of sandy soils on
Oak Island is explained by the correlation
between thick coarse deposits and steep land
surface slope.
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Survey of Bayfield County, Wisconsin.
U.S.D.A. Soil Cons. Service, Series 1939,
No. 30, 77 p., 12 maps.
Beals, E. W. 1958. The phytosociology of
the Apostle Islands and the influence of deer
on the vegetation. M.S. thesis, Univ. of Wis¬
consin, Madison.
Beals, E. W., and G. Cottam. 1960. The
forest vegetation of the Apostle Islands,
Wisconsin. Ecol. 41:743-751.
Blalock, H. M., Jr. 1972. Social Statistics.
McGraw-Hill, New York. 583 p.
Buol, S. W., F. D. Hole, and R. J. McCracken.
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State Univ. Press, Ames, 360 p.
Collie, G. 1901. Wisconsin shore of Lake
Superior. Geol. Soc. Amer. Bull. 12:197-
216.
Curtis, J. C. 1959. The Vegetation of Wis¬
consin. Univ. of Wisconsin Press, Madison,
657 p.
Engstrom, W. N. 1972. Spatial patterns in
beach morphology and sedimentology in the
Apostle Islands of northern Wisconsin.
Ph.D. dissertation. Univ. of Wisconsin,
Madison, 236 p.
Farrand, W. R. 1960. Former shorelines
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sin. Ph.D. dissertation. Univ. of Michigan,
Ann Arbor, 226 p.
Farrand, W. R. 1969. The Quaternary his¬
tory of Lake Superior. Proc. 12th Conf.
Great Lakes Res.: 181-197.
Finley, R. W. 1975. Geography of Wiscon¬
sin. Univ. of Wisconsin Press, Madison. 472
P-
Gaikawad, S. T., and F. D. Hole. 1961.
Characteristics and genesis of a Podzol soil
in Florence County, Wisconsin. Trans. Wis.
Acad. Sci., Arts, Letters 50:183-190.
Graumlich, L. J. 1978. An analysis of the
spatial variation of soil microtopography
and surface horizon thicknesses. M.S. thesis.
Univ. of Wisconsin, Madison.
Hole, F. D. 1976. Soils of Wisconsin. Univ.
of Wisconsin Press, Madison. 223 p.
Hole, F. D., M. T. Beatty, C. J. Milfred, G. B.
Lee, and A. J. Klingelhoets. 1968. Soils
of Wisconsin. Univ. Wisconsin Ext., Madi¬
son, map (1:710,000).
Irving, R. D. 1880. Coastal features of the
eastern Lake Superior district. Geol. of Wis.
1873-1879, v. 3, pp. 70-76.
Kowalski, W. L. 1976. Geology, soils, and
recreational limitations of Bear Island, Wis¬
consin, Apostle Islands National Lakeshore.
M.S. thesis. Michigan Tech. Univ., Hough¬
ton, 207 p.
Maher, L. J., Jr. 1977. Palynological
studies in the western arm of Lake Superior.
Quaternary Res. 7:12-44.
Martin, L. 1965. The Physical Geography
of Wisconsin. Univ. of Wisconsin Press,
Madison, 3rd ed., 608 p.
Saarnisto, M. 1974. The deglaciation his¬
tory of the Lake Superior region and its cli¬
matic implications. Quaternary Res. 4:316-
339.
Saarnisto, M. 1975. Stratigraphical studies
on the shoreline displacement of Lake Su¬
perior. Can. J. Earth Sci. 12:300-319.
Soil Survey Staff. 1975. Soil Taxonomy.
U.S.D.A., S.C.S., Agric. Handbk. 436,
Washington, D.C., 754 p.
Taylor, F. B. 1931. Submerged peat beds
among the Apostle Islands. Science 74:265-
267.
THE CADDISFLIES (TRICHOPTERA) OF
PARFREY’S GLEN CREEK, WISCONSIN1
Thomas S. Karl and William L. Hilsenhoff
Department of Entomology
University of Wisconsin, Madison
A bstract
Life cycles, biology and ecology of 17 species of Trichoptera in Parfrey’s
Glen Creek are reported. Wormaldia moestus and Oligostomis ocelligera, rare in
Wisconsin, were found. Other species such as Diplectrona modesta, Parapsyche
apicalis, Rhyacophila vibox, and Dolophilodes distinctus, which seldom occur
commonly in any stream, were a significant part of the fauna. Closely related
species were often segregated temporally or spatially. Limnephilus rossi is reported
from Wisconsin for the first time and its larva is described.
Parfrey’s Glen Scientific Area in Sauk
County, Wisconsin has a unique flora and
fauna that has received much attention
(Vorhies, 1909; Hilsenhoff, 1974; Webb,
1974; Wynn and Loucks, 1975). Flowing
southward through the area is Parfrey’s
Glen Creek, a small, permanent, spring-
fed stream. Its insect fauna differs signifi¬
cantly from most other streams in southern
Wisconsin, and is dominated by an unusual
assortment of caddisfly larvae (Trichop¬
tera). It also has significant populations of
the stoneflies Isoperla clio (Newman), Al-
locapnia nivicola (Fitch), A. rickeri (Fri-
son), Amphinemura delosa (Ricker), and
A. linda (Ricker), the mayfly Baetis vagans
(McDunnough), the beetles Optioservus
fastiditus (LeConte), Helichus striatus (Le-
Conte), Agabus seriatus (Say), A. con-
fusus (Blatchley), and Hydrobius melaenus
(Germar), and several unidentified Diptera.
Because of increased public use of this area
(Wynn and Loucks, 1975), a study was
begun in 1975 to document the unique cad¬
disfly fauna and to learn more about their
biology and ecology.
1 Research supported by the College of Agricul¬
tural and Life Sciences, University of Wisconsin-
Madison and carried out in cooperation with the
Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources.
Parfrey’s Glen Creek is characterized by
series of riffles, rapids, small waterfalls, and
occasional pools. In winter it is frozen, and
in summer most of it is densely shaded by
vegetation, and in the gorge by cliffs. Only
a few patches of aquatic mosses are pres¬
ent, mostly outside of the gorge. The aver¬
age flow is 21 1/sec and varies little season¬
ally, with currents mostly 15 to 45 cm/sec
and depths of 1 to 40 cm. Temperatures
vary from 0 to 18°C, the maximum occur¬
ring in early spring before the trees are in
leaf. After the stream is shaded, tempera¬
tures remain fairly constant at 16.5°C
throughout the summer. Except for some
siltation due to visitor use, the stream is
free of pollution with oxygen at or near
saturation level. The stream has a gradient
of 1.92 hm/km, a pH of 7.8, total alkalinity
of 216 mg/1, and a specific conductance of
528 ^mhos/cm.
Methods
To collect caddisflies for determination
of life cycles, a D-frame aquatic net with a
1.0 mm mesh was held against the stream
bottom and the substrate immediately up¬
stream was thoroughly disturbed (using
one’s feet) for approximately one minute to
dislodge insects. Insects and debris col¬
lected in the net were placed in a white
31
32
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
plastic pan with a little water. Caddisflies
were removed from large pieces of debris,
water, and the net and preserved in 70%
ethanol. The remaining debris was pre¬
served for more thorough examination in
the laboratory. Large rocks or logs that
could not be sampled by this method were
lifted from the water and caddisflies were
scraped into the net or directly into collect¬
ing jars. Prior to disturbing the substrate to
dislodge larvae, and with the D-frame net
in position, substrate materials were re¬
moved from the water and examined for
pupae. All possible microhabitats were sam¬
pled semimonthly from March 19, 1975 to
November 6, 1975; six or seven sites were
sampled on each date.
To determine microdistribution, sampling
sites were selected to be as homogeneous as
possible with respect to current, substrate
type, and water depth. Current was meas¬
ured with a pigmy current meter 2.5 cm
above the substrate and water depth was
calculated as the average of measurements
taken at the corners and center of a sampl¬
ing site. Stones were measured after sampl¬
ing to determine the greatest diameter. Sub¬
strate units sampled were silt, detritus,
leaves, moss, sand (1 mm to 2 mm), gravel
(3mm to 2 cm) and stones 2-5 cm, 5-10
cm, or >10 cm). An average of 45 sam¬
ples were collected each spring ( April -
June), summer (July-September), autumn
(October-December), and winter (January-
March).
Flight periods were determined from
adult collections and laboratory reared in¬
sects. Daytime collections were made by
sweeping riparian vegetation and by picking
adults from tree trunks near the stream or
exposed rocks in and along the stream; at
night, adults were collected in light traps.
In the laboratory, adults were reared from
pupae, prepupae or mature larvae in aerated
water maintained within 2°C of the stream
temperature.
Life cycles were determined by analyzing
larval growth rates and the presence of pre¬
pupae, pupae, and adults. Each larval instar
was determined by head capsule width
measured with an ocular micrometer.
Larvae were identified using keys by Ross
(1944), Flint (1960, 1961, 1962), and
Hilsenhoff (1975). Lepidostoma larvae
were identified using the metamorphotype
method of Milne (1938). Adults were iden¬
tified using keys and illustration by Betten
(1934, 1950), Ross (1944, 1946), and
Leonard and Leonard (1949a). Specimens
were also compared with identified adults
in the University of Wisconsin Insect Col¬
lection, and voucher specimens were de¬
posited in this collection. The reported dis¬
tribution in Wisconsin is based on Long-
ridge and Hilsenhoff (1973), and speci¬
mens in the University of Wisconsin Insect
Collection.
Seventeen species of caddisflies were col¬
lected from Parfrey’s Glen Creek; these are
the only species known to occur in this
stream. Life cycles and numbers collected
of the fourteen most common species are
summarized (Table 1 ) and notes on the
biology and ecology of all species follow.
Caddisfly Biology and Ecology
Dolophilodes distinctus (Walker) 1852
Dolophilodes distinctus has been found
in rapid, cool streams in northern Wiscon¬
sin and a few streams in Sauk County. It
was relatively common in Parfrey’s Glen
Creek. Adults were captured every month
except September and October, and other
workers have noted adults present over
much or all of the year (Longridge and Hil¬
senhoff, 1973; Ellis, 1962; and Leonard
and Leonard, 1949b). The population in
Parfrey’s Glen Creek is bivoltine with peaks
of emergence in March-April and July-
August. Tebo and Hassler (1961) also
noted two peaks of emergence in this spe¬
cies, in April and in September.
Brachypterous females were collected
from late February to the first week of
April. They were found crawling on the
stream bank, under rocks and logs near
1979]
Karl and Hilsenhoff — Caddisflies of Parfrey’s Glen
33
Table 1. Development of 14 species of Trichoptera in Parfrey’s Glen Creek indicating life stages1
1 Life stage noted only if it constituted 10% or greater of the months sample of that species. 1 ,2, 3, 4, 5 = Larval Instar;
PP = prepupae; P = Pupae; A = Adult.
the stream, and on exposed rocks in the
stream. Ross (1944) also found only wing¬
less females in winter and noted that winter
males were winged and tended to be larger
than in other seasons. In warmer months,
adults were found on tree trunks close to
the stream and under rocks and logs along
the stream.
Larvae that hatched from eggs laid in
March and April grew very rapidly and by
the end of June nearly 90% were in the
fifth instar. Pupae were first noticed in early
July. Early instar larvae from the July-
August emergents were first noticed in mid-
August. They grew rapidly and by Novem¬
ber all were in the fifth instar. The winter
was spent mainly as pupae, but prepupae
and fifth instar larvae were also present. By
late February more than 80% were in the
pupal stage. Throughout the winter a small
number of adults emerged to produce the
brachypterous phenotype. The presence of
some adults quite removed from periods
of peak emergence may be attributable to
a long adult life span.
Larvae inhabited a wide range of sub-
34
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
strates, currents and water depths. They
were found in currents ranging from 5 cm/
sec to 97 cm/sec, mostly on the under sur¬
face of rocks 12 cm or larger. Depths
greater than 15 cm were preferred, but
larvae were not uncommon in water as shal¬
low as 5 cm.
Pupal chambers were fastened to the un¬
der surface of stones, usually 10 cm or
larger. Pupae were found in currents of 19
to 70 cm/sec at depths of 4 cm to 20 cm
and preferred currents faster than 30 cm/
sec.
Wormaldia moestus (Banks) 1914a
Wormaldia moestus is rare in Wisconsin.
Besides Parfrey’s Glen Creek and one other
Sauk County stream, it has been collected
only in the northeastern counties. Eight lar¬
vae were found, all of them in the densely
shaded stream gorge, mostly on the under
sides of rocks 10 cm or larger, in currents
of 23 to 70 cm/sec and water 10 to 16 cm
deep. The two smallest larvae were col¬
lected in early and late April (head cap¬
sule widths 0.35 and 0.50 mm respec¬
tively). Those collected in June, November,
and February had head capsule widths of
1.70-1.80 mm. Larvae apparently grow
rapidly in spring and spend summer, autumn
and winter in the terminal instar. Pupation
probably occurs in late winter with emer¬
gence in early spring. Ross (1944) col¬
lected adults in Illinois during the first week
of March.
Diplectrona modesta (Banks) 1908b
Diplectrona modesta frequents rapid
clear brooks and streams throughout Wis¬
consin. In Michigan Leonard and Leonard
(1949b) found it only in tiny, spring-fed
brooks. Parfrey’s Glen Creek is one of the
few streams in Wisconsin where it com¬
prises a significant part of the caddisfly
fauna, and here it was the dominant hydro-
psychid. Diplectrona modesta was univol-
tine with adults present from early May to
July, and peak emergence the last week of
May and first week of June. Adults were
found resting on tree trunks.
A wide range of instars was often pres¬
ent, indicating an extended hatching period.
Larvae grew steadily over the summer and
by mid- August more than 80% were in the
fourth and fifth instar. The larvae developed
little during the winter, with growth resum¬
ing in early spring. Prepupae were found
from April 29 to July 9, pupae from June
12 to July 24.
First and second instar larvae preferred
2- 5 cm stones in currents of 13 to 29 cm/
sec; depth was not important. They were
mostly on the undersurface, but were found
on other faces if vegetation was present.
Later instars were less selective and in¬
habited all sizes of stones and occasionally
vegetation in currents of 12 to 68 cm/sec,
but preferred currents of 15 to 36 cm/sec.
Mostly on the undersurfaces of stones, they
inhabited other faces if fissures or protuber¬
ances protected them from the current. In
late spring, fifth instar larvae preferred
deeper water (>12 cm), larger stones
(>10 cm) and slower currents (<46 cm/
sec) than in other seasons, probably as a re¬
sult of movement to pupal habitat in spring.
Pupae attached chiefly to the undersurface
of rocks greater than 10 cm in water deeper
than 11 cm with currents of 15 to 44 cm/
sec.
Parapsyche apicalis (Banks) 1908b
In Wisconsin Parapsyche apicalis occurs
in small, cold, rapid streams, mostly in the
north. It was not common in Parfrey’s
Glen Creek. Adults of this univoltine spe¬
cies were present from April 30 to June 12
with the emergence peak the last two weeks
of May. Longridge and Hilsenhoff (1973)
and Leonard and Leonard (1949b) col¬
lected adults into summer and early autumn.
First instar larvae were collected first on
July 9 indicating an incubation period of
3- 4 weeks. The larvae grew slowly in July
1979]
Karl and Hilsenhoff — Caddis flies of Parfrey’s Glen
35
and August and more rapidly in September
so that by the end of September almost
80% were in the fourth instar. Winter was
spent mainly as fifth instar larvae, but sec¬
ond, third and fourth instars were also pres¬
ent. Prepupae and pupae were present from
April 29 to May 12.
Developmental stage and season influ¬
enced larval distribution. First and second
instar larvae clearly preferred vegetation in
currents of 30 to 78 cm/sec and depths
less than 12 cm. In autumn, third and
fourth instar larvae were most common on
stones 5 cm or larger in currents of 23 to
53 cm/sec and depths greater than 6 cm.
In winter, they also colonized vegetation
growing on rocks. Fifth instar larvae were
found at all depths and in autumn and win¬
ter were most common on rocks greater
than 10 cm and in currents faster than 30
cm/sec. They occurred on the bottom of
bare rocks, and on other faces if vegetation
was present.
Approximately 60% of the pupal cham¬
bers were constructed of vegetation, the rest
of sand grains. Flint (1961) noted that
pupal cases were almost exclusively organic
material and only rarely constructed of
sand grains. Pupal cases of vegetation were
found in vegetation and completely en¬
closed the pupa. Sand cases were found on
the undersides of stones larger than 5 cm in
diameter in currents less than 15 cm/sec
and at depths greater than 6 cm.
Hydropsyche slossonae (Banks) 1905
Hydrosyche slossonae is widely distrib¬
uted in clear, cool, swiftly flowing streams
throughout Wisconsin, and was the second
most common hydropsychid in Parfrey’s
Glen Creek. It is univoltine with a long
flight period (Longridge and Hilsenhoff,
1973; Leonard and Leonard, 1949b; Ellis,
1962; and Ross, 1944). Adults were col¬
lected from May 19 to September 18. On
August 28, 1975, 161 females and 5 males
were caught in a light trap. While males
may not be as strongly phototropic as fe¬
males (Leonard and Leonard, 1949a),
Schuhmacher (1970) found females to be
generally more prevalent than males in the
genus. Eggs were found in late August and
September on the sides and beneath rocks
and logs. They were roundish, off-white,
and laid in one-layered patches of about
260 eggs.
Early instar larvae were first evident in
early July. Most grew very slowly and
overwintered in the second instar. Growth
resumed in late March and by the end of
April, 80% were in the third instar. Some
larvae overwintered in the fifth instar and
pupated in late spring, accounting for
adults in May and June.
Segregation of instars was evident. First
and second instar larvae were most com¬
mon on vegetation while later instar larvae
preferred bare stones 5-15 cm in diameter
at depths less than 1 1 cm. Nets were spun
in areas protected from the full force of
the current. Fifth instar larvae were also
found in vegetation on the upper surface
of rocks in currents greater than 65 cm/sec.
All larvae were most common in currents
greater than 18 cm/sec.
Pupae were attached to vegetation or to
the bottom of stones 5 cm or larger in di¬
ameter, usually in currents of 12 to 36 cm/
sec. Depth did not significantly limit distri¬
bution, although pupae were not found at
depths less than 4 cm unless the current was
greater than 30 cm/sec.
The three hydropsychids, H. slossonae,
D. modesta and P. apicalis were segregated
temporally and spatially. Hydropsyche slos¬
sonae was temporarily isolated by growing
in late spring while D. modesta and P. api¬
calis grew most actively in autumn. Early
instars of D. modesta and P. apicalis were
segregated spatially, with P. apicalis being
found in vegetation on upper surfaces of
rocks in fast moving shallow water and
D. modesta mostly under bare stones over
a wide range of depths and currents. Later
36
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
instars were not segregated spatially, but
mature larvae eat different foods (Shapas
and Hilsenhoff, 1976).
Rhyacophila vibox (Milne) 1936
Rhyacophila vibox is found throughout
Wisconsin in small, cold, spring-fed streams.
Flint (1962) reported larvae only in springs
and spring brooks less than two feet wide.
It was a common univoltine species in Par¬
ley’s Glen Creek. Adults were collected
mostly from cracks or fissures of tree bark.
They were found May 22 to June 20 cor¬
roborating published flight periods (Long-
ridge and Hilsenhoff, 1973; Ross, 1944;
Ellis, 1962). First instar larvae appeared
in early July and grew slowly so that by
mid-August more than 70% were still in
the first and second instar. Growth acceler¬
ated in September, and by early November
more than 70% were in the fifth instar.
Winter was spent in the fourth or fifth in¬
star and by March most were in the fifth
instar. Prepupae were found April 20 to
May 5 and pupae April 29 to June 12.
Life stages showed some segregation by
microhabitat. First instar larvae were found
only in currents less than 45 cm/sec, while
later instars had no current limitations, ex¬
cept in spring and summer when they were
most abundant in currents faster than 30
cm/sec. All larvae avoided pools. Vorhies
(1909) reported R. vibox larvae in the
moderately swift portions of Parfrey’s Glen
Creek. First instar larvae were limited to
the lower surfaces of stones. Later instars
also inhabited vegetation on the upper sur¬
faces and sides of stones, but were most
common under stones of 5-10 cm. During
autumn, winter, and spring, larvae were also
found in leaf mats, under the bark of sub¬
merged logs, and on large stones isolated in
sandy stretches. Depth never restricted lar¬
val distribution.
Pupae were most common in currents
greater than 25 cm/sec and depths greater
than 10 cm. Stones greater than 3 cm in
diameter were preferred as pupation sites,
although some pupal chambers were at¬
tached to stones barely larger than the
chamber.
Glossosoma intermedium (Klapalek) 1892
Glossosoma intermedium occurs in cool,
woodland streams throughout Wisconsin,
and was the most abundant caddisfly in
Parfrey’s Glen Creek. At some sites their
cases almost covered the stream bottom.
Glossosoma intermedium was univoltine
with overlapping generations, the adults
having two periods of emergence. From
April 19 to June 1, less than 10% emer¬
ged, with peak emergence during the first
half of May and a male: female ratio of
9:1. More than 90% emerged from July 7
to October 23, mostly during the last two
weeks of July and first week of August.
During this second emergence period the
male: female ratio was 1:2. Adults were
found resting on trees and riparian vegeta¬
tion.
First instar larvae of the spring genera¬
tion were noticed first in mid-June. They
grew steadily and by the first week of No¬
vember were in the fifth instar or prepupal
stage in which they overwintered. By early
April most individuals were prepupae, and
pupae were found from the first week of
April to the end of May. First instar larvae
from the summer emergence were first col¬
lected July 24 and grew slowly over the
autumn, overwintering as third and fourth
instars. Growth accelerated in mid-April
and by mid-June more than 70% were pre¬
pupae.
Larvae were found over a wide range of
currents, substrate types, and water depths.
There was some segregation of life stages,
and seasonal differences in distribution were
also evident. First and second instar larvae
preferred currents less than 30 cm/sec and
stones 3-7 cm. A few were found in gravel.
Instars three to five were found in currents
ranging from pools to 96 cm/sec, but most
were in currents of 15 to 30 cm/sec. They
inhabited a wide range of substrates, but
1979]
Karl and Hilsenhoff — Caddisflies of Parfrey’s Glen
37
were most common on stones 5 cm or
larger. Larvae occurred only on the down¬
stream side of rocks or other protected
areas in currents greater than 30 cm/sec,
but on all sides in slow currents. Larvae in
pools were found only on stones or logs free
of silt or detritus. In summer, fifth instar
larvae even occurred on rocks and logs that
protruded above the water’s surface pro¬
vided the surface was continually wetted.
Just prior to pupation the bottom strap
of the case is cut away and the dome¬
shaped upper portion is cemented to a rock
or other support (Ross, 1944). Most pupae
were found in currents greater than 22 cm/
sec, at depths greater than 12 cm, and on
rocks larger than 10 cm in diameter. Pupae
were also found on logs and smaller stones,
though much less frequently. A few were
found in pools. In currents greater than 30
cm/sec pupae occurred on surfaces pro¬
tected from the full force of the current,
while in slower currents pupae were present
on all surfaces. Pupae occurred in aggrega¬
tions, with some clusters containing more
than one hundred individuals.
Oligostomis ocelligera (Walker) 1852
Oligostomis ocelligera is uncommon in
Wisconsin and rare in Parfrey’s Glen Creek;
only two larvae were found during this
study. Both had head capsule widths of 2.25
mm and were collected February 29, 1976,
from detritus on the stream bottom at a
depth of 10 cm in a current of 24 cm/sec.
Lloyd (1921) stated that the larvae are
bottom dwellers that crawl over the stream
floor, or rest among the trash and litter. He
reported pupation in mid- or late April in
the stream bed or in dead wood; in New
York emergence occurs during the last two
weeks in May. Longridge and Hilsenhoff
(1973) collected adults May 28 and June 4
in Wisconsin.
Brachycentrus occidental is (Banks) 1911
Brachycentrus occidentalis occurs in cold
streams in all but the southeastern corner of
Wisconsin. Only 58 larvae were collected,
and the species was regarded as uncommon
in Parfrey’s Glen Creek. Extensive notes on
various aspects of its biology have been
published recently by Gallepp (1974,
1976) and Gallepp and Hasler (1975).
Adults were found in Parfrey’s Glen Creek
April 29.
Early instar larvae were noticed first in
late July. They grew steadily and by the end
of September almost all were in the fifth in¬
star, the stage in which they overwintered.
Gallepp and Hasler (1975) observed the
same pattern of growth in Lawrence Creek,
Wisconsin.
In summer, larvae were found on the up¬
per surface of rocks in currents of 10 to
31 cm/sec and water less than 6 cm deep.
Throughout the year larvae were found in
open areas or lightly shaded sections of the
stream. Gallepp (1976) also noted the pref¬
erence of this species for areas exposed to
bright sunlight. No pupae were collected.
Pycnopsyche guttifer (Walker) 1852
Pychnopsyche guttifer has been collected
throughout Wisconsin. Adults of this un¬
common, univoltine species were collected
September 18 to November 6 from riparian
vegetation. On November 6, when snow
was present, they were found crawling on
the stream banks.
Early instar larvae were noticed first in
mid-October. They grew actively over the
autumn and winter months so that by early
March all were in the fifth instar. This was
the only caddisfly in Parfrey’s Glen Creek
to grow rapidly during the winter, thus
avoiding competition with most other her¬
bivores and detritivores. Only fifth instar
larvae were found in spring and early sum¬
mer; no larvae were found in late summer.
Cummins (1964) reports that during the
summer larvae fasten their cases to sticks,
aquatic vegetation, or cobbles, and remain
inactive until pupating in early autumn.
Neither pupae nor prepupae were found in
this study.
38
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Larvae were most abundant in pools or
along the banks where they crawled over
debris and leaves. Depth was not signifi¬
cant in determining distribution. A few in¬
dividuals collected in the autumn were
found on the bottom of loosely packed
stones (5-10 cm in diameter) in currents
up to 20 cm/sec. Cummins (1964) found
that during low flow larvae moved into the
middle of the stream if periphyton was
abundant. Feldmeth (1970) found that
P. guttifer larvae were swept off the sub¬
strate by currents greater than 15 cm/sec.
Early instar larvae constructed cases
from leaf and stick matter, the leaf material
predominating. As the larvae grew, the ratio
was reversed and stick material dominated
as described by Flint ( 1960) .
Hesperphylax designatus (Walker) 1852
Hesperophylax designatus occurs through¬
out Wisconsin in small, cold streams. Only
27 larvae were found in Parfrey’s Glen
Creek. Adults of this univoltine species were
collected May 22 to July 24 from riparian
vegetation, with peak emergence in late
May. In other Wisconsin studies Longridge
and Hilsenhoff (1973) noted a flight period
from April 27 to August 24, and Vorhies
(1905) found adults March 15 with peak
emergence in mid-April.
Early instar larvae were noticed first the
last week of July. They grew steadily over
the summer and autumn, and overwintered
as fifth instar larvae. Prepupae were found
the first week of April and pupae the last
week of April and first week of May. Vor¬
hies (1905) noticed that in mid-February
most larvae had begun to prepare for pupa¬
tion.
A seasonal difference in habitat selection
was evident. In summer, larvae inhabited
mostly logs and occasionally gravel and
small stones (less than 5 cm) . They were
found only in currents slower than 20 cm/
sec. In autumn and winter, larvae preferred
the undersides of stones 5-10 cm in diam¬
eter or vegetation on these stones, and were
found mostly in currents faster than 40
cm/sec. Water depth did not restrict distri¬
bution.
Detailed descriptions of cases are in Vor¬
hies (1905, 1909) and Lloyd (1921). Pu¬
pae were found clustered on undersides of
rocks greater than 10 cm in pools or in cur¬
rents less than 15 cm/sec and depths
greater than 20 cm. Clustering of pupae
has been reported previously for this spe¬
cies (Vorhies, 1909; Denning, 1937).
Limnephilus rhombicus (Linnaeus) 1758
Limnephilus rhombicus has previously
been collected in Wisconsin only from the
northeast and southwest counties. One larva
with a head capsule width of 1.55 mm was
collected July 9, 1975, from a pool with a
detritus substrate and a depth of 8 cm. Re¬
ported flight periods are June 10 to June 29
for Wisconsin (Longridge and Hilsenhoff,
1973), the end of June to the first half of
July for Michigan (Ellis, 1962), and early
June to late August for Illinois (Ross,
1944).
Limnephilus rossi (Leonard and Leonard)
1949a
Leonard and Leonard (1949a) described
this species from adults collected September
18 to October 6 from dry grass overhanging
the banks of spring-fed streams in Michigan.
The larvae were not described, and the
identity of those collected from Parfrey’s
Glen Creek remained unknown until 1977
when two males were reared September 21
and 27 from pupae or prepupae collected
September 5. This is the first record of this
species in Wisconsin.
Early instar larvae were collected first at
the end of February. They grew slowly un¬
til the end of April, and then rapidly, reach¬
ing the fifth instar by early summer. The
summer was spent in the fifth instar, with
pupation in late summer. Early instar lar¬
vae were collected easily, but fifth instar
1979]
Karl and Hilsenhoff — Caddisflies of Parfrey’s Glen
39
larvae and pupae were difficult to find. Lar¬
vae and pupae occurred on the bottoms of
rocks of all sizes and on logs over a wide
range of currents. A distinct preference was
exhibited for depths greater than 8 cm.
Larval description: (fifth instar): Length
16.2-18.4 mm, width 2. 7-3.0 mm. Head
mostly light brown with dark muscle scars
most numerous on the vertex and dorso-
posterior and ventral sections of the genae.
Ventral half of genae medium brown, gula
light brown. Frons with an anteriorly di¬
rected triangle composed of dark muscle
scars. Legs light brown with infrequent
muscle scars. Thoracic nota light brown
with numerous dark muscle scars. Anterior
edge of pronotum medium brown; posterior
corners black. Mesonotum with central third
of posterior margin and posterior third of
sides black. Metanotum with four ovoid
sclerites having 11-12 setae each. Abdominal
segments 1 and 8 with 15-19 setae dorsally
on each side. Gills mainly in clusters of two
or three, with occasional single gills. Chlor¬
ide epithelia present on ventor of segments
2-7. Anal claw with one large and one small
accessory tooth.
Larval case : Constructed mainly of min¬
eral particles averaging 0.8 mm anteriorly
and 0.4 mm posteriorly with a few bits of
organic material distributed randomly. Ta¬
pered posteriorly and slightly curved with
a dorsal hood projecting about 2 mm an¬
teriorly. Total length 13 to 16 mm for ma¬
ture larvae.
Neophylax concinnus (McLachlan) 1871
Previous collections from Wisconsin indi¬
cate that N. concinnus is restricted chiefly
to the northern half of the state, but it was
common in Parfrey’s Glen Creek. Adults
were present September 6 to November 30,
with peak emergence the last half of Sep¬
tember. Sedell (1972) found emergence
in this species was highly synchronized.
Longridge and Hilsenhoff (1973) collected
adults July 7 and September 13 in Wiscon¬
sin, while Leonard and Leonard (1949b),
and Vorhies (1909) found adults flying as
late as November.
Early instar larvae were first noticed in
early November. They grew slowly in late
autumn and winter so that by early April
more than 60% were still in the third instar.
Growth accelerated in late April and by the
end of June nearly all were prepupae. Pre¬
pupae were found April 29 to August 15,
but first occurred in significant numbers the
end of June. Other workers have noted this
long prepupal period for Neophylax (Vor¬
hies, 1909; Lloyd, 1921). The pupal pe¬
riod appeared to be short, as pupae were
collected only on August 15.
Early instar larvae were found mostly on
stones 2 cm or larger. In currents less than
15 cm/sec larvae occurred on all faces of
stones, but in faster currents they sought the
downstream side or other sheltered areas.
They were frequently found on large stones
isolated in sandy stretches, and in spring
preferred larger rocks. A few individuals
were found on logs. Terminal instar larvae
were often found out of the water on rock
surfaces that were continually wetted.
Throughout the year, larvae were found in
a wide range of currents and depths.
Larvae pupated in the larval case, which
they attached chiefly to rocks 8 cm or
larger in currents ranging from pools to 30
cm/sec. In currents of 15-30 cm/sec pupae
were found mainly in sheltered areas on the
lateral and downstream sides of rocks; in
pools they occurred on all sides except the
bottom. Water depth did not limit distribu¬
tion, and some larvae pupated so close to
the water line that when the water level
dropped slightly during the summer they
became exposed and dried out.
Lepidostoma try anti (Banks) 1908a
Lepidostoma bryanti has been found in
all except the southeast corner of Wiscon¬
sin. In Parfrey’s Glen Creek it was less
abundant than the other two species of
40
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Lepidostoma. Adults were collected April
30 to June 27, with most emerging during
mid-June. They were found generally rest¬
ing on tree bark and in riparian vegetation.
First instar larvae were noticed first the
last week of June. They grew slowly
throughout the summer and 90% were still
in the third instar in late September. Growth
increased greatly in late autumn and by the
end of November more than half were in
the fifth instar. The winter was spent as
fourth or fifth instar larvae; by mid-March
almost all were in the fifth instar. Pupae
were found May 5 to May 28. Vorhies
(1909) noted that in Parfrey’s Glen Creek
pupae were abundant on June 1.
Except in autumn, larvae were found
exclusively in pools, the preferred sub¬
strate being leaf material and detritus. In
autumn, perhaps in response to an increased
need for food during their period of active
growth, larvae were found on the exterior
and beneath the bark of submerged logs,
and were common beneath leaves. A few
individuals were found in crevices or holes
in rocks isolated in sandy stretches. Water
depth did not limit distribution in any season.
Lepidostoma costalis (Banks) 1914b
Lepidostoma costalis was common in
Parfrey’s Glen Creek, but the only previ¬
ous Wisconsin record is from farther north
in Waushara County. Adults were collected
August 2 to September 18, mostly in the
last half of August. They were found most
commonly resting in bark fissures.
Larvae first appeared in mid-August and
grew slowly. Winter was spent as second
and third instar larvae. Active growth re¬
sumed in mid-April and by late June most
larvae were in the fifth instar. Prepupae
and pupae were found July 24 to August
15.
In late fall and winter, larvae were found
mostly in pools with a substrate of leaves
or detritus, but they were also present on
logs and in gravel. Larvae were found only
in areas where the current did not exceed
14 cm/sec; water depth did not limit dis¬
tribution. In spring, larvae were found in
currents of 15 to 30 cm/sec, clinging to
leaf jams in mid-stream or to rocks greater
than 6 cm in diameter. Those on stones were
either in crevices or on the bottom. As the
larvae grew they moved back to the pool
habitat and areas of very slow currents;
fourth and fifth instar larvae were found
only in these sites.
Pupae attached directly to vegetation in
currents up to 78 cm/sec. They also com¬
monly attached to the exterior of logs and
cracks and holes beneath the bark. Pupae
in pools were attached to pieces of bark,
twigs, or bits of leaves. Some attached to
lateral and downstream faces of rocks in
the middle of sandy stretches.
Lepidostoma griseum (Banks) 1911
Lepidostoma griseum has previously been
collected only from northern Wisconsin.
Although uncommon in Wisconsin, it was
the most common lepidostomatid in Par¬
frey’s Glen Creek. Adults were collected
August 12 to September 28, with most
emerging the last half of August. This flight
period is similar to that reported by Long-
ridge and Hilsenhoff (1973), Ellis (1962),
and Leonard and Leonard (1949b).
Early instar larvae were collected first on
October 16. Growth was slow throughout
the autumn, and winter was spent in the
second and third instar. Active growth re¬
sumed in late April and at the end of June
70% were in the fifth instar. Prepupae were
found on August 15; pupae occurred from
August 15 to November 6.
During autumn and winter, larvae oc¬
curred in pools and currents ranging up to
30 cm/sec. The preferred substrate in pools
was detritus; in riffles it was stones greater
than 8 cm in diameter. In spring, when
growth was most rapid, larvae concentrated
in pools that had leaves and detritus as a
substrate. Depth did not limit distribution
in any season.
Larval cases were constructed of organic
1979]
Karl and Hilsenhoff — Caddisflies of Parfrey’s Glen
41
material and were similar to those of L.
bryanti, but the cases of mature larvae dif¬
fered in being shorter and stockier. Early
instar larvae constructed cases entirely of
small sand grains. Some fourth and fifth
instar larval cases were mainly organic ma¬
terial, but even these always had at least a
few sand grains present.
Pupae were found in currents of 4 to 31
cm/sec. They were common in cracks and
holes in the bark of submerged logs, but
also occurred on the underside of stones 5
to 10 cm in diameter and in sheltered areas
on the lateral and downstream sides.
The three species of Lepidostoina co¬
existing in Parfrey’s Glen Creek were sep¬
arated temporally or spatially during pe¬
riods of active growth. L. bryanti larvae
grew most rapidly in summer and early au¬
tumn and by mid-autumn were in the fourth
or fifth instar. L. costalis and L. griseum
larvae grew most rapidly in late spring and
early summer, and were segregated during
this period, utilizing different habitats. L.
griseum occurred almost exclusively in
pools while L. costalis was most common
in areas of moderate current and stony sub¬
strates. During periods of slow growth or
pupation, no significant segregation of these
two species was evident.
Summary
The 17 species of caddisflies that inhabit
Parfrey’s Glen Creek represent a fauna that
is unusual in southern Wisconsin and more
representative of faunas in northern Wis¬
consin streams. The small size of the stream,
its low summer temperature (16.5°C), and
dense woodland setting are probably re¬
sponsible for maintenance of this fauna.
Species competing for the same resources
were found to be segregated either tempor¬
ally or spatially, permitting maximum use of
these resources and allowing many species
to coexist in the stream. Distribution of spe¬
cies within the stream results from a com¬
plex interaction of environmental factors,
of which current, substrate and food are
probably most important.
Literature Cited
Banks, N. 1905. Descriptions of new Nearctic
neuropteroid insects. Trans. Am. Entomol.
Soc. 32:1-20.
— - . 1908a. Some Trichoptera and allied
insects from Newfoundland. Psyche 15(4):
61-67.
- . 1908b. Neuropteroid insects-notes and
descriptions. Trans. Am. Entomol. Soc. 34:
255-267.
- . 1911. Descriptions of new species of
North American neuropteroid insects. Trans.
Am. Entomol. Soc. 37(4): 335-360.
- . 1914a. American Trichoptera-notes
and descriptions. Can. Entomol. 46:201-
205.
- . 1914b. American Trichoptera-notes
and descriptions. Can. Entomol. 46:261-
268.
Betten, C. 1934. The caddisflies or Trichoptera
of New York State. N.Y.S. Mus. Bull. 292:
1-576.
- . 1950. The genus Pycnopsyche (Tri¬
choptera). Ann. Entomol. Soc. Am. 43(4):
508-522.
Cummins, K. W. 1964. Factors limiting the
microdistribution of larvae of the caddis¬
flies Pycnopsyche lepida (Hagen) and Pyc¬
nopsyche guttifer (Walker) in a Michigan
stream. Ecol. Monogr. 34:271-295.
Denning, D. G. 1937. The biology of some
Minnesota Trichoptera. Trans. Am. Ento¬
mol. Soc. 63:17-44.
Ellis, R. J. 1962. Adult caddisflies (Trichop-
era) from Houghton Creek, Ogemaw
County, Michigan. Occ. Pap. Mus. Zool.
Univ. Mich. 624:1-16.
Feldmeth, C. R. 1970. The respiratory ener¬
getics of two species of stream caddisflies in
relation to water flow. Comp. Biochem.
Physiol. 32:193-202.
Flint, O. S. 1960. Taxonomy and biology of
nearctic Limnephilid larvae (Trichoptera)
with special reference to species in eastern
United States. Entomol. Am. 40:1-117.
- . 1961. The immature stages of the
Arctopsychinae occurring in Eastern North
America (Trichoptera: Hydropsychidae).
Ann. Entomol. Soc. Am. 54(1): 5-11.
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[Vol. 67
- . 1962. Larvae of the caddisfly genus
Rhyacophila in eastern North America
(Trichoptera: Limnephilidae). Proc. of U.S.
Nat. Mus. Smithsonian Institute 113:465-
493.
Gallepp, G. W. 1974. Behavioural ecology of
Brachycentrus occidentalis Banks during the
pupation period. Ecology 55(6): 1283-1294.
- . 1976. Temperature as a cue for the
periodicity in feeding of Brachycentrus oc¬
cidentalis ( Trichoptera ). Animal Behavior
24:7-10.
- and A. Hasler. 1975. Behavior of lar¬
val caddisflies (Brachycentrus spp.) as in¬
fluenced by marking. Am. Midi. Nat. 93:
247-254.
Hilsenhoff, W. L. 1974. The unusual larva
and habitat of Agabus confusus (Dytisci-
dae). Ann. Entomol. Soc. Am. 67:703-705.
- . 1975. Aquatic insects of Wisconsin.
Generic keys and notes on biology, ecology
and distribution. Tech. Bull. 89 Wisconsin
Dept, of Natural Resources.
Klapalek, F. 1892. Trichopterologicky Vyz-
kum Chech v.r. 1891. Ceska akademie
cisare Frantiska Josefa provedy, slovesnost
a umeni v Praze. Rozpravy 5:1-22.
Leonard, J. W. and F. A. Leonard. 1949a.
Noteworthy records of caddisflies from
Michigan, with descriptions of new species.
Occ. Papers. Mus. Zool. Univ. Mich. 520:
1-8, pis. 1-5.
- . 1949b. An annotated list of Michigan
Trichoptera. Occ. Papers Mus. Zool. Univ.
Mich. 522:1-35.
Linnaeus, C. 1758. Systema Naturae. Tenth
Edition. Stockholm.
Lloyd, J. T. 1921. The biology of North
American caddisfly larvae. Lloyd Lib. Bull.,
Entomol. Ser. 21: 1-124.
Longridge, J. L. and W. L. Hilsenhoff. 1973.
Annotated list of Trichoptera (Caddisflies)
in Wisconsin. Trans. Wise. Acad. Sci. Arts
and Letters 61:173-183.
McLachlan, R. 1871. On new forms etc., of
extra-European Trichopterous insects. J. of
the Linnean Soc. of London, Zoology 1 1 :
98-141.
Milne, L. J. 1936. Studies in North American
Trichoptera. Pt. 3, 56-128, with 2 pis. Cam¬
bridge, Mass.
Milne, M. J. 1938. The metamorphotype
method in Trichoptera. J. N. Y. Entomol.
Soc. 46: 435-437.
Ross, H. H. 1944. The caddisflies or Trichop¬
tera of Illinois. Ill. Nat. Hist. Surv. Bull.
23:1-326.
- . 1946. A review of the nearctic Lepi-
dostomatidae (Trichoptera). Ann. Entomol.
Soc. Am. 39: 265-290.
Schuhmacher, H. 1970. Untersuchungen zur
Taxonomie, Biologie und okologie einiger
Kocherliegenarten der Gattung Hydro¬
psyche Pictet (Insecta, Trichoptera). Int.
Revue ges. Hydrobiol. 55: 511-557.
Sedell, J. R. 1972. Trophic ecology and nat¬
ural history of Neophylax concinnus and
N. oligius. Diss. Abs. 5747-B.
Shapas, T. J. and W. L. Hilsenhoff. 1976.
Feeding habits of Wisconsin’s predominant
lotic Plecoptera, Ephemeroptera, and Tri¬
choptera. Great Lakes Entomol. 9:175-188.
Tebo, L. B., Jr. and W. W. Hassler. 1961.
Seasonal abundance of aquatic insects in
western North Carolina trout streams. J.
Elisha Mitchell Scient. Soc. 77:249-259.
Vorhies, C. T. 1905. Habits and anatomy of
the larvae of the caddisfly. Platyphylax des¬
ignate Walker. Trans. Wise. Acad. Sci.
Arts Letters 15:108-123.
- . 1909. Studies on the Trichoptera of
Wisconsin. Trans. Wise. Acad. Sci. Arts
Letters 16:647-738.
Walker, F. 1852. Catalogue of the specimens
of neuropterous insects in the collection of
the British Museum. Pt. I. 192 pp. London.
Webb, D. W. 1974. New Species of Panorpa
(Mecoptera: Panorpidae). Entomol. News.
85:171-173.
Wynn, S. and O. Loucks. 1975. A social and
environmental history of human impact on
Parfrey’s Glen. Trans. Wise. Acad. Sci. Arts
Letters 43:26-54.
GARRISON LIFE IN THE NOVELS OF CHARLES KING
Kathryn Whitford
Department of English
University of Wisconsin — Milwaukee
Life in the “Old Army” of the Indian
Wars has been admirably documented in
such books as Forty Miles a Day on Beans
and Hay and Frontier Regulars, both of
which treat the enlisted soldier primarily as
a fighting man, despite the inclusion of brief
episodes of garrison life.1 More recently
Glittering Misery has made a conscientious
effort to document the garrison life of of¬
ficers’ dependents in their sometimes heroic
efforts to maintain islands of civilization on
the western frontier.2 But Glittering Misery
by the sheer painstaking research that went
into its composition, chiefly proves how lit¬
tle evidence remains for a reconstruction of
garrison life among the officer class. The
reasons for that state of affairs are not far to
seek. First, of the innumerable letters that
were written to mothers and friends back
east, only a small portion has survived and
few of those contain the kind of information
historians desire. Second, officers’ wives,
after all, were no more likely to be gifted
correspondents than the general proportion
of educated women. And third, much of
what historians now wish to know were the
commonplaces of garrison social life and
were omitted because of their very famili¬
arity.
On the other hand, when officers or their
wives wrote for publication they designed
their works for an Eastern audience which
wanted to read of Indians and picturesque
frontiersmen rather than the problems of
educating children in Wyoming or Arizona.
Probably neither men nor women habitu¬
ated to garrison life foresaw a day when
army social rituals enacted in the wilderness
would seem as exotic as the Indian rituals
they supplanted. Moreover, publishing
memoirs was complicated by conventions
decreeing that few people could be named
in such memoirs and circumscribing what
could be said even of those. Nineteenth
century decorum threw a fierce privacy
about a “good” woman. Even in conversa¬
tion a gentleman spoke only of “my wife”
or “Mrs. _ He never employed her
given name except among her intimates.
He could not describe his wife’s activities
or those of other officers’ wives without
giving offense. In consequence even married
officers so completely omitted accounts of
social life from their recollections that on
a first reading their books appear to have
been written by bachelors.3
In the absence of detailed and even gos¬
sipy diaries, perhaps the best pictures of
garrison life available to historians today
are those created by the Milwaukee novel¬
ist, General Charles King (1844-1933)
who had served in the Indian fighting army
before turning author. General King was
the son of the editor of the Milwaukee
Sentinel He grew up in Milwaukee and
began his military career by serving as an
aide to his father, General Rufus King, dur¬
ing the Civil War. He subsequently grad¬
uated from West Point, served briefly as an
instructor there, and after being stationed
at New Orleans requested assignment to
Arizona where he took part in the Apache
campaign of 1874. He was severely wound¬
ed at Sunset Pass and awarded the Silver
Star for “gallantry in action” at Diamond
Butte. His regiment, the 5th cavalry, moved
to Wyoming for the Sioux campaign of
1876-77 during which King was promoted
to Captain and shortly thereafter retired
because of disability due to his earlier
wounds. He returned to Milwaukee where,
because his account Campaigning with
43
44
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Crook had been published by the Sentinel,4
he already enjoyed a literary as well as
military reputation, and turned to novel
writing as a means of supplementing his re¬
tirement pay. He was recalled to service
during the Spanish American War, serving
in San Francisco and Manila and participat¬
ing in the defense of Manila during the
Philippine Insurrection which followed.
Once more he returned to Milwaukee and
novel writing. Although he was active in
the Wisconsin National Guard and trained
troops for World War I he was not per¬
mitted to go overseas in that war. He re¬
mained a familiar figure in military and
social circles in Milwaukee until his death
in 1933.
He employed all his military experience
in the approximately sixty volumes of nov¬
els, stories, and histories which he published
during his lifetime, but his best and most
interesting novels are those laid on the
Great Plains or in Arizona during the years
1871-78, particularly the group of novels in
which he follows the fortunes of a cavalry
regiment, rather like the 5th Cavalry, from
Arizona to Wyoming.5 In these novels he
drew heavily upon his own experiences and,
in fact, probably appears in them in the
secondary role of Billings, the adjutant.6
Because he unabashedly wrote to make
money, King developed a fool-proof plot
formula which combined a garrison love
story with one or more episodes in which
the cavalry is hotly engaged against hostile
Indians, thus assuring his readership among
both men and women. When his garrison
plots are stripped of such obvious plot de¬
vices as concealed identities, mistaken iden¬
tities and service in the field, a reader dis¬
covers that a fourth reason so few officers’
wives kept diaries or wrote their recollec¬
tions was the same reason that drove
trooper Charles E. Springer to discontinue
his daily journal, “to repeat day for day the
life of a frontier garrison in winter is no
charm.”7 Winter or summer, garrison life
was more notable for its sameness than its
variety. The degree of hardship undergone
in following one’s officer husband might
vary with the distance to the nearest rail¬
head; the chief discomfort might be heat or
cold, sandstorms or blizzards, depending
upon the geographical location of the fort;
there might be many women or few, de¬
pending upon the size and remoteness of
the fort; but army routine and army proto¬
col were the same. Everywhere their hus¬
bands were posted, the women awakened
to the same bugle notes and made the same
duty calls among virtually the same people.
In King’s novels, whether laid in Arizona
or on the great plains, it is the routine and
predicability of garrison life which forms
the background for the action of the plots
and, in fact, sometimes sets the plots in mo¬
tion. Ennui drives garrison inhabitants to
seek new amusements and focuses their at¬
tention upon minor infractions of social or
military convention.
Even the passage of years did not alter
army routine; although it added new forts
to the frontiers and slowly and subtly
changed the composition of the officer
corps.
In King’s early novels, the majors and
colonels who commanded posts were usu¬
ally veterans of the Civil War who had
risen to command by service in the Union
Army. Among them were men who held
brevet rank considerably higher than their
permanent army rank. Men such as these,
without formal military training, might be
admired by their troopers, but in King’s
novels were eyed askance by their subordi¬
nate West Point officers unless they were
truly exceptional commanders.8 The young
first and second lieutenants and some of the
captains were usually West Point graduates,
often the sons of army officers who, like
King himself, were carrying on a family
military tradition. The social uneasiness
generated by a situation in which the West
Point men were often outranked by men
they considered their social inferiors was
not dissipated until, with the passage of
1979]
Whitford — Garrison Life in the Novels of Charles King
45
time, King’s West Point heroes rose to com¬
mand. Under those conditions an officer’s
wife needed the diplomatic skills of an am¬
bassador to prevent being drawn into one
camp or another, but such social manuever-
ing is a subject better fitted for a novel than
for memoirs.
King wrote about the officer class not
only because it was the class he knew best
but probably because as Fred Dustin has
commented, “In 1876 the average enlisted
man counted for little: in the army he was
only a number on the rolls. By the com¬
fortable civilian he was despised.’’9 King
created a few vivid and sympathetic
sketches of cavalry troopers but he almost
completely ignored their wives. Although
there was an area of each post known as
“sudsville” it constituted an entirely sep¬
arate social entity. Even when, as in the
novel Captain Blake , troopers and their
wives attended a play produced by the
officers, they were seated in a separate sec¬
tion from that reserved for officers and their
wives.10
Although in King’s garrison novels,
money was never an acceptable substitute
for courage or breeding, officers were ex¬
pected to have private means by which to
supplement their pay. It was axiomatic that
a lieutenant could hardly maintain himself,
much less a wife and family, upon his of¬
ficer’s pay. Precisely because garrison life
was remote, it was also costly. Household
goods had to be transported long distances
and were expensive upon the frontier. In
addition there were visits to be made to
aging parents, and son and daughters to be
sent away to appropriate Eastern schools.
The sons in these novels often followed in
their father’s footsteps at West Point. The
women vacationed near West Point in or¬
der to visit their sons and brothers and to
meet eligible young officers. As a result of
army marriages, garrison society was knit
not only by bonds of comradeship but by
ties of blood.
The education of officer’s daughters was
obtained in good finishing schools rather
than colleges. None of the women in King’s
novels was bookish, although a few of the
young officers had scholarly interests. In
fact, although army wives supervised the
children’s lessons, in King's novels they
were rarely seen with books in their hands
except when reading to invalids. Neither
did they do much sewing, usually buying or
ordering their clothes on trips to Chicago
or New York. Paris couture was a matter
for comment, but dresses from the East
were commonplace.
Officers’ daughters became officers’ wives
at 18 or 19 in many cases, so that in these
novels they were often ten years younger
than their husbands. Families, however,
were small and that fact combined with the
presence of servants freed the women from
the demands of domesticity. Many of the
women rode well and several of the wives
who had grown up in frontier garrisons
could handle a Smith and Wesson revolver
competently. These were women whom
King and the garrison unanimously ap¬
proved.
Once married, King’s heroines conducted
their domestic lives in a succession of adobe
or drab frame houses constructed by army
labor. Most of them were built as double
houses with a common wall.11 They varied
somewhat in overall size and in the number
of bedrooms, but all were shaded by ver¬
andas facing the parade ground. They usu¬
ally ended in lean-to kitchens giving upon
small yards bounded by a low fence. They
had at best only partial basements, or cel¬
lars. In summer the wooden walls cracked
and peeled under the heat of the plains
winds; in winter the foundations were
banked with straw and the snowdrifts piled
to the second story. Gales from the moun¬
tains swayed the Navajo blankets (brought
from Arizona) hanging across the interior
doorways, despite storm sashes and the
layer of cotton stuffed around the windows.
The carpets, stretched over several thick¬
nesses of newspaper, rose and bellied under
46
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
the force of winter winds. Parlor and
kitchen stoves provided heat and kerosene
lamps, light, during the long winter eve¬
nings. The cry of “fire” echoes through
General King’s novels somewhat monoto¬
nously, but undoubtedly reflects an ever¬
present danger. Whether because of the pos¬
sibility of fire or because there was no
suitable storage place provided, in at least
two of King’s novels the family silver seems
to have been kept in a box or basket under
the bed when it was not used for entertain¬
ing.12
Such were the houses available to the
officers and their wives. And even these
were assigned by rank. One house, the
largest and best, was designated for the
Colonel commanding. Two houses, on
larger posts, might be generally considered
to belong to the majors. Thereafter the
captains chose their quarters in order based
on the date of their promotions. The 1st
Lieutenants followed, also in order of pro¬
motion and finally the 2nd Lieutenants, al¬
most invariably bachelors, doubled up in
the houses no superior had claimed. An of¬
ficer newly transferred to a post had “bump¬
ing rights” over all his subordinates so that
he had the power to set off an elaborate
series of housing shifts each giving rise to
politely concealed ill-will. King illustrates
the operation of this ritual when an entire
regiment was assigned to a new post.
The bachelor officers pitched tents on the
parade and placidly waited their turn to
choose quarters, a ceremony which im¬
pressed Miss Leroy as something incompre¬
hensible. It was not easy to make her realize
just why Captain Ray couldn’t move Mrs.
Ray and the baby boys up from the hotel
until Captain Freeman had chosen, and why
Mrs. Blake should remain at Cheyenne near
her old home until the Trusc'otts and Rays
had settled on what houses they would take.
(They wanted the big double brick next but
one to the Colonel’s, but were afraid to
move in, lest the new surgeon ordered out
from Omaha should take a fancy to that
very set.)13
It is no wonder that seasoned army wives
like Mrs. Stannard who appears in many of
King’s novels learned to live with as few
chattels as possible. But beyond the incon¬
venience of housing shifts there was another
cruder consequence of the limited post
housing. An officer killed in action was
promptly replaced on post. That meant that
his widow was forced to vacate her house,
leaving behind not only the army life that
she knew but the friends who could best
understand her grief and bewilderment.14
In addition to the officers and their fami¬
lies, garrison houses often accommodated
live-in servants. Bachelor officers had army
strikers to serve them, but married men em¬
ployed either a combination cook and
housemaid or both. In families with chil¬
dren a nursemaid was not uncommon. Such
servants were drawn from diverse sources,
but the majority of the servants in King’s
novels were Irish. Sometimes a veteran
trooper no longer fit for military service
took civilian service with an officer in order
to stay with the life he knew. The wives
and daughters of troopers were also em¬
ployed by officers’ households, but since
many of the troopers were Irish they and
their families merely swelled the Irish ser¬
vant brigade. These servants were impor¬
tant in King’s novels, as they probably were
in life, because they provided a channel of
unofficial communication between the
troops and the officers’ households. They
formed an excitable, gregarious society
from which the Blacks, Chinese and the oc¬
casional Indian girl were largely excluded.
However an immeasurable gulf separated a
pretty Irish servant girl from the daughter
of the house. The servant girl could be
courted by troopers; the daughter of the
house only by officers. Despite the scarcity
of women on post, in King’s novels no
young officer ever falls in love with an
1979]
Whitford — Garrison Life in the Novels of Charles King
47
Irish servant girl. On the other hand, Mrs.
Snaffle and Mrs. Wilkins, captain’s wives,
lapse into brogue when excited, thus sug¬
gesting that officers of an earlier generation
had been less fastidious.15
The lives of all these people, officers,
troopers, wives and servants, moved to the
measure of trumpet calls and focused, in
good weather at least, upon the parade
ground. Each day began with the boom of
the morning gun and ended with the sunset
gun. Between those events the trumpet
called Reveille, Stables (this was a cavalry
regiment), Sick call and Fatigue, Boots and
Saddles for morning parade, Adjutant’s call,
Guard mounting, Drill call, Recall, Dinner,
Squad drill, Company drill, Stables, Retreat
and Evening Dress Parade.16 After the Sun¬
set Gun it called Tattoo, and Lights Out,
although those calls spoke only to the bar¬
racks. No village clock ever regulated lives
as rigidly as did those trumpet calls. They
also had power to disrupt lives — to sound
“officers call” or more importunately “the
General” (general assembly) at any hour;
thus sending troops and their officers to
intercept Indians off reservations, to relieve
some beleaguered stage station, or to quell
riots in town. In King’s novels men wel¬
comed “the General” almost as fervidly as
women dreaded it.
As the day was ordered by trumpets so
the night was divided by sentry calls. The
sentries posted on the perimeter of the gar¬
rison did not walk beats which met. Instead,
at regular intervals, they called off and the
sound moved in order around the post. Like
Tattoo and Lights Out the call of the sen¬
tries did not concern most of the officers,
but only the Officer of the Guard.
For the other officers and their wives
evening parade signalled a transition from
business to pleasure, from army time to
time that might be called their own. Eve¬
ning parade was not only a military but a
social event. The women of Officers Row,
freshly dressed and at leisure before dinner,
sat on the verandas facing the parade or
strolled from house to house to exchange
the day’s news, to admire their husbands in
dress uniform to watch parade and listen
to the band. Even small posts maintained a
band and large forts such as Russell and
Cushing prided themselves on the excel¬
lence of their music. As parade broke up,
the officers, released from their day’s rou¬
tine, had time to join their wives and
friends. Courtesy required that all acquain¬
tances be acknowledged and since everyone
knew everyone else the way homeward was
more social than military.
Bachelor officers might go to the post or
trader’s store, there to get a drink and settle
down for an evening of poker. Married of¬
ficers sometimes joined them briefly. Al¬
though a room at the store was usually the
only approximation of an Officers’ Club,
the officers who spent too much time there
were suspect in King’s novels. If married,
they were assumed to frequent the club be¬
cause they did not get along with their
wives; if single, because they were unable
to command invitations to the better homes
on the post. The cardroom, King implied,
attracted grumblers, created ill will, and
fomented the male equivalent of female
gossip.
Generally the social life of the Garrison
was orderly, decorous, and predictable.
There were frequent invitations to dine, but
since rooms were small, dinner parties of
more than ten were practically unknown.
However there was a great deal of casual
calling and stated occasions when formal
calls were de rigeur. Thus dinner required
a proper dinner call the following day. All
guests in the garrison and all new families
posted to the fort were to be called upon
immediately. Engagements, birthdays and
promotions required calls of congratulation,
and bereavement calls of sympathy. All
these were the common courtesies of a
somewhat formal age, and would have been
conducted equally punctiliously by ladies
48
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
and gentlemen in any Eastern city. How¬
ever, garrison social life produced some dis¬
tinctive patterns. For one thing many of
the wives, all in fact of the most admirable
in King’s eyes, did not entertain while their
husbands were off on campaign. When
three or four troops were out of the fort
this convention necessarily created periods
of social doldrums even during the winter,
when the social season was at its height.
During the summer, the usual campaign
season, the effect was exaggerated by the
fact that many wives summered in the East.
When wives returned in the fall they often
brought guests to spend the winter. One
might suspect that the number of attractive
feminine guests thus introduced to fort so¬
ciety was merely a device employed to pro¬
vide the love interest General King required
for his plots. However, a story which might
have been written by General King himself
is contained in the memoirs of General
Cruse. His wife’s sixteen year old sister
spent the winter at Fort Lowell, was courted
by Lt. Hodgson over the family objections
that she was too young, and married her
cavalry officer the following year.17
The Custer’s, also, apparently made a
practice of inviting pretty girls for extended
visits.18 Thus Elizabeth Custer’s narratives
of life in the Plains forts serve to substan¬
tiate the pretty roommates, cousins and
nieces who enliven garrison life in King’s
novels.
For entertainment these girls were of¬
fered dinners with the middle aged, the
spectacle of parade, informal evening par¬
ties, escorted rides into the surrounding
country, skating on the Platte, sleigh rides
after sufficient snowfall, band concerts, an
occasional formal German and even ama¬
teur theatricals. In suitable fall weather
there might also be a jack rabbit hunt over
the hills, ending in a picnic to which the
ladies who neither rode nor hunted were
conveyed by ambulance. The chief enter¬
tainments, however, were the frequent in¬
formal dances, or hops. When young Mrs.
Turner complained bitterly that the hops,
held almost nightly in Arizona, were less
frequent in the Wyoming garrisons, Mrs.
Stannard explained that in Arizona the
band had not been mounted and therefore
did not have to attend morning and evening
stables.19 Therefore, evening duty for hops
was not an unreasonable demand upon
them. Since the bands in Wyoming were
mounted, nightly hops would be an unwar¬
rantable imposition even though hops broke
up early. In fact all the social life of the
garrison except the most formal dances
ended by eleven or twelve o’clock. The
army world believed in early to bed and
early to rise. Stable call, attended by the of¬
ficers, sounded at 6:00 a.m.
Although much of an officer’s life was
regulated by official duties and protocol
there was another, generally female, side of
garrison life not subject to official rules.
Secrets and news, passing through official
channels among the men, passed also from
veranda to veranda among the women, and
from kitchen to kitchen among the cooks.
Cut off from their families women sup¬
ported each other through illnesses and
bereavements. Their hospitality was bound¬
less, for new faces and new conversation
were both welcome means of enlivening
garrison social life. Not only were guests
invited for months, but the same generosity
was extended to the relatives of bachelor
officers, to wives until they were settled on
a post and to young officers convalescing
from wounds. Women lent silver, dishes
and recipes, sat with invalids, encouraged
courtships, wrote innumerable letters link¬
ing garrison to garrison and frontier to
families in the East, mentored young offi¬
cers, read weeks old newspapers, and spec¬
ulated on their next removal. In such en¬
terprises the women were restrained only
by their own discretion and their husbands’
authority. And therein lay the danger.
Duane N. Greene wrote in a sketch of
army life that “The most discordant garri¬
sons are those comprising the greatest num-
1979]
Whit ford — Garrison Life in the Novels of Charles King
49
ber of ladies.”20 Novelist King, despite his
frequent praise for Officers’ wives who left
comfortable Eastern homes to follow the
cavalry into frontier garrisons, tends to sub¬
stantiate Greene’s pronouncement. Women
were at the root of almost all garrison trou¬
ble in his novels. Mrs. Pelham interferred
in the promotions and leaves granted her
husband’s men.21 Mrs. Turner gossiped un¬
til her husband’s friends one by one de¬
serted him.22 Mrs. Wilkins was the terror
of social engagements despite her warm
heart.23 Nanette Flower proved a spy and a
traitor24 and Mrs. Granger enthralled
Tommy Hollis and Captain Blake for her
own ends.25 Younger women disrupted the
post by their very presence — -two of them
attracted undesirable kinsmen to the area
of the fort.26 Other girls evoked rivalries
between officers. It may seem unreason¬
able to include male rivalries in the list of
women’s derelictions, but King himself
raised the issue in Marion's Faith when he
wrote “Things were in almost as eruptive a
state at Russell ... as they had been at old
Sandy during the Pelham regime, only —
only who could this time say there was a
woman at the bottom of it? And yet was it
not Gleason’s unrequited attention to our
heroine that prompted much of the trou¬
ble?”27
Taken altogether the roles of women in
General King’s novels are fairly unambigu¬
ous. The women he admired, the women he
assigned to his heroic officers as rewards for
valor and patience, proved to be fine wives,
but they served the garrison by their discre¬
tion and their adoption of the officer’s code.
They became army. Other women, and even
those before their marriages, were sources
of disruption. Since the army could not drill
women into shape like a slack cavalry
troop, it was with a sense of real relief on
the part of both author and characters that
men took the field. Once on campaign the
desirability of order and discipline became
self-evident and the foe could be neatly
identified by his warpaint. When King’s
officers responded to “the General” they
moved from a world complicated by women
to the simpler, if more violent, world of
primal landscapes and single purposes. In
King’s novels they went gladly, for as Cap¬
tain Ray, one of King’s chief heroes an¬
nounced profoundly, “Garrison life and
girls spoil many a good cavalryman.”28
Notes
1 Don Rickey Jr., Forty Miles a Day on Beans
and Hay (Norman, Oklahoma, 1963), Robert
M. Utley, Frontier Regulars (New York, 1973).
2 Patricia Y. Stallard, Glittering Misery, De¬
pendents of the Indian Fighting Army (San
Rafael, California, 1978).
3 General Crook refers to “Mrs. Crook” only
in two consecutive paragraphs. General George
Crook , his Autobiography ed. Martin F. Schmitt
(Norman, Oklahoma, 1946) p. 155. General
Miles refers once to “my wife” and once, men¬
tioning the Custers at Fort Hays, says “Mrs. Miles
being with me, we frequently met them socially
and enjoyed many hunts and pleasure parties
together.” Nelson A. Miles, Personal Recollec¬
tions of General Nelson A. Miles (New York,
1969) pp. 151, 256. George A. Custer, My Life
on the Plains (Norman, Oklahoma, 1962) refers
to his wife once as “Mrs. Custer” and once as
“my wife,” pp. 68, 66.
4 Campaigning with Crook was first published
serially in the Sentinel and then in a paperbound
edition (Milwaukee, 1880 before being published
by Harper and Brothers, New York, 1890.
5 Charles King, The Colonel’s Daughter (Phila¬
delphia, 1882). Charles King, Marion’s Faith
(Philadelphia, 1886). Charles King, Captain
Blake (Philadelphia, 1892). Although the char¬
acters introduced in The Colonel’s Daughter ap¬
pear in, or are mentioned in, other novels by
King, the three listed here are the most important
to the history of King’s fictitious regiment.
0 For King’s employment of his own experiences
see Harry H. Anderson, “Home and Family as
sources of Charles King’s Fiction,” Milwaukee
County Historical Society Historical Messenger ”
31:68 (Summer, 1975).
1 Charles E. Springer, Soldiering in Sioux Coun¬
try, ed. Benjamin Franklin Cooling III (San
Diego, 1970), p. 73.
8 In King, Marion’s Faith, Colonel Whaling
and his wife are condescended to by almost all
the cavalry officers. Also in Charles King, Ray’s
Recruit (Philadelphia, 1898) Capt. Mainwaring
is a decent officer whose selfconsciousness about
50
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
his lack of formal education makes him the butt
of some of the younger officers’ humor.
9 Fred Dustin, in W. A. Graham, The Custer
Myth (New York, 1953), p. 369.
10 King, Captain Blake, p. 190.
11 The composite description derived from
King's novels can be compared with the following
descriptions from the annual inspection of public
buildings which appears in Richard Upton, Fort
Custer on the Big Horn (Glendale, California,
1973).
No. 6. Commanding Officer’s Quarters, frame,
single set, IVi stories, size 42 by 36 feet, four
rooms on each floor; “L” to same embracing
kitchen, pantry, closets, with attic chamber; size
20 by 16 feet. Porch in front.
No. 1 to 5, and 7 to 11. Officer’s quarters,
frame, ten double sets, IVi stories, size 48 feet
by 46 feet six inches, six rooms on first and
four rooms on second floor; “L” to same, size
34 by 14 feet embracing two kitchens, with pan-
tries, closets and attic chambers. Porch in front.”
p. 280.
12 Charles King, A Daughter of the Sioux (New
York, 1903), p. 215 and Charles King, A Gar¬
rison Tangle (New York, 1896), p. 163.
53 King, Ray’s Recruit, p. 102.
14 Mrs. Farrar is widowed in Charles King’s
Fort Frayne (New York, 1895), Mrs. Turner in
Captain Blake and Mrs. Winn in Charles King’s
A Trooper Galahad (Philadelphia, 1898).
15 Charles King, Lanier of the Cavalry (Phila¬
delphia, 1892) and The Colonel’s Daughter.
30 This list (which is not exhaustive) is based
on a list of calls in Charles King, Trials of a Staff
Officer (Philadelphia, 1895), p. 15.
17 Thomas Cruse, Apache Days and After
(Caldwell, Idaho, 1941), pp. 181, 191.
18 Elizabeth Bacon Custer, Tenting on the
Plains, 1887 (reprinted Williamstown, Massa¬
chusetts, 1973) p. 208.
19 King, Marion’s Faith, p. 35.
20 Duane N. Greene, Ladies and Officers of the
United States Army; or American Aristocracy, A
Sketch of the Social Life and Character of the
Army (Chicago, 1880).
21 King, The Colonel’s Daughter .
22 King, Captain Blake.
23 King, The Colonel’s Daughter.
24 King, A Daughter of the Sioux.
25 King, Captain Blake.
20 King, A Garrison Tangle, Lanier of the Cav¬
alry.
27 King, Marion’s Faith, p. 314.
28 King, Ray’s Recruit, p. 40.
AGENTS OF THREE NATIONS IN THE
FOX RIVER VALLEY, 1634 TO 1840
Charles D. Goff
Department of Political Science
University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh
While explorers, fur traders, Indians,
priests and a very few white settlers were
the major actors in the early history of the
Fox Valley, an impressive number of note¬
worthy events were set in motion by people
carrying out the policies of distant govern¬
ments.
French Era Travelers Through the
Fox Valley 1634-1763
The first government to wield any sov¬
ereign authority in the present-day Fox Val¬
ley of northeastern Wisconsin was the colo¬
nial government of French Canada. Perma¬
nent French settlements were established at
Quebec in 1608, Three Rivers in 1634 and
Montreal in 1642. Only twenty-six years
elapsed from the founding of Quebec to the
day when Jean Nicolet, an official emissary
of Governor Champlain, fired his pistols and
wore his finest damask robe to impress Win¬
nebago Indians at Red Banks northeast of
Green Bay. Nicolet’s arrival within the
boundaries of present-day Wisconsin was
the first expression of European authority in
the Fox Valley wilderness.
The first reference on any map to the Fox
River Valley was a map drawn by Jean
Boisseau at Paris in 1643 which shows the
Fox River (Riviere des Puans), Lake Win¬
nebago (Lac des Puans), and the tribal re¬
gion in which the Winnebagoes resided in
1643 (La Nahon des Puans). The map ref¬
erences to the Winnebagoes presumably
came from hearsay reports obtained by
Nicolet from Indians familiar with the top¬
ography of the Fox Valley.1
The first official agents of governmental
action in the Fox Valley appear to have
been the seven members of the Louis Joliet
expedition. Joliet and his interpreter-cartog¬
rapher-chaplain associate, Father Jacques
Marquette voyaged up the Fox River in late
May and early June of 1673 at the order
of Canadian Intendant Talon to investigate
reports that there was a great river in the
west of New France called the Mississippi.2
Father Marquette’s map accurately shows
the Fox-Wisconsin river system including
Lakes Winnebago and Butte des Morts, in¬
dicates the Wolf River and sketches cor¬
rectly the Illinois River from the Mississippi
(R. de la Conception) to Lake Michigan
(Lac des Illinois).
The first large scale governmental action
within the Fox Valley was the invasion in
1716 by a French military expedition during
the First Fox War. The French “army” was
organized at the order of Canadian Gover¬
nor Philippe Vaudreuil and commanded by
the King’s Lieutenant at Quebec, French
Army Major Louis de la Porte, Sieur de
Louvigny. The force consisted of some 225
French soldiers and fur traders, and 600
armed Indians, two brass cannon and a brass
grenade mortar. Louvigny’s orders were to
clear the Fox River of all hostile blockading
forces, including a fortification of the Fox
Indians located on the southwestern shore
of Big Lake Butte des Morts.
The Fox fort, some four miles west of
the present-day site of Oshkosh and a short
way east of the main Fox village on Big
Lake Butte des Morts was described by
Father Pierre F. X. Charlevoix, the expedi¬
tion’s chaplain, to his Jesuit superiors, as a
“sort of fort surrounded by three ranges of
oak palisades with a good ditch in the rear.”
Both Louvigny and Charlevoix said the Fox
fort was garrisoned by 500 warriors (300
51
52
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
additional warriors were absent on a war
party) and 3,000 women.
Louvigny bombarded the Fox fort with
his two cannon and grenade mortar, until
“On the third day . . . while I was preparing
to undermine their works by placing mine
boxes under their wall the Foxes proposed
terms of capitulation . . . and I . . . con¬
cluded peace with the Foxes.3
Records of Louvigny’s siege do not indi¬
cate the fort’s exact location, but in “The
Bell Site: an early Fox village” archaeolo¬
gist Warren Wittry reported finding iron
grenade fragments on the southwest shore
of Lake Butte des Morts, thus suggesting
that:
“. . . this site might be the one attacked by
Louvigny in 1716 ... So far as is known to
the writer, the grenades fired by Louvigny
are the only ones ever shot in central Wis¬
consin. . . .”4
The First Fox War ended in 1716 and
the Second Fox War began in 1728, largely
because the Foxes, according to Father
Charlevoix:
“infested with their robberies and filled with
murders not only the neighborhood of
Green Bay, their natural territory, but al¬
most all the routes communicating with the
remote (French) colonial posts.”5
Canadian Governor-General Beauharnois,
desiring to end the Fox Indians outrages,
believing French lives must not go un¬
avenged and being determined to overawe
both the Iroquois and the Foxes by a bril¬
liant stroke, sent a second military force
to present Winnebago County in the sum¬
mer of 1728. Commanded by Constant
Marchand, Sieur de Lignery this force, con¬
sisting of 400 French and 1,100-1,200 In¬
dians left Mackinac August 10, 1728 and
advanced along Green Bay in bateaux and
canoes (Fig. 1). Lignery provoked and then
defeated the Menominees on August 15th
and reached the west end of Big Lake Butte
des Morts by August 25th.6
Having had timely notice of the French
army’s approach, and lacking warriors to
match Lignery’s force, the Foxes retreated
up the Fox River and into the forests west
of Omro, where Lignery felt it imprudent
to pursue them.
Fig. 1. This “Map of the Land of the Savage Foxes,” was published in 1730 by Gaspard
Chaussegros de Lery, to illustrate his account of the Lignery expedition’s attack in 1728 on
the fort of the Fox Indians, then resident on Big Lake Butte des Morts and Lake Winnebago
in east central Wisconsin. De Lery's map appears to be the first to show details of the Fox
River valley including vicinities of present day Omro, Oshkosh, Appleton, Kaukauna, and
Green Bay. Source: L. P. Kellogg, French Regime in Wisconsin (1925), 314.
1979]
Goff — -Three Nations in the Fox River Valley
53
Lignery remained at Lake Butte des
Morts only briefly because his army had to
return to Montreal before the rivers froze
and the first snows fell. Consequently he
was able only to burn the Fox villages and
destroy their unharvested cornfields and
gardens. In retreating down to Green Bay,
Lignery withdrew the La Baye garrison
and burned the fort since his expedition
had chiefly succeeded in infuriating the
Foxes without inflicting significant damage.
Lignery concluded that the small fort at
Green Bay would not be able to defend it¬
self against the certainty of revenge attacks
in the following fall and winter.7
Weighed on a scale of military success or
failure, it would seem that it was the Foxes,
not the French who were victorious. Ac¬
tually, a delayed consequence of Lignery’s
invasion of 1728 was that the Fox Confed¬
eracy of anti-French tribes suddenly began
to crumble. News came to the Fox villages
on Lake Butte des Morts that their Kicka-
poo and Mascouten allies had made peace
with the Illinois Indians. At the same time
the Sioux refused to continue their agree¬
ment to grant the Foxes refuge in Sioux
country if they could not resist the onslaught
of the French. Perhaps most upsetting to the
Foxes was the fact that Montreal was
crowded in 1729 with delegates from west¬
ern tribes of the upper Great Lakes, all de¬
claring their love for the French and their
hatred for the Foxes.
Canadian Governor Beauharnois now
changed his commander. Paul Marin, former
commandant at Fort La Baye was selected
to lead a third expedition against the Foxes
in 1729. Marin’s party left Montreal in the
summer of 1729 but he came only as far
west and south as the vicinity of former Fort
La Baye, where he wintered. Early in the
spring of 1730 a great military opportunity
suddenly presented itself to Marin. A por¬
tion of the Winnebago who had deserted the
Fox confederacy returned to their village
site on Doty Island in Lake Winnebago and
were suddenly attacked by a large force of
Foxes. Marin’s party hurried to the assis¬
tance of the Winnebagoes with a force of
Menominees and a few fur traders. After
five days of grim fighting the Foxes broke
off their attack during the night.8
Disasters now began to fall on the Foxes
like hailstones. One was an incredible effort
in 1730 to move the entire tribe to present-
day New York state to seek refuge among
the Iroquois who had long solicited their
alliance and had offered them asylum. This
effort was thwarted by the cooperation of
the French settlements at St. Joseph and
Detroit, Michigan; in the Illinois Valley; at
Vincennes, Indiana and Miami, Ohio, which
raised a combined force of 1,400 French
and Indians to besiege the Foxes who had
halted and erected a fort on the Illinois
prairie on an eastern branch of the Kas-
kaskia River. The Foxes defended their
position for 23 days, abandoning it under
cover of darkness and a storm on September
9, 1730. Next day, the Foxes, burdened
with their families, were overtaken and two
or three hundred warriors with an equal
number of women and children were mas¬
sacred. Four or five hundred more were
captured and scattered as slaves among the
Indian allies of the French. Only several
hundred Foxes escaped and fled back to
Wisconsin.9
Another disaster befell the Foxes in the
winter of 1731-32 when Governor Beau¬
harnois connived at the departure from
Montreal of a war party of mission Indians
who came to Wisconsin to “eat up Rey¬
nards.” Proceeding part of the way over¬
land on snow shoes, the mission Indians
attacked a Fox village of fifty cabins on the
Mississippi River about five miles above
the mouth of the Wisconsin River, killing
or capturing 300, only “thirty ‘true’ Rey¬
nards” escaping.10
It was a poignant disaster for the Foxes
when war chief Kiala and three fellow chiefs
surrendered themselves to Commandant Vil-
liers at Fort La Baye as hostages to the
French, in the hope the remainder of the
54
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Fox tribe would be spared. Instead of being
merciful, Governor Beauharnois condemned
the Fox chiefs to a slow death by chain
gang labor and tropical heat at a sugar cane
plantation on Martinique.11
The crowning Fox disaster came in Sep¬
tember, 1733. Captain Villiers returned to
Fort La Baye with orders from Governor
Beauharnois to exterminate all remaining
Foxes; men, women and children. When
rumors of Villiers’ orders reached the Sauk
village at La Baye, the Sauks were seriously
alarmed, as they had permitted the few re¬
maining Foxes to take refuge with them in
their village. If the French were to insist
on the surrender of the Fox refugees, the
Sauks would be forced to break the cus¬
tomary Indian obligation of hospitality and
protection to their persecuted relatives.
Their alarm would have been even greater
had they realized that the stage was being
set for the bloodiest battle ever to occur in
Winnebago County, the Battle of Little Lake
Butte des Morts.
When Commandant Villiers walked up
to the locked gate of the Sauks’ palisaded
village at La Baye on September 16, 1733
with less than a squad of the more than 300
garrison troops, fur traders and allied In¬
dians under his command and rashly tried
to break open the gate, a shot from within
the village killed one of Villiers’ sons. Vil¬
liers angrily returned the fire, at which a
twelve year old Sauk in one shot killed the
commandant. A brief fire fight at the Sauk
gate now ensued in which ten French at¬
tackers, including Repentigny, second in
command at Fort La Baye, were killed and
three others wounded.12
When the Sauk chiefs realized this much
French blood had been shed they also real¬
ized that French retribution would come
quickly and that they had no alternative but
to retreat from La Baye as quickly and
secretly as possible. The Sauk-Foxes left
their village under cover of darkness on the
third night following the fight at their vil¬
lage gate, proceeding up the Fox River.
The next day the dead commandant’s
oldest son, Ensign Louis Villiers, organized
a pursuit force of most of the La Baye
garrison plus whatever fur traders were in
town. Villiers’ party overtook the fleeing
Sauk-Foxes by late afternoon at a point
somewhere close to the present-day high
level bridge across Little Lake Butte des
Morts. The historic Battle of Butte des
Morts then began. According to Louise Kel-
logg:
“The French lost heavily as well as the
Sauk-Foxes. Among the French officers
alone, one or more members of the Villiers,
Ailleboust, Du Plessis and other well-known
families, mourned the death of their youth.
. . . Ensign Louis Villiers was wounded and
Augustin Grignon recalled at a later time
that two of his uncles were killed in this bat¬
tle. It is believed that the great mound at
(Little) Butte des Morts was erected to cover
the tribesmen slain in this battle.”13
Canadian Governor-General Beauharnois
reported to France on November 11, 1733,
that the losses of the French and their In¬
dian allies at the Battle of Butte des Morts
were 34 dead and about 20 wounded. These
casualties were in addition to the ten killed
at the Sauk-Fox village gate. The Sauk-Fox
left 20 Sauk and six Fox dead on the field
and had an unknown number killed and
wounded.14
The Sauk-Foxes who could travel now
abandoned the Fox River country, moved
west of the Mississippi, found refuge among
the Sioux and built a palisaded village on
the Wapsipinicon River in eastern Iowa.
Years later they established themselves for
several generations on the lower Rock River
in northwestern Illinois. After the Battle of
Butte des Morts, several other tribes, se¬
cretly pleased with the resistance of the
Foxes, returned their Fox captives, so that
Sauk-Fox numbers in Iowa and Illinois
again became substantial.
The final French effort to exterminate
1979]
Goff — Three Nations in the Fox River Valley
55
the Foxes in the Second Fox War was a
winter expedition in 1734-35 organized at
the order of Governor Beauharnois and
commanded by Captain Nicolas Joseph de
Noyelles. De Noyelles’ force consisted of
84 French soldiers, habitants and 200 mis¬
sion Iroquois Indians. When de Noyelles
moved up the Fox Valley, winter had al¬
ready begun. Abandoning their canoes and
proceeding on snow shoes, de Noyelles
finally found the tribesmen he sought in
early April, 1735, fully entrenched on an
island in the Des Moines River. After futile
attacks in which several French officers
were killed, de Noyelles abandoned his ob¬
jective, his party making their way to the
nearest French settlement south of present-
day St. Louis.15
When the chiefs from the upper country,
assembled at Montreal in 1737, asked for
mercy for the Sauks and Foxes, Governor
Beauharnois agreed and sent Pierre Paul
Marin to conciliate them. Marin succeeded,
first at an Iowa post and later at a trading
post among the Sioux on Lake Pepin.
When friction between French and British
colonies in North America developed into
armed conflict in 1755, French governmen¬
tal recruiters and their Indian enlistees
passed through the Fox Valley repeatedly.
Paul Marin and Charles de Langlade both
recruited and commanded increasingly large
contingents of Western Indians in support
of French Canada. Langlade and his Indians
were sent home in 1760 only a few days
before the surrender of the final French
Canadian stronghold, Montreal, to British
General Amherst. Langlade brought the
news to Mackinac and La Baye that all of
French Canada had surrendered to the En¬
glish on September 8, 1760.
The last French governmental force to
traverse the Fox-Wisconsin was the com¬
bined garrisons and officers of fort Mac¬
kinac and La Baye, commanded by Captain
Louis Beaujeau. They retreated up the Fox
River in October of 1760 and ultimately
reached New Orleans. The French era in
Wisconsin was at an end.10
British Era Travelers Through the
Fox Valley 1763-1816
Jonathan Carver in 1766 was the first
Englishman to travel up the Fox Valley,
and Peter Pond, in September, 1773, was
probably the first Yankee to travel from
Green Bay to Prairie du Chien.17 Neither
Carver nor Pond came to the Fox Valley as
a consequence of any governmental policy.
However, during the American Revolu¬
tionary War, it was British policy that
caused Charles Langlade of Green Bay to
lead Wisconsin Indians to Quebec in 1776,
1777, and 1778. Some of Langlade’s Wis¬
consin Indians supported British General
Burgoyne’s campaign in upstate New York
and became a scourge to American frontier
settlements.
In 1780 Menominee and Winnebago In¬
dians accompanied the unsuccessful British
attack of Emanuel Hess on the American
fort at Cahokia (East St. Louis) and the
Spanish fort at St. Louis. George McBeath,
a fur trader and interpreter for Langlade,
was the last British traveler along the Fox-
Wisconsin having a role in the American
Revolutionary War. He announced to a
council of tribesmen at Prairie du Chien on
May 24, 1783, the approach of peace and
advised the Indians to devote their future
energies to hunting.18
Once the United States had become an
independent nation, its sovereignty extended
west to the Mississippi and north to the Ca¬
nadian border. Wisconsin supposedly was
American. In reality British fur traders con¬
tinued to operate at will throughout the area.
Wisconsin Indians were British in sympathy
and the Wisconsin fur trade functionally
was still Canadian.
It was about May 1, 1812, that Francois
Reaume, a secret courier from Canadian
General Isaac Brock, passed along the
Fox-Wisconsin with an urgent message for
56
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Robert Dickson, chief trader at Prairie du
Chien for the Northwest Company. Gen¬
eral Brock’s message to Dickson, who now
became a colonel in the Canadian army,
warned of the near approach of war be¬
tween Britain and the United States and in
guarded terms suggested Dickson begin re¬
cruiting Indians. In the ensuing months,
hundreds of Indians from the Sioux, Sauk,
Winnebago and Menominee tribes, Includ¬
ing Menominee Chief Tomah and his pro¬
tege Oshkosh and 200 Sauk-Fox warriors
under Sauk Chief Black Hawk reported
to Robert Dickson for British military
duty.
A British surprise attack on Fort Mac¬
kinac captured the American island fortress
in the War of 1812 before the American
garrison even knew war had been declared.
The British had not only prepared for war
by inflaming Indian tribes against the Amer¬
icans, but had secretly set their various
forces in motion before the actual outbreak
of war, thus enabling them to achieve tacti¬
cal surprise at Fort Mackinac.20
The only military action on Wisconsin
soil during the War of 1812 occurred in
1814 when Americans at St. Louis moved
up the Mississippi and built Fort Shelby
at Prairie du Chien. British Colonel Robert
Dickson recognized that an American strong
point at such a strategic location would un¬
dermine continued British control of the fur
trade in Wisconsin and the upper Missis¬
sippi valley. Accordingly, he quickly or¬
ganized a force of Indians, fur traders and
a few British soldiers under the command of
Lt. Col. Wm. McKay which compelled the
American construction party commanded by
Lt. Perkins to surrender Fort Shelby before
the regular American garrison arrived.21
While Col. McKay’s capture of Fort
Shelby temporarily restored the British flag
to all of Wisconsin, the Treaty of Ghent in
1815 required all British Canadians to leave
Wisconsin. Captain Andrew Bulger, the last
commandant of Fort McKay, lowered the
Union Jack, burned the fort and embarked
his garrison on the Fox-Wisconsin water¬
way for their voyage back to Canada.22
The Fox Valley 1816-1840
American defeats at Fort Mackinac, Fort
Dearborn, Fort Shelby and the surrender of
American General Hull’s army at Detroit in
the War of 1812 caused the U.S. War De¬
partment to establish and garrison a chain
of frontier forts from the Canadian border
to the Gulf of Mexico. It was hoped the
forts would protect American frontier com¬
munities against future Indian attacks, aid
in the establishment of American control of
Wisconsin and block Canadian fur traders
from using the Fox-Wisconsin and the up¬
per Mississippi Rivers.
An early step in implementing the War
Department’s plan for frontier forts was the
arrival of the American Third Infantry
Regiment at Green Bay on August 7, 1816,
and the subsequent construction of Fort
Howard. When Col. Chambers and Third
Infantrymen were ordered to Prairie du
Chien in the spring of 1817 to rebuild and
garrison a fort there, Fort Howard’s second
commanding officer was Major Zachary
Taylor, the hero of Buena Vista and later
the President of the United States. When
Col. Chambers’ Third Infantrymen passed
up the Fox River in the spring of 1817
they were the first American military force
to travel through the valley.23
Two years later in the summer of 1819,
the Fifth Infantry Regiment under the com¬
mand of Col. Henry Leavenworth traveled
up the Fox, through Lakes Winnebago and
Butte des Morts and up to the portage, in
the process of being redeployed from De¬
troit to the western frontier. The Fifth In¬
fantry garrisoned Forts Armstrong and
Crawford, and built Fort Snelling, the north¬
ern anchor of the frontier fort system, at
St. Paul, Minnesota. Captain Henry Whit¬
ing, an officer in Leavenworth’s command,
wrote a journal describing the Fifth Infan-
1979]
Goff — Three Nations in the Fox River Valley
57
try’s journey and sketched a scene at Neenah
and Big Lake Butte des Morts and two of
the “Grand Kakalin” portion of the Fox
River rapids which are probably the oldest
existing sketches by an American of scenes
in the Fox Valley. Captain Whiting’s report,
including these watercolored sketches
brought him a commendation from the
Secretary of War, John C. Calhoun.24
In the summer of 1820, the Territorial
Governor of Michigan, Lewis Cass, his secre¬
tary, James Duane Doty, later a Wisconsin
Territorial governor. Henry Schoolcraft, fa¬
mous Indian agent-author-anthropologist,
Dr. Alexander Wolcott, expedition physician
and a party of forty men passed down the
valley bound for Green Bay and Detroit on
the last leg of perhaps the most unusual ca¬
noe trip ever taken through this area. The
Cass party were completing a 4,200 mile
“Voyage of Inspection” through Michigan
Territory which then included most of the
present-day states of Minnesota and Wiscon¬
sin, as well as Michigan. The Cass expedi¬
tion rode in three birch bark canoes each of
which was 36 feet long, had a beam of seven
feet, carried a mast and sail and was pro¬
pelled by eight-man crews.25
By August of 1823 James Duane Doty
had become the newly appointed Circuit
Judge of western Michigan and had been
married. Doty and his bride traveled up the
valley on the Fox-Wisconsin to Prairie du
Chien in August of 1823 to spend the win¬
ter and to hold the first session in Wisconsin
of the Michigan Territorial Superior Court
at Prairie du Chien in May, 1824. 26 In the
fall of 1824, Doty convened his court at
Green Bay and there built his first home in
Wisconsin.
When a series of murders of Whites by
Winnebago Indians in the vicinity of Prairie
du Chien and La Crosse threatened to pre¬
cipitate an Indian war in 1826-27, a detach¬
ment of more than 500 men under the com¬
mand of Gen. Atkinson moved from Jeffer¬
son Barracks at St. Louis to Wisconsin by
keel boat. Two hundred soldiers from Col.
Snelling’s garrison at Fort Snelling came
down the Mississippi to Fort Crawford at
Prairie du Chien. An additional force of sol¬
diers, militia and Indians, under the com¬
mand of Major Whistler from Fort Howard,
marched up the Fox Valley to the Fox-Wis¬
consin portage and dug in on the hill east of
the Fox River where Fort Winnebago was
built in 1828.
The rapid concentration of American mil¬
itary power in the heart of the Winnebago
country so stunned the Winnebago chiefs
that they concluded fighting would be use¬
less,, and assigned Chief Red Bird and an
accomplice in the murders to sacrifice them¬
selves to the Americans to preserve the
Winnebago tribe. The Winnebagoes had
helped to demonstrate that interlocking sup¬
port from the frontier forts could not only
safeguard the white man’s frontier but had
made effective Indian warfare in Wisconsin
obsolete.27 Unfortunately, Sauk Chief Black
Hawk triggered a second demonstration of
the futility of frontier forays by Indians
when he precipitated the Black Hawk War
in 1832.
When Sauk Chief Black Hawk led his
“British Band” of nearly 2,000 Indians east
across the Mississippi River in 1832, it was
the final Sauk effort to reoccupy lands in the
Rock River Valley of northwestern Illinois
which the Sauks had owned for several gen¬
erations.
Black Hawk was aware that Americans
had built forts at Rock Island, Prairie du
Chien, St. Paul and Green Bay since the
War of 1812, but probably had no adequate
understanding of the improved effectiveness
of the American army despite the Winne¬
bago tribe’s humiliation by the Americans
in the Red Bird Disturbance of 1828. Black
Hawk’s ignorance or bull-headedness was to
cost his band the loss of nearly ninety per¬
cent of their number in about ninety days.
The Sauk’s stunning losses in 1832 made it
clear to tribes in the upper Mississippi Val-
58
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
ley that the advance of the white man’s
agricultural frontier could no longer be
halted by Indian murders or gunfire. Percep¬
tive tribal chiefs, i.e., Sauk Chief Keokuk
and Menominee Chief Oshkosh, also con¬
cluded that tribesmen had no alternative to
negotiating a final surrender of their tribal
lands to the accelerating flood of land-
hungry Americans.
During the Black Hawk War two com¬
panies of Menominee Indians were enlisted
at Green Bay and commanded by Col. Sam¬
uel Stambaugh, the new Indian agent at
Green Bay. Augustin Grignon of Butte des
Morts was the captain of one of the Me¬
nominee companies; his lieutenants were his
son, Charles, and his nephew, Robert.
George Johnston, former sheriff of Brown
County, was the captain of the second Me¬
nominee company; Johnston’s lieutenants
were William Powell whose farm was in the
present-day town of Algoma, and James
Boyd, son of the former Indian agent at
Green Bay.28
The last traveler up the Fox Valley from
the Black Hawk War was Chief Black Hawk
himself. After captivity as a prisoner of
war at Jefferson Barracks, Missouri and Fort
Monroe, Virginia, Black Hawk was escorted
back to Fort Armstrong and released to his
detested tribal rival, Sauk Chief Keokuk.
When Black Hawk traveled up the Fox Val¬
ley and west along the Wisconsin to the
Mississippi, the Black Hawk War was
finally over.29
This chronicle of early Fox Valley events
triggered by governmental action should
include the survey and construction of the
military road from Fort Howard to Prairie
du Chien. In 1829, frontier promoters
James Duane Doty of Menasha and Morgan
L. Martin of Green Bay urged General
Macomb in Washington, D.C. to use troops
to open a road from the head of Lake Win¬
nebago to Green Bay. Since it was politi¬
cally more justifiable to build a road linking
the frontier forts, in 1832 a party led by
Lt. Alexander Center completed surveys and
construction plans for a 234 mile military
road from Fort Howard at Green Bay to
Fort Winnebago at Portage and to Fort
Crawford at Prairie du Chien (Fig. 2). Ac¬
tual road construction began in the spring of
1835.
The section of the military road between
Fort Crawford and Fort Winnebago was
built by three companies of soldiers from
Fort Crawford under the direction of Col.
Zachary Taylor. Three companies from Fort
Winnebago built the middle section of the
road from Portage to Fond du Lac and the
third section from Fond du Lac to Green
Bay was built by three companies from Fort
Howard.
The Fort Howard-Fort Crawford military
road was a thirty foot wide lane through
the timber. It was unpaved and in wet
weather was virtually impassable for wagons.
Grading was slight and so many high
stumps were left standing that carriages
and sleighs found travel difficult. It was not
until the end of 1837 that the road was
even nominally complete. Nevertheless, for
many years the military road was the only
overland route between Green Bay, Fond
du Lac, Portage, Madison, the lead region
and Prairie du Chien. Military troops and
supplies passed over it frequently, and a
growing stream of settlers increased the flow
of traffic.30
In August, 1836, Henry Dodge, the newly
appointed Territorial Governor of Wiscon¬
sin, crossed the Fox River at Algoma in
present-day Oshkosh, paying a toll on a
ferry belonging to James Knaggs. Governor
Dodge was on his way down the Fox to ne¬
gotiate the Treaty of Cedar Point by which
the U.S. Government purchased 4,100,000
acres from the Menominee Indians on Sep¬
tember 3, 1836 for $700,000. By this treaty
the Menominees gave up title to all land in
Wisconsin north of the Fox River and east
of the Wolf.31
In the summer of 1837, troops com¬
manded by General Henry Atkinson jour¬
neyed up the Fox Valley by the new mili-
1979]
Goff-— Three Nations in the Fox River Valley
59
2nd Lt. Alexander J. Center commanded an Army
survey party in 1832 which mapped the Fox
River in the process of looking for an appro-
''' 3 priate location for a military wagon road
|I between Forts Howard, Winnebago and Crawford.
'n The Military Road was built in 1835-37, and
\ ran along the east shore of Lake Winnebago.
h Source: State Historical Society of Wis .
Fig. 2. Lieutenant Center’s map of Lake Winnebago in 1833.
tary road from Fort Howard to Fort Win¬
nebago and thence by keel boat to Fort
Snelling. In 1839 a survey party of the U.S.
Bureau of Topographical Engineers led by
Captain Thomas J. Cram surveyed the po¬
tential of the Fox-Wisconsin rivers for
steamboat navigation, concluding that the
route could be made navigable (Fig. 3). 32
A different kind of survey of the land area
of the Fox Valley was conducted by con¬
tract surveyors working under the direction
of the U.S. Surveyor General’s office. Since
enactment of the Northwest Ordinance of
1787, a rectangular system of mapping had
been developed in which the government
surveyors established boundary lines of In¬
dian treaty lands, exterior township lines
and then established subdivision lines in¬
cluding section, town, range and lot lines.
Mapping of the Fox Valley south of the
Fox River and Lake Butte des Morts was
completed by 1834 and the map published
by the Surveyor General’s office in Cincin¬
nati, October 23, 1835. The field work of
mapping valley areas north of the Fox River
and east of the Wolf seems to have still been
in progress in January, 1839, but the
completed map was published by the U.S.
Surveyor’s office at Dubuque, September 28,
1839. Once the maps were published, the
60
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Fig. 3. U. S. Topographical Engineers Captain T. G. Cram led a party in 1839 which sur¬
veyed the potential for steamboat navigation of a canal from Lake Winnebago to Wrights-
town. While this canal was never built, the cartographic skill of the engineers clearly had
reached modern professional standards.
land offices could begin to throw the land
open for public sale.33
County government first appeared in the
Fox valley wilderness in 1818 when Gover¬
nor Cass of Michigan Territory proclaimed
a division into three counties of the terri¬
tory’s lands lying west of Lake Michigan
and north to the Straits of Mackinac. Two
of the counties, Brown and Crawford, com¬
prehended the Fox-Wisconsin waterway.
The county seat for Brown county was
Green Bay and for Crawford County Prairie
du Chien.
County affairs in Michigan Territory in
1818 and hence in the Fox River valley,
were in the hands of a board of three county
commissioners. Originally appointed by the
territorial governor, by 1825 the county
commissioners had become elective. The
boards of county commissioners in Michi¬
gan Territory were replaced in 1827 by
boards of county supervisors, one super¬
visor to be elected from each town.34
Direct participation by Fox valley citi¬
zens in the government of Michigan Ter¬
ritory began at Green Bay in 1821 when
42 votes were cast for Michigan territorial
delegate to the U.S. Congress. More to the
point, Fox valley and other Brown County
voters in 1823 elected Robert Irwin of Green
Bay representative to the Territorial Legis¬
lative Council from west of Lake Michigan.
The Fox valley was still a wilderness in
1823 but the tendency of significant histori¬
cal events in the valley to be initiated by
the agents of distant governments had now
been largely reversed by the significant fact
that the citizenry of the valley could express
their needs to county, territorial and Con¬
gressional representatives or to judicial of¬
ficers.
The Michigan Territorial Legislature
1979]
Goff — Three Nations in the Fox River Valley
61
created Iowa County in 1830 and Milwau¬
kee County in 1835 from the southern por¬
tions of Crawford and Brown counties, re¬
spectively. Thus when Wisconsin Territory
began to function on July 3, 1836 there
were four counties within the present day
boundaries of Wisconsin, i.e. Brown, Mil¬
waukee, Crawford and Iowa. The total
white population of these counties in 1836
according to the territorial census was
11,683. Once Wisconsin legally became a
territory in 1836 the Wisconsin Territorial
Legislature created fifteen additional coun¬
ties; those in or near the Fox valley were
Calumet, Fond du Lac, Manitowoc, Sheboy¬
gan, Marquette and Portage. Three addi¬
tional counties were created in 1840 includ¬
ing Winnebago in the Fox valley.35
The closing of the American Fur Com¬
pany at Green Bay in 1844 was an histori¬
cally symbolic requiem for Indians and fur
trading in the Fox valley. Governmentally,
the arrival of a new era was symbolized by
the creation in the valley of the new coun¬
ties of Fond du Lac, Winnebago and Calu¬
met. Federal troops left the valley with the
deactivation of Fort Howard in 1841. The
arrival in the valley of the American agri¬
cultural frontier was marked by the first
sizeable influx of settlers at Oshkosh in the
summer of 1846, and by the platting of the
villages of Neenah in 1847 and Menasha in
1849. Wisconsin Territory became the State
of Wisconsin in 1848. Clearly, an era of
more than two centuries of exploration, fur
trading and the initiation of most major
events in the Fox valley by governmental
agents came to an end shortly after 1840.
Notes
4Thwaites, Reuben Gold, ed., The Jesuit Re¬
lations and Allied Documents . . . Jesuit Mission¬
aries in New France 1610-1791 (Cleveland, 1896-
1901) 23: 1642-43. Jean Boisseau’s map faces
page 234.
2 Charlevoix, Pierre F. X., History of New
France, III (Paris, 1744), 178-179 (translation of
John Gilmary Shea).
Severin, Timothy, Explorers of the Mississippi
(New York, A. A. Knopf, 1968), 83-92.
3 Charlevoix, op. cit., V, Book 20, 257, 305-307.
S.H.S.W., Collections, 5:77-85.
Smith, Alice E., The History of Wisconsin:
From Exploration to Statehood, I (Madison, Wis.,
State Historical Society of Wisconsin, 1973), 41.
4 Wittry, Warren L., “The Bell Site: An Early
Fox Village,” Wisconsin Archaeologist, 44(1):
45-46.
5 Charlevoix, op. cit., 5:305.
G Hebberd, S. S., History of Wisconsin Under
the Dominion of France (Madison, Wis., Mid¬
land Publishing Co., 1890), 121.
7 Kellogg, Louise P., The French Regime in
Wisconsin and the Northwest (Madison, Wis.,
State Historical Society of Wisconsin, 1925), 320-
321; S.H.S.W., Collections, X, 47-53. The Chaus-
segros de Lery map in Kellogg, op. cit., 314 seems
to be the earliest existing map which shows sub¬
stantial detail of the general vicinity of present-
day Oshkosh, Lake Winnebago (Lac des Puants),
Big Lake Butte des Morts (Petit Lac des Rey¬
nards) and the lower Fox River (Riviere des
Reynards). The Fox fort east of the largest Fox
village had been in existence, according to de
Lery’s map, since at least 1723 (Fort ou les
Reynards sentient fortifie in 1723).
8 Alvord, Clarence W. (ed.), Centennial His¬
tory of Illinois: The Illinois Country 1673-1818
(Springfield, Ill.: Illinois Centennial Commission,
1920), 163; Kellogg, op. cit., 324.
Kellogg, L. P., “Fox Indians During the French
Regime,” S.H.S.W., Proceedings, 1907, 142-188.
9 Kellogg, L. P., “Fox Indians . . .” op. cit., 327;
Alvord, op. cit., 163-164.
30 Kellogg, op. cit., 329-330.
11 Kellogg, French Regime, op. cit., 329-331.
S.H.S.W., Collections, 17:210.
12 Letter from Governor Beauharnois and Hoc-
quart to the French Minister, Nov. 11, 1733 and
Oct. 5, 1734, in S.H.S.W., Collections, 17:189-
191, and 202-203.
13 Kellogg, op. cit., 331-332.
S.H.S.W., Collections, 17:188-191, 200-204; 3:
200; 8:207-208.
14 Letter from Governor Beauharnois ... to
French Minister, op. cit., 17:188-191.
15 Kellogg, op. cit., 334-335.
S.H.S.W., Collections, 17:221-229 and 216-221.
16 Kellogg, op. cit., 432, 436.
17 “Narrative of Peter Pond,” in Gates, C. M.,
Five Fur Traders of the Northwest (Minnesota
Historical Society, 1965), 30-39.
S.H.S.W., Collections, 18:314-354.
18 S.H.S.W., Collections, 2:165-170,174.
Kellogg, op. cit., 191-192.
62
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
19Thwaites, Reuben Gold, Wisconsin in Three
Centuries, II, 101, 140.
Kellogg, op. cit., 282.
20 Kellogg, op. cit., 284.
21 Kellogg, op. cit., 315-319.
22 Kellogg, op. cit., 325.
23 Prucha, Father Francis Paul, Broadax and
Bayonet (Madison, Wis., S.H.S.W., 1953), 18-21;
54.
24 Captain Whiting’s Journal, zmpzzblished mss.
in National Archives Microfilm Reel #1, No.
130, Rep. Book Pa397, in Fort Howard Consol.
File 1819-1873.
23 Schoolcraft, Henry R., Summary Narrative of
an Exploratory Expedition to the Sources of the
Mississippi River in 1820 . . . (Philadelphia: Lip-
pincott, Grambo & Co., 1855), 190.
26 Smith, op. cit., 168.
27 Prucha, op. cit., 23-24. For a superb descrip¬
tion of Red Bird at the moment of his surrender,
see S.H.S.W., Collections, 5:178-204 in Col.
Thomas McKenney, “The Winnebago War.”
28 Strong, Moses, “The Indian Wars of Wiscon¬
sin,” S.H.S.W., Collections, 8:276.
29 Hagen, William T., Sac and Fox Indians
(Norman, Okla., University of Oklahoma Press,
1958), 200-201.
Smith, op. cit., 133-150.
Nesbit, R. E., Wisconsin: A History (Madison,
Wis., Univ. of Wisconsin Press, 1973), 95-100.
30 Prucha, op. cit., 135-144.
31 Harney, Richard J., History of Winnebago
County (Oshkosh: Allen and Hicks, 1880), 101.
32 Source of Capt. Cram’s map: U.S. Senate,
26th Congress, 1st Session (1840), Document
318, 16.
33 Smith, op. cit., 457.
34 Wisconsin Historical Records Survey, County
Government in Wisconsin, Vol. 1. 1942, 3-4.
35 State of Wisconsin, Wisconsin Blue Book,
1977, (Madison, Wisconsin, 1977) 727.
PERCEPTION OF THE PRAIRIE IN A
LETTER FROM PRAIRIEVILLE
Charles F. Calkins
Carroll College, Waukesha, Wisconsin
The arrival of a few Scots in 1840
marked the beginning of a sizable rural
Scotch settlement that would develop in
what was then Milwaukee County, but to¬
day Waukesha County, with Vernon Town¬
ship as its center.1 Within a short period of
time, additional pioneers joined the van¬
guard to form a relatively dense settlement
of Scots. Whereas a substantial number
came directly from Scotland to the Wiscon¬
sin Territory, most of the initial settlers
came from the general area of Livingston
County, New York, where they or their
families had settled earlier in the nineteenth
century.
Included among the earliest arrivals in
the Vernon area was the Robert Weir
family,2 which had reached Milwaukee by
boat on October 26, 1841, and journeyed
westward to Prairieville3 the following day.
Like so many others who eventually set¬
tled in Vernon, Weir had emigrated to New
York from Scotland, where he was born in
1809. 4 Weir may have been attracted to
the Prairieville area by a letter much like
the one he sent back to New York encour¬
aging friends to move west and join the
growing settlement.
Weir’s letter was addressed to William
Fraser, postmaster of Fowlerville, New
York, a small village in Livingston County.5
The contents indicate, however, that it was
an open letter intended for old friends; be¬
cause of his position as postmaster, Fraser
was being asked to pass on the news. Weir,
in addressing the letter to Fraser, might
have been epitomizing the popular stereo¬
type of the frugal Scotsman. It has been
suggested that “In order to save the 25 cent
postage, Weir addressed the postmaster,
. . . postmasters then enjoying the frank.”6
On the other hand, sending the letter to
Fraser was necessitated, perhaps, by Weir’s
own strained financial resources resulting
from a costly trip and subsequent invest¬
ment in land. Although one cannot be sure
that Weir was describing his personal finan¬
cial situation, he wrote in the letter that “An
empty purse and a new country maketh a
hard beginning.”
On the surface, Weir’s letter might be
considered typical of its genre. Many of the
topics common in pioneer letters — the trip,
family health, finances, general economic
conditions and opportunities, prospects for
agriculture, and perception of the new en¬
vironment — are all covered in some depth.
It is this last item, Weir’s perception of the
prairie, oak opening, and forest biotic com¬
munities, that is of particular interest and
importance in this letter. The attitudes ex¬
pressed and preserved in the personal pa¬
pers of people like Weir have provided for
a continuing re-evaluation of the impor¬
tance of the prairie in the process of west¬
ward settlement.7 Weir’s pre-arrival percep¬
tion of a section of the Milwaukee County
prairie was somewhat at odds with his on-
the-scene perception. Whereas Weir left
New York intending to settle on a prairie
farm, upon arriving he chose land8 that,
according to his own description, most
likely would be classified as an oak open¬
ing. This change did not detract from Weir’s
enthusiasm for his new home. Weir’s opti¬
mism remained high, although it was tem¬
pered by the reality of the frontier situation
in which he found himself. His plan for
success was altered somewhat (as is re¬
vealed in the letter) to fit his changing per¬
ception of the new surroundings, which
were quite unlike those of his native Scot-
63
64
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
land or those of New York, his intermedi¬
ate residence.
Weir’s initial, positive perception of the
Milwaukee County prairie he expected to
encounter upon arrival was contrary to the
general attitudes many historians have at¬
tributed to the so-called eastern woodland
mentality. In his discussion of the settle¬
ment of the Lake Plains (which encompass
a major portion of Wisconsin), Ray Allen
Billington, for example, commented on the
impressive beauty of the prairie, but he was
quick to suggest that “Yet the prairie coun¬
try was shunned by the first settlers, whose
frontier technique was adjusted to a wooded
country.”10 Moreover, he accounted for the
early settlement of the wooded sections of
southern Indiana and Illinois specifically
by suggesting that “ adequate soil [italics
mine] and familiar vegetation” were avail¬
able.11 In a far more balanced treatment of
the prairie-woodland controversy in South¬
eastern Wisconsin, Schafer felt obliged to
point out that “The answer [to the question
of whether to take a prairie or woodland
farm] turned sometimes on men’s belief
in the superiority of forested land as
land. . . .”12 That Weir intended to take a
prairie farm while he was still in New York
indicates that he did not fit the supposed
popular mold. Whatever his sources of in¬
formation were about the physical funda¬
ment of a portion of old Milwaukee
County, they did not allow him to conclude
that prairie soil was “inadequate” or in¬
herently less fertile than that of the East.
A change in Weir’s on-the-scene percep¬
tion is evident when he wrote that “. . . I
do not think they [prairie farms] are as
good for wheat as the [oak] openings or
timber land. . . .” However, it does not
seem reasonable to conclude that the change
was prompted by any empirical evidence
indicating the prairie soils were inferior;
quite the opposite appears to have been the
case. Later in the same paragraph where
he compared the Genesee country with his
new home, Weir was very explicit: “. . . the
soil is better [in the Prairie ville area], there
is no mistake about it. . . .” Earlier in the
letter Weir expressed satisfaction with his
choice of land when he stated, “I think that
I have got a good wheat farm.”
One question remains: What motivated
the change in perception then, if it was not
the real or imagined low fertility of prairie
soils? Throughout the letter, Weir’s pre¬
occupation with the forest resource was
evident. He wrote of his desire to acquire
timber land to complement this prairie
farm; he bemoans the fact that “There is
but little timber on it [the farm], say enough
to fence it into 20 acre lots.” Another ref¬
erence to “trees [being] thinly scattered
over” the farm suggests a dissatisfaction with
the timber supply and is not a reflection
of poor soil quality. This writer contends
that Weir’s perception is summarized well
when he writes that “. . . it is hard to get
a prairie farm and timber enough for the
same.” In other words, he valued the
prairie soil but viewed the paucity of timber
as a definite drawback.
Weir’s actions support the contention. In
the spring of 1842, he sold his land in sec¬
tion 12 and purchased 160 acres in section
1, about one mile north.13 Apparently his
desire to obtain some “first rate timber
land” was realized in this transaction.14 It
is quite possible that included within his
purchase was some of the desirable timber
land to which he made reference in the
letter.
It seems clear that Weir’s perception and
subsequent actions were not unique among
settlers on those portions of the American
frontier where the prairie was encountered.
Mounting evidence suggests that early set¬
tlers did not shun the prairie because of as¬
sumed greater fertility of woodland soil.
Studies centered in Iowa,15 Illinois,16
Texas,17 and Michigan18 have revealed, as
John Fraser Hart has suggested, “that the
pioneers, wherever possible, preferred to
settle along the prairie — -woodland edge,
so that they might enjoy the advantages of
1979]
Calkins — Perception of the Prairie
65
both types of country.”19 The fertility of the
prairie soil combined with the wood from
forested areas used to build houses, barns,
fences, and used to make fires for warmth
and cooking offered an attractive induce¬
ment for settlement among pioneers like
Weir.
In his letter that follows, Weir wrote
forcefully in a style that ranges from folksy
to simple eloquence. For clarity, punctua¬
tion and capitalization have been provided
where they were absent in the original. The
spelling and grammar have not been
changed from the original, because they do
not detract from a complete understanding
of Weir’s thoughts.
Mr. Wm. Fraser
Dear Sir:
According to promise I set down to give
you a few lines. I hope you will excuse me
in being so long in writing, as I sent word
to you by Mr. Dn. [Duncan] Cameron20 [of]
Caledonia [New York] that we had got here
safely. And I am happy to inform you that
we are all in good health at present. And it
may aford you comfort to know that we
are in a healthy country blessed with a
good appetite and plenty to satisfy the same.
It may be that you have heard that we had
a rough passage on the Las [lakes]. We
were nine days on the water and part of
the time it was very stormy. When when
[sic] we came into Lake Huron we had a
high head wind and a heavy sea, so much
so that we had to turn round and go with
the wind for sometime, and when we came
into Lake Michigan we were again able to
put round again and take shelter at an is¬
land and remain for one day. Yet we en¬
joyed ourselves as well as could be ex¬
pected. We were on a first rate Boat, had
a good Captain and a respectable set of
hands, likewise a good Bar, and we were
some[what] like Tom O’Shanter — we did
not mind the storm a whistle. I did not get
sea sick at all. My family did a little, yet
stood it better than might be expected. We
landed at Milwaukie on the 26th [of] Oct.
and came to Prairieville [Waukesha] the
27th. James Wallace, James Begg [Jr.] and
their families arrived at Prairieville on the
26th. James Begg [Sr.] and his [family] who
came by land arrived on the 28th. Strange
to think that we all started from home at
different times to come such a distance,
some by water and some by land and to ar¬
rive here in such rotation on the 26th, 27th
and 28th. Prairieville is 18 miles west from
Milwaukie and I think in a short time will
be a great place for business. There is now
a first rate flowering mill, one saw mill, one
blacksmith’s shop and plenty of business
for three hands (James Wallace is em¬
ployed in the same). There is a good wag-
gonmaker’s shop built last faull. There is
two copper shops, three stores and one
tavern, one drug store, one saddler, a num¬
ber of shoemakers and tailors well em¬
ployed there, one meeting house finished
and two not finished, one stone Academy
not finished inside, preachers without num¬
ber, such as they are, and two or three
Doctors but little employment for the same.
Milwaukie will be a great place. She is in
much want of a Harbor and has likewise
been wanton for water power, but it is
thought money will be granted this winter
for a harbor and there is a damm across
the Milwaukie river nearly finished, which
is said will give her water power sufficient
for one hundred run of stores. If a good
harbor is got and good flowering mills built,
the market here will be much better. When
these things are done Milwaukie will be to
this country as Rochester is to western N.
[New] York. Wheat has been carried from
here to Buffalo for 15 cents per bus.
[bushel] but 18 pence [or] 2/ is the general
price.21 Wheat is worth at present from 70
to 75 cents, corn 2/9, oats 1/6, pork 2
dollars and 50 cents, beef about the same.
Goods are but little higher here than they
are in Fowlerville and plenty of everything
to be got. Money is rather scarce, but it is
known to be so in every new country. I
66
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
think this will be fine wheat growing coun¬
try although there is but little raised as yet
for export. Farmers that have been here 4
or 5 years appear to have but little done
by way of improvements. They say it is
hard beginning. The fact is many come here
poor and have nothing to begin with. An
empty purse and a new country maketh a
hard beginning. This country is settling very
fast. I was much disappointed in finding the
land so much taken up as it is. I looked
round thinking to find land at government
prices, [$1.25 per acre] but I could not find
it good and in a convenient place, although
I did not go more than 35 miles back from
the Lake [Michigan]. The people say that
more land has been taken since last spring
than was taken in two years previous.
You may tell Neil McDugal22 that I
have bought a farm in his neighborhood.
It is between his son-in-law23 and the Mil-
waukie road.24 My south line and his north
line is the same on the west side of the cross
road, or as it is called, the Rochester
road,25 and James Begg has bought on the
west side of the said Rochester road. His
south line and McDugal’s north line is the
same. James Wallace has bought John Mc¬
Intyre’s farm in the same neighborhood. I
am nearly two miles west from him.26 Wil¬
liam Begg is thinking of buying Mr.
Plumm’s27 farm in said neighborhood. It is
going to be quite a Scotch settlement, and
tell the Deacon28 if he doth not come on to
his land we will either sell it or burn it up,
and tell him that I think there is Deacons
enough where he is and we want him to be
the old Deacon amongst us here, and tell
him further that the best wheat that I have
seen in the Ter. [Territory] was raised in
that neighborhood. I think that I have got a
good wheat farm. I bought 160 acres, and
I intend to buy 40 acres more which joins
said 160, which will make 200 acres for
cultivation, and there is 80 acres of first rate
timber land IV2 mile to the north which I
was intending to take at gov’t, price to keep
as a timber lot, but it is thrown out of mar¬
ket at present, and I do not know if I can
get it. If not, there is 60 acres equally as
good timber and about the same distance
from me which I can get for 3 Dollars per
acre. My best respects to James Hamilton
and not forgetting his Lady. Tell him that
I think I have got as good a wheat farm as
there is in Sugarburry [New York].29 There
is but little timber on it, say enough to fence
it into 20 acre lots. Large trees [are] scat¬
tered thinly over it consisting of white oak,
black oak, black walnut and some maple,
and part of it is thickly grown over with
hazel brush. There is a small log house on
it and 8 acres broken up [and] 10 acres
fenced. It will require three yoke of oxen
to plough it the first time. Stone enough
but not too many apparently.
When I left [New] York state I was fully
in the belief that I would take a prairie
farm. They are pleasant to the eye, but I
do not think they are as good for wheat as
the [oak] openings or the timber land, and
it is hard to get a prairie farm and timber
enough for the same. Water is likewise hard
to be got on many of them. I think the land
in this country is good in general, but I do
not think the face of the country so hand¬
some as the Genesee [New York] country
is. It is more rolling or broken, but the soil
is better, there is no mistake about it, and
the healthiness of this country will speak
loudly her praise. I have been in through
Milwaukie, Racine and Walworth counties,
and I have not seen man, woman or child
sick.
Give my respects to all enquiring friends
and acqus. [acquaintances] : Edward Craig
the first time you see him, Js. Hamilton, Jn.
Hamiltons, Rt. Wallance, An. Frrasers, As.
McBean, Ts. Howie, all the old women
about Fowlerville and espec. in Sugarburry
and write to me as soon as this comes to
hand.
If any letters come from Scotland send
them to me. Direct [them] to me, Rt. Weir,
1979]
Calkins — Perception of the Prairie
67
Prairieville Post Office, Milwaukie County,
Wisconsin Territory.
Robt. Weir
Dec. 27, 1841
Notations
1 A brief history of the settlement is the focus
of Edward C. Wicklein, The Scots of Vernon and
Adjacent Townships, Waukesha County, Wiscon¬
sin (Waukesha, 1974). Wicklein reprints a copy
of the letter (pp. 28-29) that is taken from a
transcribed copy of the original, which contains
errors and omissions. For a description of the
contents and availability of this work see “Wis¬
consin History Checklist,” Wisconsin Magazine
of History, 57:326 (Summer, 1974).
2 At the time of arrival, the family consisted of
Robert and his wife Mary, both 30 years of age,
and young daughters Margaret and Mary Jane,
5 and 2 years of age, respectively.
3 The present City of Waukesha was formerly
known as Prairieville. When Waukesha County
was separated from Milwaukee County in 1846 —
to create a separate political unit — the name
change took place. Prior to being called Prairie¬
ville, the little settlement was known as Prairie
Village for a short period of time.
4 It is difficult to determine the date of Weir’s
arrival in the United States. A Declaration of
Intention to Become a Citizen of the United
States in the name of Robert Weir is not on file
in either Livingston County, New York (personal
communication from Miss Anna Patchett, County
Historian, Livingston County, May 29, 1975) nor
Waukesha County, Wisconsin. It is certain that
Weir was in New York by 1832 as his name is
included on a list of members of the United
Presbyterian Church of York for that date (Mary
R. Root, History of the Town of York, Living¬
ston County, New York (Caledonia, 1940), 99).
6 The original Weir letter is in an unclassified
collection of the Waukesha County Historical
Museum, Waukesha, Wisconsin.
6 John G. Gregory, ed., Southeastern Wiscon¬
sin: A History of Old Milwaukee County, Vol. II
(Chicago, 1932), 965. Excerpts of the Weir letter
are provided on pages 965 and 966. However, er¬
rors are apparent when the excerpts are com¬
pared with the original letter.
7 An effective use is made of letters and other
personal papers in this regard by Douglas R. Mc-
Manis, The Initial Evaluation and Utilization of
the Illinois Prairies, 1815-1840 (Chicago, 1964).
8 A deed dated December 11, 1841 records
Weir’s purchase of the NW1/4 of Sec. 12, T. 5
N., R. 19 E., from John C. Snover for a sum of
$450, or just over $2.80 per acre, which was more
than twice the price of government land.
9 A map entitled Presettlement Vegetation of
Waukesha County, 1836, prepared by Marlin
Johnson and Jerry Schwarzmeir (1973) from the
Public Land Survey Notes and Plats shows this
to be the case. In addition, a portion of the land
that became Weir’s farm was reported to have
been burned over shortly before the surveyor
reached the area and appears on Johnson and
Schwarzmeir’s map as “burned.”
10 Ray Allen Billington, Westward Expansion
(New York, 1949), 294.
11 Ibid.
12 Joseph Schafer, Four Wisconsin Counties:
Prairie and Forest (Madison, 1927), 107. In an
explanatory footnote for this point, Schafer adds:
“Many Yankees had this belief until the virtues
of the prairie lands had been thoroughly tested.”
13 Weir sold his farm for $650.00 and purchased
the SW1/4, Sec. 1, T. 5 N., R. 13 E. from Caleb
Nanscawen for the sum of $775.00.
14 In addition to wanting timber for use on the
farm, it seems reasonable to suggest that Weir’s
desire for acquiring good timberland was moti¬
vated by his intent to engage in the sawmill busi¬
ness in the very near future. “Mr. Robert Weir
. . . built a saw-mill at Big Bend, which ran by
steam. At this mill, most of the plank used in
constructing the Muk[wonago] and Milwaukee]
road was sawed” ( The History of Waukesha
County, Wisconsin (Chicago, 1880), 791). The
mill was built between December 27, 1841, the
date of Weir’s letter, and 1848, the date of in¬
corporation of the road {Ibid., 387).
15 Leslie Hewes, “Some Features of Early
Woodland and Prairie Settlement in a Central
Iowa County,” Annals, Association of American
Geographers, 40:40-57 (March, 1950).
16 McManis, The Initial Evaluation and Utiliza¬
tion of The Illinois Prairies, 1815-1840.
17 Terry G. Jordan, “Pioneer Evaluation of
Vegetation in Frontier Texas,” Southwestern His¬
torical Quarterly, 76:233-54 (January, 1973).
18 Bernard C. Peters, “Pioneer Evaluation of the
Kalamazoo County Landscape,” Michigan Acade¬
mician, 3:15-25 (Fall, 1970).
19 John Fraser Hart, The Look of the Land
(Englewood Cliffs, 1975), 7-8.
20 Like Weir, Cameron reached Vernon Town¬
ship in October, 1841, in the company of three
other bachelors. Apparently Cameron returned
to New York shortly thereafter, as did Donald
68
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Stewert ( Waukesha Freeman, September 3,
1910), a fellow traveller, to report in person to
relatives on the opportunities in the Wisconsin
Territory. In subsequent years a number of Cam¬
eron’s relatives settled in Vernon Township.
21 The following monetary equivalents apply
to the prices quoted:
One pence = 1 cent or 10/125 shillings
One shilling = 12 Vi cents
22 The reference here is obviously to Neil Mc-
Dougal, who has been credited with being the
founder of the Scotch settlement in Vernon (see
the Waukesha Freeman, September 3, 1910 and
September 16, 1943). McDougal was a wealthy
New York farmer who came west to invest in
real estate. In 1840 he purchased a number of
tracts of land, and then returned to New York
where he was at the time Weir’s letter arrived
with the message for him.
23 McDougal’s daughter Ellen was married to
Findley Fraser, who owned the El/2, SW1/4, Sec.
12, which, in part, was adjacent on the south to
Weir’s property.
24 Reference here is to the Milwaukee-Janesville
(via Mukwonago) road, which passed through
section 1 about a half mile north of Weir’s prop¬
erty. Presently this route is designated CTH ES
(formerly STH 15) or National Avenue. For a
map of territorial roads in Waukesha County,
see: Southeastern Wisconsin Regional Planning
Commission, A Jurisdictional Highway System
Plan for Waukesha County, Planning Report
No. 18, (Waukesha, 1975), 19.
25 The road mentioned here, with a north-
south trend, passed through the middle of section
12 and in section 13 angled to the west and
south where it entered Big Bend, and then it
continued in a southerly direction, closely paral¬
leling present-day CTH F, to Rochester in Racine
County.
26 The record does not indicate such a purchase.
A Hugh (not John) McIntyre owned the Sl/2,
NW1/4 of Sec. 5, T. 5 N., R. 20 E., the Town¬
ship of New Berlin, which is immediately east of
Vernon. Weir’s property would have been “nearly
two miles west from” the McIntyre land.
27 Apparently Weir is referring to Joseph A.
Plumb here. There are no Plumms listed as be¬
ing land owners in the vicinity at this time.
28 The reference to “the Deacon” in the broader
context of the idea being developed coupled
with the fact that Neil McDougal was an elder
in the United Presbyterian Church of York, New
York, suggests that Weir is still referring to Mc¬
Dougal here, as he was at the outset of this para¬
graph.
29 The common spelling is Sugarbury. This small
village was located in the Town of York across
the Genesee River from Fowlerville, which was
in the Town of Avon.
THE PHYCOPERIPHYTON COMMUNITY OF THE
LOWER BLACK RIVER, WISCONSIN
Michael R. Strenski
University of W isconsin-La Crosse
A bstract
Phycoperiphyton taxonomic composition was determined from materials
gathered from the Black River, La Crosse County, Wisconsin. Phycoperiphyton
samples were collected from two stations at each of four sites during the open
water season, April through November 1976.
Fifty-six genera and 205 species were found. The phycoperiphyton com¬
munity was dominated by members of the class Bacillariophyceae (ca. 98% of
the total community). Achnanthes lanceolata, was the dominant species during
spring months. Melosira varians dominated by mid-June and was succeeded by
Cocconeis placentula euglypta during July through late September. Navicula cryp -
tocephala followed in the autumn, and during the final sampling period in Novem¬
ber Diatoma vulgare was the dominant species.
Introduction
The Black River is a tributary of the
Mississippi River with the confluence lo¬
cated 11.5 km (7 mi) north of La Crosse,
Wisconsin. From its headwaters, located ap¬
proximately 267 km (160 mi) NNE in Tay¬
lor County, to the Mississippi drains 5490
km2 (2129 m2) . This investigation, per¬
formed during April through November
1976, was undertaken to determine the
taxonomic composition of the phycoperiphy¬
ton community and to establish the density
and relative density of the several species.
Description of the Study Area
The southern portion of the Black River,
located between, lat. 43° 57" to 44° 03"
and long. 91° 12" to 91° 16", forms the
northern boundary of sections 1 and 2 and
the western boundary of sections 10, 16, 21,
and 27 of Holland Township, La Crosse
County, T. 18 N., R. 8 W. (Fig. 1). United
States Geological Station 05382000 is lo¬
cated about 50 m upstream from the first set
of sampling stations used in this study. The
study area covered 11 km (6.6 mi) of river
which in the study area meanders through
an area known as the Black River Bottoms.
Agricultural crops and a few pastures are
found along the Trempealeau County side of
the river. Swimming, canoeing, and fishing
are popular recreational activities on the
Black River.
Two stations were established at each of
four sites. At each site, one station was
placed where the current velocity was great¬
est, and a second station where current ve¬
locity was least. Direct sunlight was also
considered in station location because it
greatly affects phycoperiphyton distribution
(Table 1). United States Highway 53 spans
the Black River at a crossing known as
Hunter’s Bridge, 3.5 km (2 mi) southeast
of Galesville, Wisconsin. This bridge serves
as a reference point for site locations (Fig.
1 ) . Stations have the designation of N or S
which indicate that the locations were nearer
to the northern (N) or southern (S) bank
of the river.
Materials and Methods
Phycoperiphyton samplers were con¬
structed from plastic slide boxes (Strenski,
1977). Two samplers, each containing eight
evenly spaced glass slides, were set at each
69
70
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Fig. 1. Black River between Trempealeau and
LaCrosse counties. Locations of paired sampling
stations are indicated as 1-N and 1-S, etc.
station. Slides were inserted vertically to
avoid sedimentation. Duration of slide ex¬
posure ranged from 14 days during the
spring and summer, to 18-21 days during
the autumn.
Material for identification was scraped
from the glass slides into a solution of “M3”
preservative (APHA 1975). Diatoms were
cleared and permanently mounted in Hyrax®
prior to analysis (APHA 1975). The phy-
coperiphyton was identified to the lowest
taxonomic level possible using bright-held
microscopy. Taxonomic keys used included
those of; Bourrelly (1968), Cleve-Euler
(1955), Hansmann (1973), Hohn and Hel-
lerman (1963), Huber-Pestalozzi (1942),
Hustedt (1930a, 1930b), Patrick and Rei-
mer (1966), Prescott (1962), Smith
(1950), Tiffany and Britton (1952), and
Weber (1971).
Table 1. Direct sunlight estimates, mean and
range values for current velocity (m/sec), and
depth (m) at each station in the Black River, 10
April through 20 November 1976.
a Direct Sunlight = 1 — Direct sunlight at least un¬
til early evening.
2 ■ — 6 to 8 hr of direct sunlight
daily.
3 — Less than 3 hr of direct
sunlight daily.
A standard Palmer-Maloney cell (Palmer
and Maloney 1954) was used to determine
density of all living cells (diatoms and non¬
diatoms) and for the identification of non¬
diatoms. At least 500 organisms per count¬
ing cell were tallied. The relative densities
of each taxa within the diatom community
were estimated by the species proportional
count method (APHA 1975). A minimum
of 500 cells were counted from each Hyrax®
mount.
Results and Discussion
The phycoperiphyton in the Black River
represented four classes of algae: Bacil-
lariophyceae (diatoms), Chlorophyceae
(green algae), Dinophyceae (dinoflagel-
lates), and Myxophyceae (blue-green al¬
gae). Fifty-six genera and 205 species were
identified; twenty-nine of the 205 species
1979]
Strenski — Phy coperiphyton Community of the Lower Black River
71
were further identified to include 75 varie¬
ties.
Members of the class Bacillariophyceae
were the major dominants. This class was
represented by 192 species in 35 genera and
accounted for approximately 98% of the
phycoperiphyton community. Diatoms from
28 species belonging primarily to the genera
Fragilaria, Synedra, Achanthes, Navicula,
and Pinnularia were further identified to
variety level. Seasonally dominant taxa in¬
cluded Achnanthes lanceolata, Melosira
varians, Cocconeis placentula euglypta, Na¬
vicula cryptocephala, and Diatoma vulgare.
These five taxa comprised about 44% of the
phycoperiphyton. Two species, Navicula
cryptocephala and Nitzschia palea, occurred
in each sample while 15 taxa appeared in
at least 93.9% of the samples. Navicula
cryptocephala ranked first in relative density
(16.72%). Cocconeis placentula euglypta
and Melosira varians ranked second and
third with 12.55% and 8.24%, respectively.
The Chlorophyceae were represented by
20 genera but the group was not a major
community component. This class contrib¬
uted only 2.24% of the algae encountered
but representatives of Chlorophyceae were
found in 85.7% of the samples. The most
frequently encountered green algae were
Scenedesmus quadricauda, Pediastrum du¬
plex, and Scenedesmus dimorphus, which
were found in 71.4%, 43.9%, and 42.9%
of the samples, respectively.
Single species of Merismopedia and of
Oscillatoria represented the class Myxo-
phyceae; each occurred in early autumn at
different stations.
Ceratium hirundinella was the sole rep¬
resentative of the class Dinophyceae and
was noted only once.
The rank of the common phycoperiphy¬
ton taxa according to mean relative density
(% of the total community) was determined
(Table 2). Common taxa are those taxa
with a relative density of > 1%. Eighteen
taxa were specified as common. Navicula
cryptocephala (16.72%), Cocconeis pla¬
centula euglypta (12.55%), and Melosira
varians (8.24%) ranked first through third,
respectively. These were followed by
Nitzschia palea (4.44% ) and Navicula
exigua capitata (3.91%). Six taxa had rela¬
tive densities between 3.72% and 2.74%,
while seven other taxa each comprised be-
Table 2. Common phycoperiphyton taxa in the
Black River ranked according to mean relative
density. Ranking is based on samples from all
stations, 10 April through 20 November 1976.
Relative Density (%)
Rank Taxon (mean and range)
1 Navicula cryptocephala 16.72
(0.36-60.78)
2 Cocconeis placentula euglypta 12.55
(0.00-56.02)
8.24
(0.00-54.43)
4.44
(0.37-12.38)
3.91
(0.00-14.26)
3.71
(0.00-18.55)
3.67
(0.00-34.55)
2.92
(0.00-12.35)
2.87
(0.00-66.60)
2.85
(0.00-14.38)
2.74
(0.00-15.30)
12 Achnanthes lanceolata rostrata 2.31
(0.00-12.05)
13 Gomphonema angustatum producta 2.07
3 Melosira varians
4 Nitzschia palea
5 Navicula exigua capitata
6 Cocconeis placentula
1 Achnanthes lanceolata
8 Melosira italica tennuissima
9 Diatoma vulgare
10 Cyclotella stelligera
11 Cyclotella atomus
72
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Table 3. Common phycoperiphyton taxa in the Black River ranked according to frequency of occur¬
rence (%). Ranking is based on samples from all stations, 10 April through 20 November 1976.
tween 2.31% and 1.19% of the total com¬
munity.
Common taxa were ranked by frequency
of occurrence (Table 3). Frequency of oc¬
currence is defined as the percentage of sam¬
ples within which a taxon was found. Com¬
mon denotes those taxa whose frequency of
occurrence was at least 50%. This ranking
included only one non-diatom taxon, Scene-
desmus quadricauda. It ranked twenty-eighth
with three diatom taxa. Several taxa includ¬
ing Cyclotella meneghiniana (frequency
93.9%), Synedra ulna (93.9%), Amphora
ovalis (89.8%), Surirella tenera (84.7%),
Gyrosigma kutzingii (81.6%), and Ope-
phora martyii (80.6%) ranked in the top
twenty but were never abundant in any
sample. Only 52 of the 254 taxa occurring
in the Black River had a frequency of oc¬
currence >51%.
The algal density (cells/m2) was calcu¬
lated at each station. Stations which were
heavily shaded, e.g. 3-S and 1-S which aver¬
aged about 1.70 X 109 cells/m2, had phy¬
coperiphyton communities with the lowest
densities. This contrasted with 4-N (no
shade) and 3-N (shaded only in the eve¬
ning) where densities were about 3.00 X109
cells/m2 (Fig. 2). Direct sunlight affected
the density at each station and was catego¬
rized into three groups: those exposed to di¬
rect sunlight at least until evening (1-N,
3-N, 4-N), those exposed to 6 to 8 hr of di¬
rect sunlight (2-N, 2-S, 4-S), and those ex¬
posed to less than 3 hr of direct sunlight
(1-S and 3-S). The “Student’s” t-distribu-
1979]
Strenski — Phycoperiphyton Community of the Lower Black River
73
tion was used to examine the effect of direct
sunlight. Algal communities at stations with
direct sunlight until evening had significantly
greater densities than those at stations re¬
ceiving less than 3 hr of direct sunlight
(P <0.001). Similarly, densities at sta¬
tions with 6 to 8 hr of direct sunlight had
significantly greater densities than those re¬
ceiving less than 3 hr of direct sunlight
(P = 0.012).
Sampling began during April when the
high water resulting from the spring thaw
began to subside. Low densities were found
during April and May (8.8 X 108 cells/m2).
This may have resulted from the high spring
discharge scouring the glass substrate. A
spring maximum of 3.34 X 109 cells/m2 was
noted during early June; however, the great¬
est density occurred in early autumn when
3.47 X 109 cells/m2 were observed. The
lowest density (7.0 X 108 cells) was found
during the final sampling period in Novem¬
ber (Fig. 3).
Five species reached dominance during
the study. Early in the season, from April to
mid June, Achnanthes lanceolata was the
dominant species. Its highest relative density
was observed from 19 May through 2 June
Fig. 2. Mean density of phycoperiphyton with
respect to direct daily sunlight at each sampling
station in the Black River, 10 April through 20
November 1976.
when it accounted for 21.00% of the total
community. It remained common until 12
October when it comprised <1% of the
total community. During its dominance,
other common taxa included Gomphonema
angustatum producta, Achnanthes lanceolata
rostrata, Nitzschia palea, Navicula crypto-
cephala and Achnanthes lanceolata ventri-
cosa (in order of decreasing relative den¬
sity). Peak density of Achnanthes lanceolata
(4.3 X 108 cells/m2) occurred after Melo-
sira varians became dominant (Fig. 4). At
heavily shaded stations (1-S and 3-S)
Achnanthes lanceolata had a relative density
of 13%, while at stations with little or no
shade (1-N and 4-N) this species had a
relative density of about 18%.
Melosira varians dominated the commu¬
nity by mid-June. It attained a peak rela¬
tive density of 34.14% and an average of
27% during the period 16 through 30
June. This was the only species that also
exhibited a fall peak, reaching a value of
13.17% during the final sampling period.
It remained a common taxon during each
sampling period. Its relative density fell to
approximately 1.50% during August and
September. Peak density 16 through 30 June
Fig. 3. Seasonal mean density of phycoperiphyton
in the Black River, 10 April through 20 Novem¬
ber 1976.
74
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
was 8.2 X 108 cells/m'2. A fall peak of 4.0
X 10s cells was observed during 12 October
through 2 November (Fig. 4), Smith
(1950) documented this genus as the most
commonly encountered of all freshwater
Centrales. He further stated that Melosira
varians may dominate during the early
spring and late fall months. This species was
also one of the two principal species found
during October and November on the Ohio
River (Weber and Raschke 1970). In the
Black River the distribution of this species
appeared to be relatively unaffected by di¬
rect sunlight. Relative density of Melosira
varians at well-shaded stations differed from
Fig. 4. Seasonal mean density of the five dom¬
inant phycoperiphyton taxa in the Black River, 10
April through 20 November 1976.
unshaded stations by only 3%. For exam¬
ple, during the period 2 June through 14
July relative density at 1-N and 4-N (no
shade) was 24% while 1-S and 3-S (well-
shaded was 21% for this species. Other
common taxa occurring while Melosira vari¬
ans dominated were Navicula cryptocephala,
Cocconeis placentula euglypta, Achanthes
lanceolata, and Nitzschia palea and Navicula
exigua capitata.
During July, August, and much of Sep¬
tember, the dominant taxon was Cocconeis
placentula euglypta. During that time this
taxon ranged in relative density from
19.41% to 39.53% (14 thru 28 July). In
contrast, Achnanthes lanceolata and Melo¬
sira varians were found in rather uniform
relative densities while they were dominant.
Cocconeis placentula was also a common
taxon at this time. Massey (unpublished
data) found this species and several varie¬
ties dominant in Pool 8 of the Missis¬
sippi River during midsummer. Weber and
Raschke (1970) reported it as dominant in
the Kalmath River, Oregon, during August.
From 30 June through 22 September shad¬
ing appeared to inhibit growth of this spe¬
cies. A relative density of about 37% was
noted at stations 1-N and 4-N. During the
same period the relative density at stations
1-S and 3-S only about 18%. A peak den¬
sity of 9.2 X 10s cells/m2 was noted during
the sampling period 14 through 28 July (Fig.
4). Navicula cryptocephala, Cocconeis pla¬
centula, Navicula exigua capitata, Nitzschia
pales and Cyclotella stelligera were also
common throughout the summer months.
A shift in dominance to Navicula crypto¬
cephala occurred during the autumn. This
species was found only as a trace during the
extended first period (10 April through 19
May), but comprised at least 5.24% of the
algal community and was common through¬
out the remainder of the study. It attained
its peak relative density of 53.27%, from
12 October through 2 November. At the
same time it reached a peak density of 1.76
1979]
Strenski — Phy coperiphyton Community of the Lower Black River
75
X 109 cells/m- (Fig. 4). This was the only
taxon to yield a density greater than 109
cells/m2 during any one sampling period
and it was found in all samples. A variety of
Navicula cryptocephala was reported by
Bahls (1971) as a dominant species in the
Upper East Gallatin River, Montana and
was found in all samples collected from nat¬
ural substrates. In the Black River, direct
sunlight did not appear to significantly affect
its relative density. Heavily shaded stations
had 28% and essentially unshaded stations
29% from 8 September through 2 Novem¬
ber. Taxa also common at this time were
Melosira varians, Synedra ulna oxyrhynchus,
Nitzschia palea, Nitzschia linearis , and Dia-
toma vulgare .
Diatoma vulgare appeared only in small
amounts throughout most of the season;
however, it became the dominant alga dur¬
ing the cooler autumn months, comprising
32.3% of the community. This taxon was
reported by Blum (1957) in the Saline
River, Michigan, as characteristic of the fall
and winter diatom flora in unpolluted waters.
Drum (1964) also found it most abundant
during October and November in the Des
Moines River, Iowa. Low relative densities
were observed in the early sampling periods
of the study, thus suggesting that it had
been present throughout the winter months.
Apparently direct sunlight was not a sig¬
nificant factor affecting distribution. Its rela¬
tive density at station 3-S during the final
period was 66.60%. This was the greatest
dominance exhibited by any taxon during
this study. A density of 2.4 X 108 cells/m2
was recorded at this time. Other common
taxa during this time included Melosira
varians , Synedra ulna oxyrhynchus, Nitz¬
schia palea, and Navicula exigua capitata.
Diversity indices were calculated for each
sample both spatially and seasonally using
the Shannon-Wiener (1963) index which
ranged from 3.45 (4-S) to 4.19 (1-S) over
the eight stations. Shading appeared to have
a marked influence on diversity. Stations
with less than 3 hr of direct sunlight daily
had significantly greater diversities than sta¬
tions that received direct sunlight until the
evening (P = 0.014). Those stations which
received less than 3 hr of direct sunlight also
had significantly greater diversity than sta¬
tions with 6 to 8 hr (P = 0.034). High
mean diversity (>4.36) was observed dur¬
ing the early sampling periods (10 April
through 2 June). Seasonal changes were
most significant in the autumn when the
mean diversity was reduced from 3.93 (July
through mid-October) to 2.95 (for the re¬
mainder of the study). The overall seasonal
mean diversity was 3.89.
Lloyd and Ghelardi proposed the term
“equitability” to compare the observed mean
diversity with the maximum possible diver¬
sity (EPA 1973). The normal range is 0 to
1. In the Black River this index ranged
from 0.28 (4-N) to 0.46 (1-S) with respect
to spatial distribution, with an overall mean
of 0.36. Seasonal changes ranged from 0.19
(12 October through 2 November) to 0.55
(19 May through 2 June), with an overall
mean of 0.33.
Current velocity is also a critical factor
affecting the distribution of algae. Odum
(1956) implied that the depleted life re¬
quirements needed by the algal flora were
renewed and the accumulated by-products
were removed by the water flowing over the
organisms. Whitford (1960) stated that
swift currents rapidly remove the somewhat
impoverished water around a community
and replenish it with fresh nutrient-rich
water. Experiments conducted by Whitford
and Schumacher (1961) demonstrated high
rates of respiration and phosphorous uptake
in algal cultures when exposed to currents
of 0.15 m/sec as compared to still water.
Mclntire (1966) investigated the structure
of two laboratory stream periphyton com¬
munities in which the currents were very
slight in one stream and moderate (compar¬
able to the swifter currents at stations in
this study) in the other. He found that spe-
76
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
cies composition of the two laboratory
stream periphyton communities were ap¬
proximately the same but that the relative
densities differed significantly. This was also
observed in the Black River with Achnan-
thes lanceolata which had relative densities
of 11% (slow) and 17% (fast). Melosira
varians showed relative densities of 17%
(slow) and 22% (fast), while Cocconeis
placentula euglypta had 27% (slow) and
33% (fast). Navicula cryptocephala with
relative densities of 24% (slow) and 28%
(fast), showed the smallest difference.
Diatoma vulgare was markedly affected with
11% in slow currents in contrast to 24% in
fast currents.
In a review of 165 studies, Palmer
(1969) listed 80 of the most tolerant spe¬
cies of algae with respect to organic pollu¬
tion. Included in his list were greens, blue-
greens, diatoms, and flagellates. Twenty-
three species that appeared on Palmer’s list
were identified in the Black River; however,
only five were noteworthy. These species
were (Palmer’s rank in parenthesis) Nitz-
schia palea (2), Melosira varians (13),
Navicula cryptocephala (17), Diatoma vul¬
gare (40), and Cocconeis placentula eu-
glyypta (58). Nitzschia palea was a com¬
monly occurring species; however, in the
Black River it never attained a position of
dominance and always appeared in rather
uniform relative densities. The remaining
four species appeared in significant quanti¬
ties; however, their presence was related to
seasonal changes and apparently not to or¬
ganic pollution.
Acknowledgments
This study is based on a dissertation in
partial fulfillment of the requirements for
the degree of Master of Science-Biology,
University of Wisconsin-La Crosse. The au¬
thor wishes to express his appreciation to
Dr. Donald Rada who served as advisor
during the study. This study has been sup¬
ported in part by the River Studies Center
of the University and the Biology Depart¬
ment, the author extends thanks to these
organizations as well.
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American Public Health Association. 1975.
Standard methods for the examination of
water and wastewater. 14th ed. APHA, New
York.
Bahls, L. L. 1971. Ecology of the diatom
community of the Upper East Gallatin
River, Montana with in situ experiments on
the effects of current velocity on features of
the Aufwuchs. Ph.D. Disertation. Montana
State University, Bozeman, Montana.
Blum, J. L. 1957. An ecological study of
the algae of the Saline River, Michigan.
Hydrobiol. 9:361-405.
Bourelly, P. 1968. Les algues d’eau diuce.
Tome II les algues jaunes et brunes Chryso-
phycecees, Pheophycees, Xanthophycees et
Diatomees. Boubee and Cie, Paris.
Cleve-Euler, A. 1955. Die diatomeen von
Schweden und Finnland, Vol. I-V, Almquist
und Wiksells Boktryckeri, Stockholm.
Drum, R. W. 1964. Ecology of diatoms in
the Des Moines River, Ph.D. Disertation.
Iowa State University of Science and Tech¬
nology, Ames, Iowa.
Hansmann, E. W. 1973. Diatoms of the
streams of Eastern Connecticut. State Geo¬
logical and Natural History Survey of Con¬
necticut, Department of Environmental Pro¬
tection, Bulletin 106.
Hohn, M. H. and J. Hellerman. 1963. The
taxonomy and structure of diatom popula¬
tions from three eastern North American
rivers using three sampling methods. Trans.
Amer. Microscop. Soc. 82:250-329.
Huber-Pestalozzi, G. and F. Hustedt. 1942.
Die Kieselalgen. In A. Thienemann, ed.,
Das Phytoplankton des Susswassers, Die
Binnengewasser, Band XVI, Teil II, Halfs
II. E. Schweizerbant’sche Verlagsbuch-Han
dlung, Stuttgart.
Hustedt, F. 1930a. Bacillariophyta. In A.
Pascher, ed., Die Suswasser-Flora Mitteli-
uropas, Heft 10. Gustav Fischer, Jana.
Hustedt, F. 1930b. Die Kieselalgen. In L.
Rabenhorst, ed., Kryptogamen-Flora von
Deutschland, Osterreich, und der Verlagsell-
schaft m.b.h., Leipzig.
1979]
Strenski — Phy coperiphyton Community of the Lower Black River
77
Mclntire, C . D. 1966. Some effects of cur¬
rent velocity on periphyton communities in
laboratory streams. Hydrobiol. 27:559-570.
Odum, H. T. 1956. Primary production in
flowing waters. Limnol. and Oceanogr. 1:
102-117.
Palmer, C. M. 1969. A composite rating of
algae tolerating organic pollution. J. Phycoh
5:78-82.
Palmer, C. M. and T. E. Maloney. 1954. A
new counting slide for nanoplankton. Amer.
Soc. LimnoL and Oceanogr. Spec. Pub. No.
21: 1-6.
Patrick, R. and C. M. Reimer. 1966. The
diatoms of the United States. Vol. 1. Mono¬
graph 13, Philadelphia Acad. Natur. Sci.
Prescott, G. W. 1962. Algae of the Western
Great Lakes Area, 2nd ed. W. C. Brown,
Dubuque, Iowa.
Shannon, C. E. and W. Weaver. 1963. The
mathematical theory of communication.
University of Illinois Press, Urbana.
Smith, G. M. 1950. The freshwater algae
of the United States, 2nd ed. McGraw-Hill
Book Co., New York.
Strenski, M. R. 1977. A study of the phy-
coperiphyton community in the Black River,
La Crosse County, Wisconsin. M.S. thesis.
University of Wisconsin-La Crosse, La
Crosse, Wisconsin.
Tiffany, L. H. and M. E. Britton. 1952.
The algae of Illinois. University of Chicago
Press, Chicago.
United States Environmental Protection
Agency. 1973. Plankton, p. 13-20, and
Periphyton, p. 1-6 in Biological field and
laboratory methods for measuring the qual¬
ity of surface waters and effluents. EPA-
670/4-73-001. EPA, Cincinnati.
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diatoms at water pollution surveilance sys¬
tem stations. EPA, Cincinnati.
Weber, C. I. and R. L. Raschke. 1970. Use
of a floating periphyton sampler for water
pollution surveilance. USFWPCA, Cincin¬
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Whitford, L. A. 1960. The current effects
and growth of fresh-water alga. Trans.
Amer. Microscop. Soc. 79:302-309.
Whitford, L. A. and G. J. Schumacher. 1961.
Effects of current on mineral uptake and
respiration by a freshwater alga. Limnol.
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Raleigh, North Carolina.
PRELIMINARY REPORTS ON THE FLORA OF WISCONSIN
NO. 67. VERBENACEAE— THE VERVAIN FAMILY
William E. Tans
Scientific Areas Section
Department of Natural Resources
Madison, Wisconsin
Hugh H. Iltis
Department of Botany
University of Wisconsin
Madison, Wisconsin
A bstract
The Verbenaceae, a huge, tropical plant family, is represented in Wisconsin
by the genera Verbena, with five native and three cultivated species, and six
hybrids, and Phyla, with one species. Wisconsin distribution maps plotted from
herbarium specimens show the ranges of the above taxa. Dichotomous keys to
genera and species, and descriptions, geographic range, ecology, phenology, and
chromosome number for each species are given.
Introduction
The Verbenaceae, a large, primarily tropi¬
cal family, is relatively poorly represented
in Wisconsin, with only two genera and 15
taxa, including six native species, their six
hybrids, as well as three garden ornamentals
which are rare escapes. Of these, the taller,
common, often weedy Verbena hastata, Blue
Vervain, V. urticifolia, White Vervain, and
V. stricta, Hoary Vervain are familiar plants.
The Verbenaceae present no special prob¬
lems to floristic workers despite the many
hybrids, largely because Harold N. Mol-
denke, formerly of the New York Botanical
Garden, has monographed the Verbenaceae
and published treatments in many regional
floras. Some 70 publications on Verbena
alone by this prolific author have appeared
in Phytologia since 1961; those pertinent to
Wisconsin are listed in the bibliography.
Much information regarding species ranges,
descriptions of hybrids, and taxa of infre¬
quent occurrence in Wisconsin has been
taken from the publications of Dr. Mol-
denke, who, in addition to verifying the iden¬
tification of most of our specimens, com¬
mented helpfully on this manuscript. Since
Dr. Moldenke, above all others, has made
an accurate treatment of the Wisconsin Ver¬
benaceae possible, this report is dedicated
to him.
This study is based primarily on speci¬
mens deposited in the herbaria of the Uni¬
versity of Wisconsin-Madison (WIS), UW-
Milwaukee (UWM), and the Milwaukee
Public Museum (MIL), as well as UW-
Oshkosh (OSH), UW-La Crosse (UWL),
UW-Stevens Point (UWSP), UW-Superior
(SUWS), UW-River Falls (RIVE), UW-
Rock County Campus, Janesville (UWJ),
the University of Iowa (IA), University of
Minnesota (MIN), University of Michigan
(MICH), Beloit College (BELC), the Mor¬
ton Arboretum (MOR), Field Museum of
Natural History (F), and the private her¬
barium of Mrs. K. Rill, Oshkosh. Grateful
acknowledgment is extended to the admin¬
istrators of these herbaria for loan speci¬
mens. Dr. Edward G. Voss, University of
Michigan, Dr. Gerald Ownbey, University
of Minnesota, and Vicki Funk, Ohio State
University, provided distribution records of
Verbena urticifolia to complete the range
map for that species.
Each solid or hollow circle, square, or
plus ( + ) symbol on the Wisconsin maps
represents the exact location where speci¬
mens were collected; triangles indicate coun¬
ty records without specific locations. Dots
on the United States map indicate specimen
occurrence by county. Numbers in the state
map insets record by month the number of
78
1979]
Tans and litis— Preliminary Reports — -Verbenaceae
79
specimens examined in flower or fruit, i.e.
the phenology of the species.
Since the Verbanaceae, world-wide, are
morphologically a most diverse group, the
descriptions that follow refer only to the
Wisconsin species.
VERBENACEAE Saint-Hilaire
Vervain Family
Herbs, shrubs, vines or trees in the trop¬
ics. Leaves (in ours) opposite, exstipulate,
simple; blades entire to dentate, incised or
cleft. Inflorescences axillary or terminal,
ours in heads {Phyla) or spikes {Verbena).
Flowers perfect, hypogynous, more or less
irregular. Calyx lobes fused, campanulate to
tubular or salverform, 2- or 5-lobed. Corolla
with fused petals, funnelform or salverform,
tube well developed, the limb 4- or 5-lobed,
more or less weakly 2-lipped. Stamens 4,
didynamous (2 long, 2 short), inserted on
the corolla tube. Ovary superior, sessile,
somewhat 4-lobed, 2-carpellate, 2- or 4-
celled with one ovule in each cell. Fruit a
dry schizocarp splitting into 2 {Phyla) or 4
{Verbena) nutlets at maturity.
A large, morphologically heterogeneous
family, widely distributed throughout the
world, most abundant in the tropics, with 76
genera and 3,400 species and subspecies
(Moldenke 1971), the largest genera, Vi-
tex, Clerodendrum, Verbena (including
Glandularia) and Lantana, containing both
widely used ornamentals and pernicious
weeds. The hard, heavy, durable wood of
teak {Tectona grandis) is economically im¬
portant in many tropical areas.
The Verbenaceae, together with Lamia-
ceae (Labiatae), Boraginaceae, Callitricha-
ceae and Phrymaceae, comprise the order
Lamiales, with 7800 species (Cronquist
1968). The Lamiales, Scrophulariales and
Polemoniales comprise the super-order Tu-
buliflorae. The monotypic, temperate, her¬
baceous Phrymaceae {Phryma leptostachya;
cl. litis 1957), sometimes included in Ver¬
benaceae (Thorne 1976) or segregated as
a separate family on the basis of its reduced
and highly specialized ovary, is clearly de¬
rived from Verbenaceae (Cronquist 1976).
Most closely related to Verbenaceae, but
more advanced, are the Lamiaceae, distin¬
guished by a gynobasic style, deeply 4-
cleft ovary, sharply 2-lipped flowers, and
aromatic foliage. In contrast, Verbenaceae
have a terminal style, only slightly or un-
lobed ovaries, at most weakly 2-lipped flow¬
ers, and often nonaromatic foliage.
Key To Genera
A. Flowers in elongated spikes, these terminating stems and branches; calyx
5-lobed; and cylindrical; corolla 5-lobed fruits separating into 4 nutlets .
. . . . . . 1. Verbena.
AA. Flowers in dense heads axillary on long, bare peduncles; calyx 2-lobed and
compressed; corolla 4-lobed; fruits separating into 2 nutlets . 2. Phyla.
1. Verbena L. Vervain
Herbs, erect, ascending or procumbent,
perennial. Leaves opposite, toothed, incised,
lobed or pinnatifid. Inflorescences terminal
or axillary, spicate, loose to dense, few to
often many and paniculately arranged.
Flowers small or rather large in Sect. Glan¬
dularia, solitary and sessile in the axil of a
bractlet. Calyx tubular, 5-ribbed, unequally
5-toothed. Corolla salverform or funnel-
form, its tube curved, villous within, a ring
of hairs closing its mouth, the limb spread¬
ing, weakly 2-lipped, 5-lobed, slightly zygo-
morphic. Stamens 4, inserted on the upper
portion of the tube, included. Style one, 2-
lobed, the anterior lob stigmatiferous. Ovary
superior, with one ovule in each of four
cells. Fruit enclosed by the mature calyx,
splitting at maturity into four small, linear
nutlets.
A highly complex genus of 206 species,
122 subspecific taxa and 49 hybrids, native
80
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
primarily to the New World (Moldenke
1971), most frequent in the southcentral
United States, Mexico, and South America,
with three species native to the Mediter¬
ranean region, several American species are
weeds in the Old World and many species
widely cultivated ornamentals. The showy
Section Glandularia is now often elevated to
generic status (Umber, 1979).
Several Wisconsin species of Verbena
(e.g. has tat a, stricta, urtici folia, brae teat a)
contain in their leaves and stems the bitter
glucoside Verbenalin. Verbenalin, with the
disagreeable tasting seed oils, may provide
a competitive advantage in Wisconsin pas¬
tures, the plants being selective ignored by
livestock. Singly or in various combinations,
these species (especially V. stricta ) are
abundant in grazed areas throughout south¬
ern and western Wisconsin.
Originally, the three most common Ver¬
vains were probably ecologically segregated,
with V. hastata in marshes, V. stricta in
prairies, and V. urticifolia in woodlands.
Today however, disturbance in most areas
has obliterated this separation, and our na¬
tive Vervains not only flourish but hybridize
in such disturbed habitats. Considering the
ubiquitous joint occurrences of many of these
species, the relative rarity of hybrids is re¬
markable.
Verbena officinalis has been attributed
erroneously to Wisconsin on the basis of two
specimens (WIS) collected at Baraboo,
Sauk County in 1861 (Hartley 1966). Both
are V. x perriana (V. urticifolia x V. brac-
teata ), their pinnatifid leaves resembling
those of V. officinalis.
Key to the Wisconsin Species of Verbena
(Hybrids among the first five species are not separable in this key; cf. pp. 89-93,
Figs. 1, 4, 5, and The New Britton and Brown Illustrated Flora 3: 126-127).
A. Sterile style-lobe not protruding beyond the stigmatic surface; flowers 3-9 mm
long, 3-9 mm broad; calyx 1-6 mm long; flowers in elongate, slender spikes;
native species (Section VERBENA).
B. Spikes usually many, paniculate; fruiting calyx 1.8-3 mm long; corolla
2. 5-4. 5 mm broad.
C. Spikes slender, the fruiting calyces more or less remote; calyx 1.8-
2.4 mm long; corolla dull white, its tube 1.8-2. 5 mm long. .....
. 1. V. URTICIFOLIA.
CC. Spikes thick, densely flowered, the fruiting calyces imbricate; co¬
rolla deep blue, lavendar or purple (white in occasional albinos);
calyx 2.5-3 mm long; corolla tube 3-4 mm long or more .
. . . . . . 2. V. HASTATA.
BB. Spikes solitary or in 3’s; fruiting calyx 2. 9-5-6 mm long; corolla 3-9
mm broad.
D. Stems prostrate-ascending, often forming extensive mats, 5-10
(20) cm tall; bracts divergent, foliaceous exceeding the calyx;
leaves lobed or incised usually near the base. . .3. V. bracteata.
DD. Stems erect, 3-11 dm tall; bracts appressed, subulate-lanceolate,
shorter than or equalling the calyx; leaves toothed, rarely lobed.
E. Plants sparsely strigose; leaves lanceolate to oblanceolate, 3-
11 mm wide; rare in southeastern Wisconsin. 4. V. simplex.
EE. Plants densely pubescent; leaves elliptic to orbicular, 13-50
mm wide; common throughout southern Wisconsin .
. 5. V. STRICTA.
1979]
Tans and litis — -Preliminary Reports — V erbenaceae
81
AA. Sterile style-lobe protruding beyond the stigmatic surface; flowers 10-30 mm
long, 8-30 mm broad, very showy; calyx 8-15 mm long; flowers in flat-
topped, foreshortened spikes; rare garden escapes (Section GLANDU-
LARIA).
F. Corolla 20-30 mm long, 10-25 mm broad, the tube twice as long as the
calyx.
G. Leaves appressed strigose or glabrate; flower rose to purple. ....
...................................... 6. V. CANADENSIS.
GG. Leaves densely pubescent; flowers violet to red and white, often
with a white central eye spot in the throat. ... .7. V. x hybrida.
FF. Corolla 10-15 mm long, 8-10 mm broad, the tube 1.3- 1.5 times as long
as calyx; flowers rose to purple. .............. 8. V. bipinnatifida.
Section Verbena (Native Species)
1. Verbena urticifolia L. Maps 1-3.
White Vervain, Nettle-leaved Vervain
Herb, perennial, 5-15 ( — 25) dm tall.
Stems erect, simple or with ascending
branches, quadrangular. Leaves ovate to
elliptic, occasionally lanceolate, 4-14 cm
long, 3-7 cm wide, with pustulate hairs
above, subglabrous to densely velutinous
beneath, acute, abruptly attenuated to the
1.5-3. 5 cm long petiole, coarsely serrate or
biserrate. Leaf hairs simple, sometimes
gland-tipped on the main veins beneath.
Spikes slender, becoming remotely fruited,
5-28 cm long, numerous in open panicles.
Bractlets ovate-acuminate, 0.7-1. 2 mm long.
Calyx 1.8-2. 4 mm long, minutely pubescent,
the subequal teeth not connivent. Corolla
dull white , slightly surpassing the calyx, 2.5-
3.5 mm long, the tube 1.8-2. 5 mm long.
Nutlets oblong, 1. 5-2.0 mm long, raised re-
82
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
ticulate-striate. 2n = 14 (Lewis & Oliver
1961).
Widespread and common in eastern North
America (Map 1), from Quebec to Sas¬
katchewan south to Florida and Texas, in
Wisconsin primarily south of the “Tension
Zone” in a great variety of habitats, from
dry oak to moist maple-basswood and flood-
plain forests, and sedge meadows (there
modal, fide Curtis 1959), an aggressive
weed tolerant of disturbance, common in
grazed or cut-over woods, pastures, grazed
or drained sedge meadows, roadsides, and
railroad rights-of-way and other sunny or
shaded, mesic and moist degraded sites.
Verbena urticifolia is one of the few na¬
tive weeds frequently seen co-dominant
with grasses in heavily grazed pastures.
Here an obvious increaser (as is V. stricta,
which may occur with it but in drier spots),
it is avoided by cattle.
Flowering from the end of June through
the end of September, fruiting from July
through October.
Verbena urticifolia tends to be autoga¬
mous, its minute flowers setting seed whether
excluded from or exposed to insect pollina¬
tors. Self-pollination occurs when the wilting
of the persistent corolla allows the anthers
to contact the stigma. Pollinating insects are
chiefly flies (Perkins et ai 1975).
In Wisconsin, Verbena urticifolia hybri¬
dizes most frequently with V. hastata ( V . x
engelmannii ) and rarely with V. bracteata
(V.x perriana ) and V. stricta (V. x illicita) .
V HASTATA
V BRACTEATA V. SIMPLEX
Fig. 1. Species of Verbena native to Wisconsin
and their hybrids. Those connected by dashed
lines have not been collected in the state.
var. leocarpa — after Fernald (1936) and from Wisconsin material identified by Moldenke.
1979]
Tans and litis — Preliminary Reports — Verbenaceae
83
A hybrid with V. simplex (V x stuprosa )
has not been found here (Fig. 1).
Variability in Verbena urticifolia
Verbena urticifolia exhibits much varia¬
bility, as expected of such a wide-ranging
species occurring in diverse habitats. One
of the variants has been segregated as var.
leiocarpa Perry & Fernald (Fernald 1936).
The characters originally used to separate
the variety, as well as an additional one cor¬
related with it, are listed in Fig. 2. In the
original description, var. leiocarpa was said
to occur from “Eastern Virginia to South
Carolina” (and rarely northward to Con¬
necticut), in contrast to the widespread dis¬
tribution of the typical variety. While this
variety was originally claimed to be a
Coastal Plain endemic, Moldenke subse¬
quently identified many of the Wisconsin
specimens as var. leiocarpa, apparently on
the basis of the velutinous pubescence on
the underside of the leaves.
On the basis of Perry and Fernald’s origi¬
nal taxonomic characters (length of calyx,
corolla and bractlet, inflorescence angle,
nutlet ribbing) the Wisconsin specimens of
Verbena urticifolia can not be separated
into two varieties. There is no correlation
between calyx length, bractlet length and
nutlet length for specimens separated into
two varieties on the basis of pubescence
(Fig. 3). Even Fernald’s best distinguishing
character, the soft pubescence on the under¬
side of the leaves, is variable and intergrad¬
ing. Nevertheless, it does seem to correlate
slightly with geography, for var. leiocarpa
is found primarily south of the Tension
Zone in Wisconsin (Map 3), while the typi¬
cal variety (Map 2) does range north of the
Tension Zone, although infrequently. A
similar, and hence significant, restriction of
var. leiocarpa to more southerly areas has
been reported for Western Pennsylvania
(Jennings 1953). Correlated with distribu¬
tion, again in a poorly defined way, are the
additional characters of presence and rela-
O VERBENA URTICIFOLIA VAR. URTICIFOLIA
• VERBENA URTICIFOLIA VAR. LEIOCARPA
CALYX LENGTH MM
Fig. 3. Scatter diagram of Wisconsin specimens
of Verbena urticifolia var. urticifolia and var.
leiocarpa (determined by Moldenke) illustrating
the lack of correlation between three of the taxo¬
nomic characters Fernald utilized to separate the
variety.
tive abundance of gland-tipped hairs, these
primarily on the rachis, petioles, upper
nodes and midveins on the ventral leaf sur¬
face.
In summary, while these distinctions seem
hardly worthwhile, the map and scatter dia¬
gram suggest that originally there may have
been a Coastal Plain population differenti¬
ated from an inland one. With the waning
of the Pleistocene ice, both varieties mi¬
grated into the formerly glaciated lands to
become sympatric. With differential selection
pressure relaxed, morphological distinctness
was reduced by exchange of genetic material
in many populations, and continued evolu¬
tionary divergence of the varieties was
swamped through recombination. Perhaps
the descendants of the Coastal Plain popu¬
lation are the velutinous ones which now
seem to be restricted to the warmer parts
of Wisconsin, a region harboring many
Coastal Plain taxa.
While most floras disregard Fernald’s va¬
riety (e.g. Radford, et al. 1968), calling at¬
tention to such variability does serve a use¬
ful biogeographic purpose. Fernald, a genius
at recognizing subtle plant variation in the
1979]
Tans and litis — Preliminary Reports — V erbenaceae
85
86
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
field, may not have been totally wrong! Only throughout its range can resolve this ques-
detailed population studies of this species tion.
Key to Varieties
A. Leaves nearly glabrous to hirtellous beneath; hairs 0.5-1. 1 mm long; gland-
tipped hairs rarely present except in more densely pubescent specimens;
nearly throughout Wisconsin. . . la. Verbena urticifolia
var. URTICIFOLIA.
AA. Leaves more or less densely velutinous below; hairs mostly less than 0.4 mm
long; scattered gland-tipped hairs usually present on upper nodes, rachis,
petolies and midrib of ventral leaf surface; mostly south of the Tension Zone.
. lb. Verbena urticifolia
var. LEIOCARPA.
la. Verbena urticifolia L. var.
urticifolia Map 2.
lb. Verbena urticifolia L. var.
leiocarpa Perry & Fernald Map 3.
Morphological intermediates between
these ill-defined variants possess either a
dense pubescence of mixed long and short
hairs with gland-tipped hairs, or a sparse
but very short pubescence without or with
few gland-tipped hairs, in each example il¬
lustrating continuous variation. These are
indicated on Map 2 with plus symbols.
2. Verbena hastata L. Blue Vervain,
Simpler’s Joy Map 4.
Verbena hastata L. var. scabra Moldenke
Herb, perennial, 2-13 dm tall. Stems
erect, 1 -several, simple or ascending
branched, scabrous with short antrorse hairs
on the angles. Leaves to 15 cm long, 5.5 cm
wide, narrowly ovate to elliptic, on narrow
winged petioles, reduced upwards, gradually
accuminate and rounded at base, coarsely
serrate or biserrate, the larger sometimes
hastately lobed, scabrous to rough hirsute
on both surfaces but softer beneath. Spikes
5-12 cm long, rarely solitary, usually nu¬
merous in a dense terminal panicle, erect
and densely many-flowered. Bractlets 1.8-
2.8 mm long, lanceolate-subulate, shorter
than the calyx. Calyx 2. 5-3.0 mm long, its
acute lobes with subulate, connivent tips.
Corolla deep lavender or purple (white in
forma albiflora Moldenke, rose in forma
rosea Cheney), 3-4.5 mm broad, the tube
3-4 mm long surpassing the calyx. Nutlets
linear, 1.8-2. 1 mm long, faintly striate. 2n
- 14 (Mulligan 1961).
Widespread from Nova Scotia to British
Columbia, south to Florida, Texas, and Ari¬
zona, but only sporadic in the Western
States, rare in the Southern and Southeast¬
ern States (cf. Moldenke 1963b for map),
in Wisconsin the most common Vervain,
occurring in a variety of usually moist,
sunny habitats, as in marshes, stream edges,
lake shores, shrub-carrs, low prairies, sedge
meadows (where modal: Curtis 1959), and
rarely in moist forests, tolerating much habi¬
tat disturbance, hence common in heavily
grazed pastures, roadsides and railroad
rights-of-way, and occasionally abandoned
sandy fields.
Flowering from late June through Sep¬
tember, fruiting from early July to mid-
October.
In describing var. scabra, Moldenke
(1963b) states that “This variety differs
from the typical form of the species in hav¬
ing its leaf blades more rigid, conspicuously
scabrous above, and often more or less con¬
spicuously pubescent beneath,” and later
(1971), “Probably most, if not all, of the
material now passing as Verbena hastata
from west of the Mississippi, or at least,
west of the Great Plains, is actually
var. scabra .” While Moldenke has identified
1979]
Tans and litis — Preliminary Reports — Verbenaeeae
87
specimens from several counties in the state
as van scabra, all Wisconsin specimens of
V. hastata are rough hispid to scabrous
above and pubescent beneath, and seem to
be part of the western, more scabrous end
of a subcontinental, taxonomically indivisi¬
ble cline.
In Wisconsin, Verbena hastata hybridizes
with V. stricta ( V. x rydbergii) and V.
urticifolia ( V . x engelmannii) . A hybrid
with V . simplex (V. x blanchardi) has not
been collected here (Fig. 1 ).
3. Verbena bracteata Lag. & Rodr.
Creeping Vervain, Large-bracted
Vervain Map 5.
Verbena bracteosa Michx.
Herb, perennial. Stem prostrate-ascend¬
ing, diffusely branched from a thickened tap
root, to 6 or more dm long, 5-20 cm tall,
often forming large, round mats, coarsely
hispid-hirsute. Leaves 1-4.5 cm long, 0.8-
3.2 cm wide, lanceolate to ovate, pinnately
incised or 3-lobed, gradually narrowed into
a short petiole. Spikes few to many, elon¬
gating in fruit, densely flowered and conspic¬
uously bracteate. Bractlets 7-13 mm long
and much longer than the calyx, foliaccous,
spreading to recurved in age, hirsute. Calyx
2.9-4. 3 mm long, white-hispid, the acumi¬
nate lobes connivent. Corolla lavender-pur¬
ple to pink, 2. 5-4.0 mm broad, the tube
about 4 mm long and slightly exsert from
the calyx. Nutlets linear, 2-2.5 mm long.
2n = 14 (Jackson 1960).
Wide ranging from Maine to British Co¬
lumbia, south to Florida, Texas, and Mexico
(cf. map in Moldenke 1962b), and intro¬
duced in Western Europe, in Wisconsin
primarily south of the Tension Zone, a weed
(Curtis 1959) of droughty and sunny dis¬
turbed habitats as sandy or gravelly road¬
sides, railroad rights-of-way, quarries, open
woods, sandy river terraces, trails, and waste
places in towns.
Flowering from the first week in June,
fruiting from mid-June through October.
Once established, the ability of Creeping
Vcrvian to persist is exemplified by a Rich¬
land County collection (Nee 13,460, WIS)
where it is reported to be “common, in de¬
cumbent mats in heavily grazed hog lot . . .
now the only living plant.”
Although common and apparently indig¬
enous, it appears not to be part of any na¬
tive plant community (Swink 1974), except¬
ing perhaps sandy river terraces and dry
rocky exposed cliffs where it is rarely col¬
lected. These, supposedly undisturbed sites
include Brady’s Bluff Prairie (Trempealeau
County), Ferry Bluff (Sauk County), and
Observatory Hill (Marquette County), all
rocky, xeric “open” habitats with minimal
competition characterized by bedrock ex¬
posures and shallow soils.
But even the earliest Wisconsin collec¬
tions stress disturbance: “A roadside weed
very plentiful in some places” ( Lapham
s.n., Waukesha Co., 11 Aug. 1847, WIS) :
“. . . in waste places” ( Cheney s.n., Lafay¬
ette Co., 27 Aug. 1888, WIS); “On ballast
of C.M.St.P.&P. RR near University Farm.”
(Heddle 706, Dane Co., 1 Aug. 1907,
MIL). C. C. Parry (1852), who cataloged
the plants during a geological survey of Wis¬
consin, Minnesota and Iowa in 1848, char¬
acterized the habitat of V. bracteata as
“roadsides.” Although the plant probably
existed in Wisconsin prior to settlement cer¬
tainly its frequency has increased greatly
from the time of the first settlers.
Capable of autogamy, Verbena bracteata
shows a tendency for cross-fertilization, with
butterflies the primary visitors (Perkins et
al. 1975).
In Wisconsin, Verbena bracteata hybrid¬
izes with V. stricta (V . x deamii) and V.
urticifolia (V x perriana) (Fig. 1).
4. Verbena simplex Lehm.
Narrow-leaved Vervain Map 6.
Verbena angustifolia Michx.
Herb, perennial, 2.8-5 dm tall. Stems
erect, and simple, or ascending and some¬
times spreading branched, sparsely strigose.
Leaves 4. 5-7. 5 cm long, 3-11 mm wide,
88
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
linear to narrowly oblong or spatulate, ta¬
pering to a subsessile base, serrulate often
only toward the acute apex, sparsely strigil-
lose to scabrous on both surfaces. Spikes
3-24 cm long, slender, stiffly erect. Bract-
lets 2. 5-4.3 mm long, lanceolate-subulate,
shorter to as long as the calyx. Calyx 3-4.5
mm long, the five accuminate lobes erect to
spreading in fruit. Corolla light blue to pur¬
ple or rose, 5-7.1 mm broad, the tube 3.8-
4.8 mm long, slightly surpassing calyx. Nut¬
lets linear, 2.3-3 mm long, raised reticulate
above, striate below. 2n = 14 (Noack
1937).
Widespread from New Hampshire and
Massachusetts to Ontario, southern Minne¬
sota, and Nebraska, south to Florida and
Oklahoma (cf. map in Moldenke 1964c), in
Wisconsin only in the southern third, where
rare in open, dry, calcareous sites such as
gravelly moraines, roadsides, or railroad
rights-of-way.
Flowering from mid-June through mid-
August, fruiting late June to September.
In Wisconsin, V. simplex hybridizes with
V. stricta (V. x moechina ). Hybrids with
V. hastata ( V . x blanchardi ), and V. urti-
cifolia (V. x stuprosa) are not known from
Wisconsin (Fig. 1).
5. Verbena stricta Vent.
Hoary Vervain Map 7.
Verbena stricta Vent, forma albiflora
Wadmond, in Rhodora 34:19. 1932. (Type:
“southeastern Wisconsin,” in Gray Herbar¬
ium Harvard U. (?), not seen).
Herb, perennial, 2.9-11 dm tall. Stems
erect, robust, simple to branched, densely
pubescent. Leaves 3. 2-9. 4 cm long, 1.3-5
cm wide, narrowly elliptic, orbiculate, or
widely ovate, sessile or nearly so, sharply
serrate, biserrate or irregularly incised-ser-
rate, thick-textured, hirsute and rugose
above, densely canescent below. Spikes usu¬
ally 7, or 3 to 5, or more, thick and stiffly
erect, hirsute throughout, to 3.1 dm long.
Bractlets 3. 8-5. 6 mm long, lanceolate-subu¬
late, hirsute, shorter or equalling the calyx.
Calyx 3. 8-5. 6 mm long, densely hirsute, its
five lobes acuminate. Corolla purple, laven¬
der or blue (pink or rose in forma rosei-
flora Benke, white in forma albiflora
Wadmond) 7.5-9 mm wide, the tube 3.8-
6.4 mm long, surpassing the calyx. Nutlets
ellipsoid, 2.3-3 mm long, raised reticulate
above, striate below. 2n = 14 (Noack 1937).
A native of the Great Plains, from On¬
tario and Ohio to Montana, south to Texas,
Arizona, and Mexico (cf. map in Moldenke
1964c), in Wisconsin south of the Tension
Zone in many dry, sunny habitats such as
xeric and sandy prairies, limey or “goat
prairies” (here modal, Curtis 1959), abun¬
dant in heavily grazed, sandy or gravelly
pastures or abandoned fields, less frequently
in open oak or oak-jack pine woods, road¬
sides, and railroad rights-of-way.
Flowering from late June to early Octo¬
ber, fruiting from early July through Octo¬
ber.
In studying effects of grazing on thin soil
Wisconsin prairies, Dix (1959) gave V.
stricta a high negative grazing susceptibility
rating because of its greatly increased fre¬
quency on grazed hill prairies.
Capable of autogamy as are many weeds,
V. stricta shows a tendency for cross fertili¬
zation due to partial self-incompatibility.
Selfing is thwarted by the position of the
corolla tube which, horizontal and partially
closed by hairs, prevents pollen falling onto
a stigma unreceptive until anthesis. Insect
visitors are equally divided between Diptera,
Hymenoptera, and Lepidoptera (Perkins et
al. 1975).
In Wisconsin, V. stricta hybridizes with
each of the other four native species (Fig.
1), but most commonly with V. hastata ( V .
x rydbergii).
Section Glandularia Schauer
(Adventive Species) (See Umber 1979)
6. Verbena canadensis (L.) Britton
Rose Vervain
Herb, annual or perennial. Stems erect or
decumbent, often rooting at the nodes, gla-
1979]
Tans and litis— -Preliminary Reports— V erhenaceae
89
brous to spreading-hirsute. Leaves coarsely
incised, pinnatifid or 3 -cleft, glabrous to
hirsute on both sides. Spikes with many
large flowers in flat-topped, showy clusters.
Bractlets mostly shorter than calyx. Calyx
10-13 mm long, glandular-hirsute, with sub¬
ulate lobes. Corolla usually purplish-rose, 11-
15 mm broad , the tube about twice as long
as the calyx. Nutlets 3-3.5 mm long, 2n
3 0 (Dermen 1936).
Common from Pennsylvania, Tennessee
and Colorado south to Florida and Texas,
most abundant in the Ozarks, cultivated and
sometimes naturalized in Minnesota and
southern Michigan (cf. map in Moldenke
1962c), its seeds available commercially
and in Wisconsin occasionally planted in
cemeteries or flower gardens. Two speci¬
mens were observed: “in landscaped road¬
side gravel,” (Walworth County, T4N
RISE NE14SW14 Sect. 7, Sept. 4, 1975
Tans 1976); “dry roadside, south shore
Lake Wingra, UW-Arboretum,” (Dane
County, Sept. 5, 1971 (. Reardon 045, OSH).
7. Verbena x hybrida Voss ex Rumpler
Garden Verbena
Herb, annual or perennial. Stems freely
branched, procumbent, forming mats to 1 m
wide, densely hirsute or villous. Leaves 1.5-
8 cm long, 1.5-8 cm wide, dentate, trun¬
cate to cuneately narrowed to petiole, both
sides densely soft pubescent. Spikes a flat-
topped corymb, the flowers large and showy.
Bractlets 5-6 mm long, lanceolate, shorter
than calyx, densely soft pubsecent. Calyx
8-15 mm long, densely white-hirsute. Cor¬
olla showy, variously colored (blue, deep
violet, red, etc.), usually with a prominent
central white “eye,” 10-25 mm broad, the
tube 15-30 mm long.
A polymorphic hybrid of uncertain an¬
cestry, supposedly involving the South
American V. platensis, V. phlogiflora, V.
incisa, V. peruviana, and V. tenera (Mol¬
denke 1963b), commonly cultivated as an
ornamental throughout the world, known in
Wisconsin only from gardens since at least
the 1860’s (T. /. Hale s.n. WIS). 2n = 10,
20 (Furusato 1940).
8. Verbena bipinnatifida Nutt.
Cutleaf Verbena
Herb, annual or perennial. Stems erect or
procumbent, diffusely branched, hispid-hir¬
sute. Leaves 2-6 cm long, ovate in general
outline, delicately bipinnatifid or tripinnati-
fid with the divisions deeply cleft. Spikes,
canescent, with showy flowers in dense flat-
topped clusters. Bractlets 8-9 mm long, nar¬
rowly lanceolate, surpassing the calyx. Calyx
6-7.5 mm long with 2-3 mm long setaceous
teeth. Corolla pink to rose, purple or blue,
8-10 mm wide, the tube about 10 mm long
and 1.3-1. 5 times as long as the calyx. Nut¬
lets cylindric, 2-3 mm long. 2n = 30 (Sol-
brig 1959).
Primarily a Great Plains and southwestern
United States species, ranging from South
Dakota to Missouri and Georgia, west to
Texas and Arizona (cf. map in Moldenke
1962a), the only Wisconsin collection
from a Green County roadside (T3N R9E
Sect. 21, May 24, 1969, Maurer 311 OSH).
Hybridization Among Native Species
of Verbena
The Vervains native to Wisconsin (Sect.
VERBENA) are all wide ranging sympatric
species interfertile with one another. All are
diploid, with x = 7 (2n=14). Ecological
factors, no doubt, were responsible for iso¬
lating species and preventing hybridization
in pre-settlement times. Now, however, Ver¬
vains are common in many disturbed sites,
especially where human activities have
eradicated some or all of the native flora,
as for example in pastures. Of the three
Verbena hybrids in Kansas studied by Poin¬
dexter (1962), all were found in over-
grazed pastures, roadsides or waste places.
Hybridization is enhanced not only by
their tolerance of disturbance, with the re¬
sultant breakdown of ecological isolation,
but also by their extended flowering periods
(2 Vi to 3Vi months), allowing any two spe-
Fig. 4. Middle stem leaves of Verbena urticifolia, V. bracteata, V. stricta and V. simplex
and their hybrids native to Wisconsin.
Fig. 5. Middle stem leaves of Verbena urticifolia, V. hastata and V. stricta and their hybrids
native to Wisconsin.
1979]
Tans and litis — Preliminary Reports — Verbenaceae
91
cies to flower contemporaneously, and by
the wide variety of pollinators from many
insect orders.
Even though first generation hybrids are
relatively common in Verbena, the vast
majority of Vervains encountered in the field
are not hybrids. Introgression, apparently, is
limited, for the distinctness of the parental
species has not been reduced as, for exam¬
ple, in Tradescantia, Iris, or Helianthus. As
the parental species themselves are well
adapted to disturbed sites, such introgres-
sants may have no competitive advantage,
and, due to partial sterility, may have rela¬
tively short survival.
The following six hybrids occurring in
Wisconsin often can be recognized by inter¬
mediate leaf shape (Figs. 4, 5), pubescence,
flower size, and inflorescence, as well as re¬
duced fertility, and the nearby presence of
their parental species.
Verbena X deamii Moldenke
Beam’s Vervian Map 8.
Intermediate between V. bracteata and
V. stricta. Ascending to procumbent, re¬
sembling V. bracteata in habit, but with
larger, less laciniate, and reticulate leaves,
larger flowers, and bractlets usually not
foliaceous, the spikes more slender than in
V. stricta, often poorly fruited, the leaves,
stems, branches and inflorescences softly
villous.
Known from the central United States
where the parental species are sympatric, in
Wisconsin, from Brown County (“Bay Set¬
tlement” July 19, 1883, Schuette s.n., DS),
this erroneously attributed by Moldenke
(1963a) to Pierce County, perhaps because
the town of “Bay City” is located there.
Verbena X engelmannii Moldenke
Engelmann’s Vervain Map 8.
Intermediate between V. hastata and V.
urticifolia. Resembling V. urticifolia but
with denser, often poorly-fruited spikes usu-
aly with overlapping calyces, and blue to
purple flowers, the leaves coarsely serrate to
biserrate, larger than those of V. hastata,
the leaves, stem, branches and inflorescences
from nearly glabrous to evenly pubescent.
Corolla tube and calyx intermediate in
length, and pollen fertility reduced (Poin¬
dexter 1962).
Occurring in northeastern United States
where the parental species are sympatric, in
Wisconsin known from some 17 collections
from moist open woods, roadsides, stream
edges and wet meadows.
Verbena X illicita Moldenke
Bastard Vervain Map 9.
Intermediate between V. stricta and V.
urticifolia . Resembling V. urticifolia in habit,
the spikes denser with some of the mature
calyces overlapping, often poorly fruited,
but similar to V. stricta in its densely pu¬
bescent leaves, stems, branches and inflores¬
cences. Nutlet length and ribbing and calyx
and corolla lengths intermediate, the pollen
fertility greatly reduced (Poindexter 1962).
Known primarily from the central United
States where the parental species are sym¬
patric, in Wisconsin only from Crawford
(A. R. Moldenke 995, KANU, U), Iowa
(A, R. Moldenke 1003 KANU) (Moldenke
1965) and Winnebago Counties (Oshkosh,
July 30, 1909, M. K. Clemens s.n., POM)
(Moldenke 1964a).
Verbena X moechina Moldenke Map 9.
Intermediate between V. simplex and V.
stricta. Resembling V. simplex in habit, with
oblanceolate leaves, but with a dense, short
pubescence on leaves and stem, as well as
smaller flowers and shorter bractlets, often
poorly fruited. i
In Wisconsin known only from Rock
County “on north side of St. Lawrence Ave.,
1.4 miles west of Paddock Road, TIN
RUE Section 36,” ( Souter & Rice 1692,
July 31, 1972 BELC UWJ), ( Tans 1431,
August 23, 1975 WIS), a small population
in roadside gravel and in an abandoned
limestone quarry, growing with V. stricta
and such prairie plants as Asclepias verticil-
92
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
lata, Andropogon gerardi, Eragrostis specta-
bilis. Kuhnia eupatorioides, Ratibida pin-
nata, and Solidago nemoralis . While the
other parent, V. simplex, could not be found
nearby, a notation on the sheet of V. simplex
collected from Rock County ( Furnish s.n.,
July 24, 1971, UWJ) by W. Rice suggests
that it may be mislabeled, its probable col¬
lection site being a small gravel pit in Sect.
36, Newark Township, this, in fact, the site
of V. x moechina.
Verbena X perriana Moldenke
Perry’s Vervian Map 10.
Intermediate between V. bracteata and V.
urticifolia. Sometimes a large, diffuse plant,
stouter than V. bracteata and erect when
young, often decumbent at maturity, the
leaves much larger than in V. bracteata,
laciniate, the larger often with two basal
lobes characteristic of V. bracteata, the
bracteata, the bractlets equalling to surpass¬
ing the calyx.
Known from eastern and central United
States where the parental species are sym-
patric, in Wisconsin from Sauk Co. (Bara-
boo in 1861, Hale s.n., WIS); Dane Co.
(1858, Shears s.n., WIS; Madison in
1860’s?, Hale s.n., WIS); Waukesha Co.
(Aug. 22, 1891, Dunlap 9163, MIL); and
Marquette Co. (roadside, T14N R10E
NW1/4 Sect. 31, Oct. 3, 1958, litis 12,361,
WIS). According to Moldenke (1964b),
known from La Crosse Co. (La Crosse, July
20, 1887, L. H. Pammel s.n., ISC); Lafay¬
ette Co. (Shulsburg, July 19, 1883, Man¬
ning s.n., NY); and Milwaukee Co. (/. S.
Douglas s.n., WJC) .
Verbena X rydbergii Moldenke
Rydberg’s Vervian Map 10.
Intermediate between V. stricta and V .
hastata and resembling either parent. Leaves
wider and more deeply serrate than V. has¬
tata, but reticulate and velutinous beneath,
fruits irregularly produced. Intermediate in
leaf length/width ratio, nutlet length, cor¬
olla and calyx lengths with pollen fertility
greatly reduced (Poindexter 1962).
Occurring in central and eastern United
States where the parental species are sym-
patric, in Wisconsin known from some 15
collections from river bottom forests, dry
prairies and, most frequently, roadsides and
pastures.
2. Phyla Lour. Fog-fruit
A small, mostly tropical New World
genus of 10 species with only the follow¬
ing in Wisconsin:
1. Phyla lanceolata (Michx.) Greene
Fog-fruit Map 1 1 .
Lippia lanceolata Michx.
Lippia lanceolata Michx. var.
recognita Fern. & Grisc.
Herb, perennial. Stems creeping, to 8 dm
long, simple or branched at the base and
rooting at the nodes, occasionally with as¬
cending flowering branches, evenly pubes¬
cent with short malpighiaceous (attached at
their center) hairs. Leaves 2-8 cm long,
6-30 mm wide, lanceolate to narrowly ovate,
sharply serrate above the middle, evenly
pubescent on both surfaces. Heads dense,
borne singly or in pairs from middle and
upper leaf axils on 4-12 cm long pedun¬
cles, at first globose, later to 15 cm long and
cylindrical. Flowers sessile, solitary, in the
axils of short bractlets 2-3 mm long. Calyx
membranous, 2 mm long, compressed and
keeled, 2-fid. Corolla white or flushed with
purple, 2.5-3 mm long, salverform the slen¬
der tube cylindrical, surpassing the calyx,
the limb oblique, somewhat 2-lipped, 4-
lobed. Stamens included to barely exserted.
Fruit globose, 1-1.2 mm long, dividing into
2 nutlets. 2n = 32 (Smith 1966); 2n = 36
(Lewis 1961).
Widespread across the United States and
northern Mexico, in Wisconsin south of the
Tension Zone, a “tropical element” of open
habitats such as sunny, dry to wet sands or
1979]
Tans and litis— Preliminary Reports — V erhenaceae
93
silt along major streams, most frequent along
the lower Wisconsin and Mississippi Rivers
on gravel bars and sandy mudflats, upstream
as far as Columbia and Pierce Counties, also
along the lower Kickapoo River, Galena
River in Lafayette County, Sugar and Rock
Rivers and Fox and Wolf Rivers in Winne¬
bago and Waupaca Counties, occasionally
on bare lake shores.
Flowering from the second week of July
through the first week in October, fruiting
from late July through October.
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A MASS BALANCE OF NITROGEN IN WISCONSIN
Dennis R. Keeney
Department of Soil Science
University of Wisconsin-Madison
A bstract
A mass balance of nitrogen (N) in Wisconsin, with emphasis on the flows
and reservoir sizes in agriculture, was constructed. The model assumes steady
state and is on an annual basis. The data used were available statistics and litera¬
ture values. The calculations show that fixation of N by legumes is an important
component of the agricultural nitrogen balance, estimated at about 2.5 times the
inputs of N from fertilizer. The N fixed by legumes, when cycled through animals
and returned as wastes or when plowed under as residues, is a major input to the
soil organic N, and eventually available N pools. Further evaluation of this phase
of the cycle, particularly the net mineralization estimate, is needed. Such evalua¬
tion is required to improve the efficiency of use of N fertilizer and minimize agri¬
cultural impacts on the environment.
Introduction
Nitrogen is a key element in crop produc¬
tion; of the essential elements supplied from
the soil or fertilizers, it is required in the
highest amounts and is the element most
often inadequate (Viets, 1965). Recent in¬
creases in fertilizer nitrogen prices resulting
from rising energy costs have focused at¬
tention on the need for a better understand¬
ing of N in agriculture. Of equal importance
are the potential environmental impacts of
the increased flow of fixed N from man’s
activities. These include: high nitrate in
potable waters, associated with toxicides
from methemoglobinemia (NRC, 1978);
excessive productivity (eutrophication) of
surface waters (Keeney, 1972); formation
of carcinogenic nitrosamines (NRC, 1978);
and ozone depletion in the stratosphere
linked to production of nitrous oxide during
denitrification (Crutzen and Ehalt, 1977).
Evaluation of human influence on the
flows and storage of N in the environment
is difficult because of the numerous diffuse
sources of N, and its many biological and
chemical conversions. A first and important
step in this evaluation is the construction of
a materials (mass) balance. A mass balance
permits study of the behavior of an element
or compound in a defined system. This is
contrasted to the more common pollution
monitoring methods, which are expensive
and do not detect serious impacts until after
they have occurred. The mass balance
method emphasizes interactions between
components in the system and thus facili¬
tates prediction of future impacts. Further,
it serves as an organizational tool and per¬
mits evaluation of information gaps and data
needs.
The mass balance approach also has for¬
midable problems. Usually the data base is
insufficient, and verification by independent
method is difficult. The degree of aggrega¬
tion of various pools and transformations is
also important; usually aggregation increases
as the complexity of the system increases.
For example, a global mass balance for N
would have much higher degree of aggrega¬
tion than a confined laboratory system. As¬
signing ecosystem boundaries is also a prob¬
lem. Since N transfers are linked to atmo¬
spheric and water transport vectors, political
boundaries are seldom realistic. However,
they have the dual advantage that the data
base is more readily defined from available
95
96
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
YEAR
Fig. 1. Nitrogen fertilizer sales in Wisconsin,
1930-1975. Data from Wisconsin Department of
Agriculture, October 1975.
statistics, and practical decisions on material
flows are often made at the political level.
My colleagues and I often deal with dif¬
ficult questions about the sources, fate and
impact of N in Wisconsin agriculture. The
exercise reported here is an attempt to con¬
struct a meaningful statewide N mass bal¬
ance at low cost. Data are from published
statistics and the scientific literature. A
steady-state system is assumed, and the flows
are on an annual basis.
The State
Wisconsin is largely a rural state, with a
mixed cash grain, dairy, vegetable crop, and
general farm-based agriculture. The total
area is 14.64 X 106 ha, with 54 percent in
farmland. In 1974, there were 105,000
farms, averaging 75.6 ha. The population
Table 1. Area in corn grown for grain, rate of
application of nitrogen fertilizer, crop yield, and
nitrogen removal in grain for Wisconsin, 1964-
1974.
was 4.6 million, with a heavy concentration
around Milwaukee and its surrounding
counties. About 179,000 workers are em¬
ployed on farms. In 1973, gross farm cash
receipts were $2,540 million, with dairy
products accounting for $1,198 million and
livestock products for $690 million of the
gross income (Wisconsin Agricultural Sta¬
tistics, 1975).
Nitrogen Inputs
Fertilizer
The use of nitrogen fertilizer has increased
rapidly in Wisconsin in the past decade
(Fig. 1). In 1974, Wisconsin used 127
X 106 kg, about 1.5 percent of the U.S.
consumption of 8.5 million metric tons.
The area in corn grown for silage, about
400,000 ha, has remained roughly constant
in recent years. However, the area devoted
to corn that is grown for grain increased
more than 59 percent in the past decade,
and the average fertilizer N rates have more
than doubled (Table 1). The statewide
average yields of corn (about 80 percent of
the corn grain is raised in the southern and
eastern portions of the state) reflect the ef¬
fects of weather, however, more than they
do N fertilizer rates. For example, the sum¬
mer of 1970 was hot and dry, and corn
yields suffered from lack of moisture. In
1974, a late spring coupled with an early
killing frost resulted in a short growing sea¬
son and low yields. Hence, in 1974 (the
year I chose for this balance) N removal by
corn was below average.
Nitrogen Fixation
Symbiotic N fixation, mainly by alfalfa,
is a major part of Wisconsin’s agricultural
N budget (Table 2), but the amount of N
added to the soil when an alfalfa stand is
plowed under is difficult to estimate. There
are no data on accumulation of N by plant
roots for stands of alfalfa more than 6 to
9 months old. Several long-term experi¬
ments with crop rotations under conditions
found in Wisconsin indicate that an alfalfa
1979]
Keeney — Mass Balance of Nitrogen
97
Table 2. Nitrogen removal by legumes
in Wisconsin.
“From estimates in Boone and Welch (1972),
Johnson et ah (1975), Welch (1972), and Wis¬
consin Agricultural Statistics (1975).
b Largely red clover and timothy mixture.
meadow will supply the equivalent of about
120 to 135 kg/ha of fertilizer N (Rohweder
and Powell, 1973; Shrader and Pierre,
1966). The availability of N in legume resi¬
dues ranges from 28 to 50 percent of the
equivalent amount of fertilizer N (Shrader
and Pierre, 1966). Assuming that the up¬
take of fertilizer N is about 70 percent, the
residues of N in alfalfa amount to about
170 kg/ha. Since these residues accumu¬
late over the lifetime of the average crop
rotation (about 3 years in Wisconsin), I
estimated the input of alfalfa-N to the soil
reserve at 56 kg N/ha-yr and of mixed hay
systems at half this amount (28 kg N/ha-
yr). Soybeans fixed about two-thirds of the
N they remove (Johnson, Welch and Kurtz,
1975).
The rate of nonsymbiotic N fixation in
various ecosystems was estimated by Burns
and Hardy (1975) as follows: cropland,
5 kg N/ha-yr; grassland, 15 kg N/ha-yr;
forests, 10 kg N/ha-yr. Fixation in wetlands
and surface waters was estimated at 20 kg
N/ha-yr and includes fixation in sediment as
well as that by algae in the water (Mac-
gregor and Keeney, 1975).
Precipitation
A recent survey of N in precipitation in
Wisconsin (Hoeft, Keeney and Walsh,
1972) gave a weighted average flux of 3.5
kg N03-N, 3.5 kg NH4-N, and 7.5 kg par¬
ticulate N (total N minus inorganic N) per
hectare per year. Particulate N is assumed
to be derived largely from windblown soil
material, and thus its net contribution is
zero. Undoubtedly some of the N in precipi¬
tation comes from agricultural activities
through volatilization from fertilizers and
manure. In this sense, the estimated inputs
of nitrogen in Wisconsin precipitation in¬
volve some double accounting (that is, an
input is counted twice).
Total Inputs
Total inputs of N for various Wisconsin
land uses in 1974 are summarized in Table
3. Agriculture (categories 1-5) received
585 X 106 kg N/ha-yr, with 21 percent
from precipitation, 62 percent from biologi¬
cal fixation, and 10 percent in feed supple¬
ments.
Nitrogen Removal By Crops and
Nitrogen Transfers
Nitrogen removal by nonleguminous crops
in Wisconsin was calculated on the basis of
N contents of various crops (Agricultural
Research Service, 1971; Boone and Welch,
1972; Welch, 1972) and on the basis of
reported yields (Wisconsin Agricultural Sta¬
tistics, 1975). An estimated 144 X 106 kg
of N were removed in 1974 (Table 4).
Some of the crop N is transferred out of
the state in grain and vegetables and in ani¬
mal products; some is used in the state and
reappears in the production of wastes by the
animal and human populations. A large
amount of protein concentrate is imported.
Estimates for these N transfers are given in
Tables 4 and 5.
Analysis of Input, Output and
Transfer Errors
Of the N inputs listed in Table 3, the
quality of the estimates of fertilizer and pre¬
cipitation sources can be considered good.
In contrast, there is undoubtedly some error
in the estimates of symbiotic and nonsymbi-
98
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Table 3. Estimated nitrogen inputs to Wisconsin, 1974.
“Estimates from Agricultural Research Service (1971), Boone and Welch (1972), Welch
(1972), Wisconsin Agricultural Statistics (1975). Corn grain, 138 kg N/1,000 kg; com silage,
3.3 kg N/1,000 kg; sweet corn. 35 kg N/1,000 kg; wheat, 31 kg N/1,000 kg; barley and rye,
18 kg N/1,000 kg; oats, 20 kg N/1,000 kg; potatoes, 2.8 kg N/1,000 kg.
1979]
Keeney — Mass Balance of Nitrogen
99
Table 5. Nitrogen as human or animal wastes
produced annually in Wisconsin.
a From estimates in National Research Council
(1972) and Taiganides and Stroshine (1971).
otic N fixation. However, inputs from non-
symbiotic N fixation are relatively small,
particularly in the agricultural sector. Inputs
from symbiotic fixation have been estimated
from data on crop harvests (Table 2). Fixa¬
tion of N by alfalfa is by far the largest com¬
ponent of such inputs. A range of ±10 per¬
cent in the N content of alfalfa is likely in
practice, giving a range in removal of 197 ±
20 X 106 kg N. A further source of error is
the allocation of residual N from alfalfa, an
important value because it affects the size
of the pool of available N in the balance, as
discussed later. Alfalfa also takes up some
N from the soil; accounting for this transfer
would reduce the net value of the contribu¬
tion by legumes through fixation. The esti¬
mate used in Table 2 is based on observa¬
tion of the relative yield response of corn
and alfalfa fields the first year after plowing.
The actual value will depend on weather
and farm management practices and it is
therefore difficult to estimate possible error.
Nitrogen production and transfer esti¬
mates (Table 4) were made by multiplying
accepted values for the N content of each
product by the appropriate production, con¬
sumption, or export data, available from
Wisconsin Agricultural Statistics (1975).
Similarly, N waste production values were
obtained by multiplying accepted per-unit N
excretion values by the populations. The N
transfer and waste production values (Ta¬
bles 4 and 5) are thought to be reliable,
with the possible exception of the data for
pastures (Table 4), where N uptake was
equated to N fixation. This estimate would
be low if the N in the excreta of grazing
cattle were considered, and high if consider¬
able immobilization of N were occurring in
the topsoil. On balance, the estimate seems
low, since uptake of 22 kg N/ha (40 X 10G
kg N/1.8 X 106 ha of pastureland; Tables
3 and 4) is equivalent to the production of
only about 1500 kg (1.5 percent N in herb¬
age) /ha of dry matter. However, since ex¬
tensive data on the productivity of Wiscon¬
sin pastures are lacking, no better estimates
are available.
Agricultural Nitrogen Balance
In Wisconsin
Estimates of the sizes of pools and fluxes
of N in Wisconsin agriculture are presented
in Figure 2. Two models were examined for
their applicability in this exercise. One in¬
volved consideration of the total soil N as
the receptor of the annual N flux, assuming
steady state in this pool. The pool of or¬
ganic N in the soil in Wisconsin was esti¬
mated, assuming 0.15 percent N (4000 kg
N/ha in 20 cm of soil), for a total of 22,500
X 106 kg N. This pool is several orders of
magnitude larger than any of the N inputs
(see Table 3 and Fig. 2). Thus, the steady-
state assumption with respect to soil organic
N would have to be extremely accurate to
permit estimation of an output by differ¬
ence (Kohl, Shearer and Vithayathil, 1977).
The problem can be overcome in part by
considering the pools of available N and
slowly-available organic N in the soil to be
dynamic. The steady-state assumption can
be applied with greater accuracy to the soil
available N pool because this would not be
expected to vary markedly on an annual ba¬
sis. This pool, which is essentially the inor¬
ganic N in the root zone, also is of the same
magnitude as the annual N fluxes. Experi-
100
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Fig. 2. The flow of nitrogen in Wisconsin agriculture in 1974.
Pool sizes and fluxes are expressed in 106 kg N.
ence has shown, however, that the main
problem with the latter approach is in esti¬
mating the net mineralization from the soil
organic N pool. This is particularly true in
respect to the assignment of mineralization
(availability) rates of crop residues and ma¬
nure, two major inputs to the Wisconsin ag¬
ricultural N budget.
Rather than assign separate mineraliza¬
tion values to various inputs of organic N,
I treated them as an integral part of the soil
pool of organic N, and estimated a minerali¬
zation rate for this pool. It was assumed that
inputs of organic N from crop residues and
manure are small relative to the total pool
of organic N in the soil. Net mineralization
of N from the organic pool is normally con¬
sidered to range between 1 and 3 percent a
year (Bremner, 1967). Under the cool tem¬
perate conditions in Wisconsin, the lower
value is probably more realistic. Thus, net
mineralization was estimated at 225 X 106
kg N/yr. Other inputs to the soil pool of
available nitrogen are 39 X 106 kg N/yr
from the atmosphere and 122 X 106 kg
N/yr from fertilizers.
The organic N input from manures was
estimated at 130 X 106 kg N/yr assuming
50 percent loss from volatilization (Frere,
1976). Total annual input from plant resi¬
dues was estimated at 94 X 106 kg N, and
nonsymbiotic fixation was estimated at 39 X
106 kg N/yr. The total input of organic ni¬
trogen was thus 263 X 106 kg N/yr. Nitro¬
gen outputs by erosion to streams were esti¬
mated at 3 kg N/ha-yr (Shrader and Pierre,
1966), for a total loss of 18 X 106 kg N/yr
by that route. Although inputs to and outputs
from the pool of organic N are nearly bal¬
anced, unknown errors in the assumptions
are too great to determine net gain or loss in
this pool.
1979]
Keeney — Mass Balance of Nitrogen
101
The uptake of N from the pool of avail¬
able N in soil was estimated at 152 X 10°
kg N/yr, or 39 percent of the total flux
(386 X 106 kg N/yr) in that pool. The
value was obtained by the difference be¬
tween the total for removals and residual
N, and the estimate for fixation by legumes.
This estimate is reasonably close to the 50
percent value commonly cited for overall
efficiency of N uptake by crops, especially
considering that 1974 was a year of rela¬
tively poor corn harvests. The remainder of
the total flux, 234 X 10° kg N/yr, or 42 kg
N/ha-yr, is assumed to be lost to the envi¬
ronment by leaching and denitrification, but
present data do not permit apportioning
this loss between the two routes. Further¬
more, an analysis of potential errors in esti¬
mates is difficult. If the estimate of the pool
of organic N were in error by ±10 percent,
and if actual net mineralization ranged from
1 to 1.5 percent, the per hectare loss of nitro¬
gen would range from 36 to 66 kg/yr. This
loss seems high and could be the result of
overestimation of the rate of mineralization
of soil organic N, or of underestimation of
the amount of inorganic N taken up by le¬
gumes. The high degree of aggregation also
limits the usefulness of the model, which
reveals little about possible site-specific
problems (e.g., much of the agriculture is in
the fertile lands in the southern part of Wis¬
consin).
Most of the crop N is transferred to ani¬
mals, and the majority of this N is trans¬
ferred to wastes (Fig. 2). Volatilization is
estimated to be a major loss of N from the
system. This output has not been balanced
by an equivalent atmospheric input, because
some of this ammonia is deposited on non-
agricultural lands and some is transferred by
the prevailing winds across the state bound¬
ary.
Human consumption of grain and meat,
and exports from the state, account for 114
X 10e kg N (27 percent of the harvested
plant N). Human waste production (Table
5) does not equate exactly with the esti¬
mated consumption of food N (Fig. 2). The
difference may be the result of losses in food
preparation, or of errors in estimates of the
transfer functions. The amount of N in hu¬
man wastes that is now deposited on land
in Wisconsin is negligible.
The N in the animal products compart¬
ment is partitioned into wastes and edible
products. Fifty-six percent of the total (260
X 10c kg N) was estimated to be trans¬
ferred as wastes. Production losses, the un¬
accounted for portion of the animal prod¬
ucts pool, represent about 14.6 percent of
the total (60 X 106 kg N). This value seems
high, and suggests some errors in the analy¬
sis.
Summary and Conclusions
Because Wisconsin is largely a rural state,
the N mass balance is dominated by agri¬
culture. However, it differs from the Corn
Belt states in that the major N input is from
symbiotic N fixation by legumes in associa¬
tion with the livestock (primarily dairy)
industries. Of the 585 X 106 kg of N esti¬
mated to be cycled in Wisconsin agriculture
in 1974, fertilizer N supplied 22 percent,
N fixation 61 percent, and atmospheric N
7 percent. Crops remove about 65 percent
of the total N cycled, and a major portion
of this N estimated at about 68 percent, re¬
appears as animal wastes.
Despite some of the large uncertainties,
several interesting points emerge from this
mass balance. For example, in good crop
years corn production required more N than
was added to the soil while in poor years,
excess fertilizer N was added. The model
does point out that about twice as much N
is imported into the state as is exported in
food and feed products, and that better uti¬
lization of manure and legume residue N
might help bring imports more in balance
with exports. The use of an “available soil
N” pool indicated that the system is rela¬
tively more responsive to fertilizer N than
the proportion of fertilizer N input to agri¬
culture would indicate. Hence, a doubling
in fertilizer use would more than double the
losses of N in the system. However, it also
102
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
indicates that at present fertilizer N does
not appear to be causing a statewide pol¬
lution problem.
Acknowledgments
Research was supported by the Univer¬
sity of Wisconsin-Madison, College of Agri¬
cultural and Life Sciences. I appreciate the
comments and criticisms by Dr. R. Corey
and Dr. L. Walsh, Department of Soil Sci¬
ence, University of Wisconsin-Madison; Dr.
F. Welch, Agronomy Department, Univer¬
sity of Illinois, Champaign-Urbana; Dr. N.
Groth III, National Research Council,
Washington, D.C.; Dr. P. Brezonik, De¬
partment of Environmental Engineering Sci¬
ences, University of Florida, Gainesville;
and Dr. D. Kohl, Center for the Biology
of Natural Systems, Washington University,
St. Louis. The paper was presented in part
in Appendix A of the National Research
Council review on nitrates (1978).
Literature Cited
Agricultural Research Service. 1971. Nutri¬
tive value of foods. Home and Garden Bul¬
letin 72, Consumer and Food Economics In¬
stitute, U.S. Dept. Agric., Washington, D.C.
Boone, L. V. and L. F. Welch. 1972. The
more nitrogen in corn, the less in our water
supply. Illinois Res. 14:5-7.
Bremner, J. M. 1967. Nitrogeneous com¬
pounds, p. 19-66. In A. D. McLaren and
G. H. Peterson (eds.) Soil biochemistry, Vol¬
ume I. Marcel Dekker, Inc., New York.
Burns, R. C. and R. W. F. Hardy. 1975.
Nitrogen fixation in bacteria and higher
plants. Springer-Verlag, Inc., New York.
Crutzen, P. J. and D. H. Ehalt. 1977. Ef¬
fects of nitrogen fertilizers and combustion
on the stratospheric ozone layer. Ambio 6:
112-117.
Frere, M. H. 1976. Nutrient aspects of pol¬
lution from cropland, p. 59-60. In Control
of water pollution from cropland, Volume
Illinois Res. 14:3-4.
II — An overview. Report Nos. EPA-600/2-
75-026b and ARS-H-5-2, U.S. Dept. Agric.
and U.S. Environmental Protection Agency,
Washington, D.C.
Hoeft, R. G., D. R. Keeney and L. M. Walsh.
1972. Nitrogen and sulfur in precipitation
and sulfur dioxide in the atmosphere in
Wisconsin. J. Environ. Qual. 1:203-208.
Johnson, J. W., L. F. Welch and L. T. Kurtz.
1975. Environmental implications of N
fixation by soybeans. J. Environ. Qual. 4:
303-306.
Keeney, D. R. 1972. The nitrogen cycle in
sediment-water systems. J. Environ. Qual.
2:15-29.
Kohl, D. H., G. Shearer and F. Vithayathil.
1977. Some comments on nitrogen mass
balance studies. Paper presented at the Lake
Arrowhead Conference on Nitrogen, Lake
Arrowhead, California, January 1977.
Macgregor, A. N. and D. R. Keeney. 1975.
Nutrient reactions, p. 237-257. In N. F.
Stanley and M. P. Alpers (eds.) Man-made
lakes and human health. Academic Press,
London.
National Research Council. 1978. Nitrates:
An environmental assessment. National
Academy of Sciences, Washington, D.C.
723 p.
Rohweder, D. A. and R. Powell. 1973.
Grow legumes for green manure. Fact Sheet
A2477, Univ. of Wisconsin Extension,
Madison.
Shrader, W. D. and J. J. Pierre. 1966. Soil
suitability and cropping systems, p. 1-26. In
W. H. Pierre, S. R. Aldrich and W. P. Mar¬
tin (eds.) Advances in corn production:
Principles and practices. Iowa State Univ.
Press, Ames, IA.
Taiganides, E. P. and R. L. Stroshine. 1971.
Impact of farm animal production process¬
ing on the total environment, p. 95-98. In
Livestock waste management and pollution
abatement. Proceedings Internatl. Sympo¬
sium on Livestock Wastes, Ohio State Uni¬
versity, Columbus.
Viets, F. G. 1965. The plant’s need for and
use of nitrogen, p. 503-509. In W. V. Bar¬
tholomew and F. E. Clark (eds.) Soil nitro¬
gen. Agronomy 10, Am. Soc. Agron., Madi¬
son, WI.
Welch, L. F. 1972. More nutrients are
added to soil than are hauled away in crops.
Wisconsin Agricultural Statistics. 1975. Wis.
Dept. Agric. and U.S. Dept. Agric., Madi¬
son, WI.
PRELIMINARY REPORTS ON THE FLORA OF WISCONSIN
NO. 68. CAPRIFOLIACEAE— HONEYSUCKLE FAMILY
Peter J. Salamun
Department of Botany
University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee
An earlier study (Wade & Wade, 1940)
described the food and cover values for
wildlife and the distribution of the native
species of the Caprifoliaceae. This study
expands that work by including descriptions
of the native and adventive genera and spe¬
cies, updating the nomenclature and distri¬
bution records, supplying additional habitat
information and including keys to the iden¬
tification of various taxa. Most of this in¬
formation was compiled from specimens in
the herbaria of the University of Wisconsin-
Madison (WIS), University of Wisconsin-
Milwaukee (UWM), Milwaukee Public Mu¬
seum (MIL), University of Minnesota
(MIN), University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh
(WSO), University of Wisconsin-LaCrosse
(UWL) and the University of Wisconsin-
Stevens Point (UWSP). Other sources are
cited in the text.
Dots, triangles and crosses on the maps
indicate exact locations where specimens
have been collected. The numbers within the
map corner inserts indicate the number of
specimens noted which were flowering or
fruiting in the respective months and indi¬
cate when the species may be expected to
flower or fruit in Wisconsin. Specimens in
vegetative conditions, in bud or with im¬
mature fruits were not included. The no¬
menclature and descriptive features gen¬
erally follow Gleason and Cronquist (1963)
and Fernald (1950); however, more re¬
cent taxonomic treatments of certain taxa
are discussed in the text or cited in the bib¬
liography.
Grateful acknowledgment is made to
the curators of the above herbaria for the
loan of specimens; to many of my students
who supplied additional specimens for ex¬
amination; and to Dr. Hugh H. litis for his
suggestions in the preparation of this re¬
port as well as his critical reading of the
manuscript.
CAPRIFOLIACEAE A. L. de Jussieu
HONEYSUCKLE FAMILY
Upright, climbing or trailing shrubs or
rarely perennial herbs (Triosteum) with
opposite, simple or compound, mostly ex-
stipulate (except in Sambucus and Vibur¬
num ), deciduous or sometimes evergreen
leaves. Flowers regular or irregular , epigyn-
ous, perfect or rarely sterile, subtended by
2- 4 bracts or bracteoles, in corymbs, cymes,
in spike-like whorls at the tips of branches
or in pairs in the axils of leaves. Calyx of
3- 5 small or tooth-like sepals. Corolla gamo-
petalous, 3-5 lobed, rotate, tubular or cam-
panulate, sometimes gibbous near the base
and often bilabiate. Stamens 4-5, epipetal-
ous, alternating with the corolla lobes; fila¬
ments long or short; anthers oblong or lin¬
ear, longitudinally, dehiscent and versatile.
Ovary inferior, 2-5 -locular with 1 -many
seeds (stones) per locule.
A family of 18 to 20 genera and about
500 species, chiefly of the North Temperate
Zone, with many species in eastern Asia and
eastern North America and several species
ranging southward in mountainous areas to
South America, Australia and New Zealand.
In two regional floras (Fernald, 1950;
Gleason & Cronquist, 1963), the family
Caprifoliaceae is included, with the mor¬
phologically similar and largely tropical
family Rubiaceae, in the order Rubiales.
Some authors have suggested uniting them
into one family; however, Ferguson (1966)
listed several problems of such a union.
103
104
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Hillebrand and Fairbrothers (1969, 1970a,
and 1970b) have concluded, from serologi¬
cal investigations, that some genera of the
Caprifoliaceae ( Sambucus and Viburnum)
are more closely related to the genus Cornus
(Cornaceae) than to other genera of either
the Caprifoliaceae or Rubiaceae. In the
classification systems proposed by Cron-
quist (1963), Takhtajan (1969) and
Thorne (1968), the Caprifoliaceae is placed
in the order Dipsacales, which also in¬
cludes the families Adoxaceae, Valeriana-
ceae, Dipsacaceae and Calyceraceae. More
detailed investigations are needed on the
relationships of these families and this re¬
port will not include the Caprifoliaceae in
a specific order.
Key to Genera
A. Corolla rotate or nearly so, regular; style very short or absent; stigmas 3 or
3-lobed.
B. Leaves pinnately compound; fruit berry-like with 3 stone-like seeds.
. 1. Sambucus.
BB. Leaves simple; fruit a drupe with 1 stone-seed ....... .2. Viburnum.
AA. Corolla campanulate, funnelform or tubular, often more or less irregular or
bilabiate; style elongate; stigma capitate.
C. Herbaceous perennials; flowers sessile in the axils of cauline leaves.
. 3. Triosteum.
CC. Shrubs or woody vines; flowers in corymbs, cymes, whorled spikes or
pedicelled in pairs in the axils of cauline leaves.
D. Trailing or creeping shrubs, slightly woody at the base; stamens 4.
. 4. Linnaea.
DD. Erect shrubs or climbing woody vines; stamens 5.
E. Corolla campanulate; ovary 4-locular; fruit a 2-seeded berry.
. 5. Symphoricarpos.
EE. Corolla funnelform, tubular or bilabiate; ovary 2-5-locular; fruit
fleshy or dry, several seeded.
F. Fruit a capsule, with persisting calyx lobes; leaves serrate.
. 6. Diervilla.
FF. Fruit a berry, with short or non-persisting calyx lobes; leaves
entire . 7. Lonicera.
Tribe SAMBUCEAE HBK. ex DC.
1. SAMBUCUS L. Elderberry
Tall shrubs or small trees, often spread¬
ing from root sprouts, with grayish, some¬
times warty, bark and stems with large
piths. Leaves pinnately or rarely bipinnately
compound, with serrate leaflets and some¬
times having small stipules or glands at the
bases of the petioles. Flowers small, whitish,
regular in terminal bracteolate compound
cymes or panicles. Calyx of 5-teeth, or near¬
ly absent. Corolla rotate, 5-lobed, with a
short tube. Stamens 5, inserted near the
base of the corolla; filaments slender, short;
anthers short, oblong, extrorse. Ovary 3-5-
lobed. Fruit a drupaceous berry containing
3-5 stone-like seeds.
A genus of about 20 species, widespread
in the North Temperate Region; approxi¬
mately ten species occurring in North Amer¬
ica, including several introduced from Eur¬
asia. The two species native in Wisconsin
may be distinguished as follows:
Key to Species
A. Flowers in flat-topped umbelliform cymes; pith white; fruits black .
. . . 1. S. CANADENSIS.
AA. Flowers in ovoid cymes or panicles; pith brown; fruits red. 2. S. racemosa.
1979]
Salamun — Preliminary Reports — Caprifoliaceae
105
106
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
1. Sambucus canadensis L. var.
canadensis Common Elder Map 1.
Shrub up to 4 m tall, readily sprouting
from the roots and bearing flowers and fruits
in flat-topped terminal cymes, 10-20 cm
broad. Stems and branches with grayish-
brown, smooth to slightly rough bark and
large white pith. Leaves pinnately com¬
pound; leaflets 5-11, lanceolate to elliptic,
5-15 cm long and 3-6 cm wide, sharply ser¬
rate, acuminate at the tips and with rounded
bases, short-stalked, essentially glabrous on
both surfaces or sometimes hirtellous on the
veins beneath. Flowers white, rotate, 5-6
mm wide, fragrant. The drupaceous berries
purplish-black (rarely red, yellow, orange
or green), 5-6 mm in diameter, with 3-5
(usually 4) stone-like seeds. Ripe fruits are
used for making pies, pancakes, jellies and
wine. 2N = 36.
Widespread in Wisconsin on moist or
damp soils bordering upland woods, edges
of swamps and bogs, in sedge meadows,
along banks of streams and lakes and in
lowland woods. Less common in mesic or
dry deciduous or coniferous woods, especi¬
ally in northern and northwestern counties.
It is widely planted as an ornamental in
parks, yards and along fencerows. A num¬
ber of horticultural varieties have been de¬
scribed (Bailey, 1949) based on variations
in fruit color, leaf color and dissection of
leaves. The var. laciniata Gray, which
should be more appropriately designated as
a form, often escapes to railroad embank¬
ments and waste areas. Pith of this species is
often used in botanical laboratories for hold¬
ing specimens in preparation for freehand
sectioning. Flowering chiefly from mid-May
to August; fruiting in August to October.
2. Sambucus racemosa L. subsp. pubens
(Michx.) Hulten Red-berried Elder
Map 2.
Sambucus pubens. Michx.
Sambucus racemosa L. var. pubens Wats.
Tree-like shrub, up to 3 m tall, with
flowers and fruits in paniculate inflorescen¬
ces. Stems grayish with warty bark, brown
pith and finely pubescent twigs. Leaves
pinnately compound; leaflets 5-7, ovate-
lanceolate to narrowly oblong, 5-12 cm long
and 2-6 cm wide, with finely serrate mar¬
gins, acuminate tips and rounded bases and
more or less downy pubescent beneath.
Flowers yellowish-white, ill-scented, similar
in size and form to S. canadensis. Fruits
bright red (sometimes greenish, white or
yellow) drupaceous berries with 3-5 stone¬
like seeds; edible when ripe. 2N = 36.
Fernald (1950) and Gleason and Cron-
quist ( 1963) list this shrub as a distinct
species, S. pubens Michx., although the lat¬
ter authors suggest it may be considered a va¬
riety of the Eurasian species, S. racemosa L.
Hulten (1970) investigated the Asian,
European and American taxa and concluded
they should be considered as subspecies of
one polymorphic species. His treatment is
followed in this report.
Variations in dissection of leaves, pubes¬
cence and color of flowers and fruits have
been given varietal or forma designations
and are listed in Bailey (1941) and Fernald
( 1950) . Several specimens with finely dis¬
sected leaves (f. dissecta (Brit.) Fern.) were
noted in several herbaria, but were too few
in number to be mapped.
Native to the boreal and northern hard¬
wood forests of North America (Newfound¬
land and New England to Alaska, south¬
ward to Oregon, South Dakota, northeastern
Iowa, northern Illinois and Indiana and in
the eastern uplands to Tennessee and Geor¬
gia). In Wisconsin it is more common north¬
ward in open conifer woods, mixed conifer-
deciduous forests, rich maple woods and at
the bases of rocky bluffs and along stream
banks, southward it occurs infrequently in
ravines and along cool stream valleys in the
southeast and along moist stream banks and
cool slopes on sandstone bluffs and in rocky
woods in central and southwestern Wiscon¬
sin. Flowering late-April to early- June;
fruiting mid-June to early -A ugust.
Two European species, S. nigra L. and
1979]
Salamun — Preliminary Reports — Caprijoliaceae
107
S. Ehulus L. have been introduced into
eastern North America and have been re¬
ported as becoming established along road¬
sides and in waste areas; however, no speci¬
mens have been noted in any Wisconsin
herbarium.
Tribe VIBURNEAE Fritsch
2. VIBURNUM L. Viburnum
Deciduous (some introduced species are
evergreen) erect or decumbent shrubs or
small trees. Leaves simple, opposite or
rarely whorled, entire, serrate, dentate or
lobed, glabrous or pubescent (sometimes
with stellate hairs), petioled, exstipulate or
stipulate (some stipules reduced to glands).
Flowers perfect or occasionally sterile, reg¬
ular, subtended by cauducous bracts and
bracteoles, in terminal or axillary compound
cymes or panicles. Calyx of 5 tooth-like
lobes, persistent. Corolla rotate to broadly
campanulate, 5-lobed, white or sometimes
pinkish. Stamens 5, inserted near the base
of the corolla; filaments slender; anthers
oblong, 4-lobed introrse. Ovary 3-locular,
only one fertile with a single pendulous
ovule; style short; stigma 3-lobed. Fruit a
globose or ellipsoid , 1 -seeded drupe, topped
by the persistent calyx.
Chiefly a North Temperate Zone genus of
about 250 species of which 25 are native to
North America. Three or four Asian and
European species have become naturalized.
This complex genus has been divided into
nine sections based on the shape and furrow¬
ing of the stone-seeds, winter buds and leaf
venation. Wisconsin species are included in
the sections: Lantana Spach, Lentago
(Raf.) DC., Odontotinus Rehder and Opu-
lus DC. Many of the species are widely
planted as ornamentals in city, county and
state parks, home yards, arboretums and
botanical gardens. A detailed list of culti¬
vated species in the University of Wisconsin
Arboretum was compiled by Wood (1976).
Fruits of most species are eaten by a variety
of birds and wildlife.
Key to Species
A. Leaves pinnately veined, not lobed.
B. Leaves entire, wavy-margined or finely serrate, the lateral veins curved
and branching near the margins, not terminating in the teeth; buds naked
or with one pair of scales.
C. Lower surfaces of leaves and branchlets stellate-pubescent; winter
buds naked. . . . 1. V. lantana.
CC. Lower surfaces of leaves and branchlets glabrous or scurfy, not
stellate pubescent; winter buds with one pair of scales.
D. Inflorescence definitely peduncled; margins of leaves entire,
undulate to crenate. . . . .2. V. cassinoides.
DD. Inflorescence sessile or nearly so; margins of leaves serrate or
serrulate with sharp teeth.
E. Leaves mostly with sharp acuminate tips; branchlets
slender and whip-like. . . 3. V. lentago.
EE. Leaves with acute, obtuse or nearly rounded tips;
branchlets stiff, often nearly at right angles to the main
branches. . . . . . 4. V. prunifolium.
BB. Leaves dentate, the lateral veins straight or with only 1-2 branches and
terminating in the teeth; buds with 2 pairs of scales .
. . . . . 5. V. RAFINESQUIANUM.
AA. Leaves palmately veined and, except for the uppermost pairs, mostly pal-
mately lobed.
108
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
F. All flowers perfect, regular; petioles without stipules or glands.
G. Leaves stellate-pubescent beneath; drupes blue-black ..........
. . 6. V. ACERIFOLIUM.
GG. Leaves glabrous or with only simple hairs beneath; drupes yellow-
orange to red. ............................. 7. V. edule.
FF. Marginal flowers sterile, with enlarged and more or less irregular co¬
rollas; petioles with stipules at the bases and glands at the summit.
H. Glands at the tips of the petioles stalked and round-topped; stip¬
ules with thickened tips. ................. .B. V. trilobum.
HH. Glands at the tips of the petioles sessile or nearly so, cup-shaped;
stipules filiform with slender tips. . . . . .9. V. opulus.
Section LANTANA Spach
1. Viburnum lantana L. Wayfaring Tree
Shrub, up to 5 m high, with cinerous-
stellate pubescent branchlets and naked
winter buds. Leaves broadly ovate, oblong-
ovate to nearly oval, 5-12 cm long and
nearly and broad, acute or obtuse at the tips
and rounded to cordate at the bases, the
margins finely serrate and both surfaces
stellate-pubescent; petioles 1-2 cm long, pu¬
bescent. Flowers perfect, white, 4-18 mm
wide, in short-peduncled cymes about 5-10
cm broad; stamens exceeding the corolla
lobes. Fruits flattened, ovoid drupes, 8-10
mm in diameter, red but becoming dark
purple-black at maturity. 2N |g 18.
Introduced from Eurasia and commonly
planted in home yards, parks and other
landscaped areas; frequently escaping to
adjacent open woods, roadsides and along
fencerows. Because few specimens outside
of cultivation were noted in the various
herbaria, the extent of naturalization in
Wisconsin could not be mapped. Flower¬
ing May-June; fruiting late August to Sep¬
tember. V. carle sii Hensl. (Carles Vibur¬
num), which differs in having fragrant sal-
verform flowers and leaves with more
widely spaced serrations, is often planted as
an ornamental and may occur in similar
habitats.
Section LENTAGO (Raf.) DC.
2. Viburnum cassinoides L. Withered;
Wild Raisin Map 3 (triangles).
Shrub, up to 4 m tall, with smooth to
brownish-scurfy branchlets and winter buds
covered by a pair of connate, yellow or gold¬
en scurfy scales. Leaves lanceolate, ovate,
obovate to oval, 3-12 cm long and 2-6 cm
wide, on scurfy petioles, the tips short-acu¬
minate, bases rounded to tapering, margins
subentire to crenate, pinnately veined with
the lateral veins curved and branching near
the margins. Flowers perfect, white, ill-
scented, with exserted stamens, in cymes
3-10 cm broad, on peduncles 0.5-2 cm long.
Drupes flattened-ovoid to nearly subglobose,
8-10 mm in diameter, blue-black, but often
appearing bluish because of dense bloom.
2N = 18.
Native to the northern hardwood forests
of eastern North America, reaching its west¬
ern limit in upper Michigan and northeast¬
ern Wisconsin where it occurs at the margins
of moist woods, damp clearings and in damp
or swampy shrubby areas. Wisconsin collec¬
tions are only from Marinette and Oconto
Counties. None of the herbarium specimens
had flowers and only two had fruits, hence
flowering and fruiting times are assumed to
be similar to those of other Viburnums.
3. Viburnum lentago L. Nannyberry;
Sheepberry Map 4.
Tall shrub or small tree, up to 10 m, with
slender whip-like, ascending branchlets.
Winter buds slender-conical, 1-2 cm long,
those with floral primordia with swollen
bases, enclosed by a pair of valvate, gray-
scurfy scales. Leaves ovate, elliptic-lanceo¬
late to oblong, 5-10 cm long and 3-6 cm
wide, on wavy-margined petioles 1-3 cm
long, exstipulate, glabrous on both surfaces
1979]
Salamun— Preliminary Reports— Caprifoliaceae
109
or sometimes reddish-scurfy on the veins
beneath, lustrous above , the margins sharply
serrulate, usually with sharply acuminate
tips and acute to rounded bases, and the
lateral veins curved and anastamosing be¬
fore reaching the margins. Cymes sessile or
on short peduncles (rarely exceeding 1 cm),
5-12 cm broad; flowers perfect, white, fra¬
grant with exserted stamens. Fruits blue-
black, glaucous, globose to ellipsoid drupes,
8-15 mm long, often persisting throughout
the winter. 2N = 18.
Common throughout Wisconsin in moist
borders of upland woods, in open floodplain
woods, copses, thickets bordering swamps
and bogs and on wooded lake and stream
banks and seepage slopes; less common in
dry upland woods, dry bluffs, roadsides and
pastured woods. It is frequently planted as
an ornamental in parks and to attract birds
in home yards. Flowering mid-May to mid-
June; fruiting July to October.
4. Viburnum prunifolium L. var.
prunifolium Black Haw
Map 3 (dots).
Coarse shrub, up to 8 m tall, with stiff
branchlets, often nearly at right angles to
the main branches, the lower ones nearly
thorn-like. Winter buds similar to V. len-
tago, but mostly 5-13 mm long and with
reddish-scurfy scales. Leaves ovate, obo-
vate-oblong to broadly elliptic, 3-10 cm
long and 2-6 cm wide, on slightly margined
petioles (0.5-2 cm long), exstipulate, the
dull subcoreaceous blades with acute to
rounded (rarely acuminate) tips and
rounded to cuneate bases, serrulate margins,
glabrous but sometimes pubescent with red¬
dish scurf beneath and the less prominant
lateral veins curving and branching near the
margins. Cymes sessile or nearly so, 3-12
cm broad, the flowers white, perfect, slightly
scented. Fruits blue-black, elliptical drupes,
7-15 mm long, persistent into the winter.
2N = 18.
Native to the deciduous forest region of
eastern North America, reaching its west¬
ward limit in southeastern Wisconsin. The
few Wisconsin specimens were collected in
thickets and along margins of maple-beech
woods in Milwaukee and Racine Counties.
Absence from Kenosha County is probably
the result of inadequate collecting. This
shrub is often planted as an ornamental in
horticultural gardens. Flowering and fruiting
times are similar to those of V. lentago.
Section ODONTOT1NUS Rehder
5. Viburnum rafinesquianum Schultes
Downy Arrowwood
Shrub, 1-3 m tall, with many branches
from the base, the bark smooth, dark gray
and the twigs yellow-brown. Winter buds
with two pairs of overlapping scales. Leaves
short-petioled, stipulate, the blades ovate,
oblong-ovate to suborbicular, 2.5-10 cm long
and 1-6 cm wide, with acute to acuminate
tips and obtuse to subcordate bases, the
lateral veins straight or sometimes forking
and extending to the 4-10 coarse dentations
on each margin, the upper surfaces glab¬
rous or sparsely pubescent, the lower sur¬
faces downy at least on the veins with both
simple and stellate hairs. Cymes 1.5-7 cm
broad, with 4-7 branches; flowers on pedi¬
cels 0.5-3. 5 cm long, perfect, white, the
corolla lobes rounded to sub-acute and finely
serrate on the margins, only slightly re¬
curved; hypanthia glandular. Fruits purplish-
black, flattened, ellipsoid drupes, 6-9 mm
broad. 2N = 36. Two varieties have been
described, both occurring in Wisconsin:
5a. Viburnum rafinesquianum Schultes
var. rafinesquianum Map 5.
Leaf blades pilose beneath; petioles 3-8
(mostly less than 7) mm long, often ex¬
ceeded by the stipules. General distribution
is from Vermont and southern Quebec to
Manitoba, southward to Georgia, Kentucky
and Missouri. Widespread throughout Wis¬
consin, in similar habitats, but more com¬
mon, than the following variety.
110
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
5b. Viburnum rafinesquianum Schultes
var. affine (Bush) House Map 6.
Leaf blades glabrous beneath, except
pilose on the veins or in the axils of the
veins; petioles 5-12 (mostly about 10) mm
long, usually longer than the stipules. Range
extends from southern Ontario to Minne¬
sota, southward to Virginia and Arkansas.
Intermediates with short petioles and
sparsely pubescent blades or with long peti¬
oles and pubescent blades occasionally oc¬
cur. Although var. affine is less common,
both varieties are widespread in habitats
ranging from dry to moist deciduous and
northern hardwood stands, on rocky, sandy
and ravine slopes, in thickets along fence-
rows, along power line right-of-ways and
sometimes in dry, open or pastured oak
woods and in clearing. Flowering mid-May
to late-June; fruiting mid-July to late-Sep-
tember.
Two other species in this section often
planted as ornamentals are: V. molle
Mich. (Kentucky Viburnum), with long-
petioled (2 cm or more) and deeply cor¬
date leaves and V. dentatum L. (Southern
Arrow-wood) with long-petioled leaves with
rounded bases. The hardiness and the ex¬
tent of establishment outside of cultivation
of these species is not known.
6. Viburnum acerifolium L. var.
acerifolium Maple-leaved Viburnum;
Dockmackie. Map 7 (dots).
An erect, slender-branched shrub, 1-2 m
tall, the branches upright, pilose at first be¬
coming glabrate, and with scaly winter buds.
Leaves elliptic to nearly orbicular, palmate-
ly veined, usually 3-lobed (rarely lobeless),
4-12 cm long and nearly as wide, with acute
to acuminate tips, coarsely serrate to toothed
margins and rounded to cordate bases, the
upper surfaces glabrous to sparsely pubes¬
cent, the lower surfaces downy with stellate
pubescence and numerous reddish or black
dots; petioles 0.8-4 cm long, pilose to nearly
glabrous; stipules sometimes present. Cymes
2.5-8 cm broad with white or pinkish flow¬
ers. Fruits purple-black (rarely white), el¬
lipsoidal to globular drupes, 5-10 mm in
diameter. 2N = 18.
Plants with pink flowers have been desig¬
nated as f. collinsii Rouleau, those with
white fruits as f. eburneum House and those
with ovate, unlobed leaves as f. ovatum
Rehd. Only f. ovatum has been observed
sufficiently to be plotted (crosses) on Map
7.
Common in northern and central Wiscon¬
sin in mature northern hardwood forests,
maple-beech-basswood forests and some¬
times in jack pine stands, second-growth
aspen and birch woods, on wooded talus
slopes and rocky outcrops and in wooded
ravines along the Lake Michigan shoreline.
It is less common in southern Wisconsin in
maple-basswood and oak woods. The ab¬
sence of specimens in the westernmost coun¬
ties indicates that this species probably
reaches its western limit here. Rosendahl
(1955) does not list this species for Min¬
nesota. Flowering late-May to early-July;
fruiting late-July to October.
Section OPULUS DC.
7. Viburnum edule (Michx.) Raf.
Squashberry Map 3 (crosses).
An erect or straggling shrub, 0.5-2 m tall,
with grayish bark, glabrous, reddish-brown,
ridged branchlets and winter buds with 2
connate outer scales. Leaves nearly orbicu¬
lar, 3-11 cm broad, palmately-veined and
shallowly 3-lobed or some unlobed, the mar¬
gins coarsely serrate, the upper surfaces
glabrous, the lower surfaces more or less
pubescent on the veins and sometimes with
glands above the junction with the petioles;
petioles exstipulate, 1-3 cm long. Cymes 1-
3.5 cm broad, mostly 5-rayed, on short
peduncles, bearing white, perfect flowers,
5-6 mm wide, with included stamens. Fruit
a red or orange, ovoid to nearly globose
1979]
Salamun — Preliminary Reports — Caprifoliaceae
111
drupe, 8-10 mm in diameter. Chromosome
number not determined.
A boreal species which ranges from Lab¬
rador to Alaska, southward to New York,
Ontario, northern Michigan and Minnesota
and in the Rocky Mountains to Colorado
and Oregon. It has been reported in only
one locality in Wisconsin, at the base of a
quartzite talus slope in the Barron Hills,
near Leheigh in Barron County. The speci¬
men cited was collected in 1933 and no
other plants have been observed since;
therefore, if it is not extinct it is one of the
rarest plant species in Wisconsin. Flower¬
ing late-May to early-June; fruiting August
to October.
8. Viburnum trilobum Marshall
American Highbush Cranberry; Pembina
Map 8.
Viburnum opulus L. var. americanum
Ait.
Viburnum opulus L. var. trilobum Marsh.
Viburnum opulus L. subsp. trilobum
R. T. Clausen
Viburnum americanum of various au¬
thors, not Mill.
Coarse shrub or small tree, up to 4 m tall,
with grayish bark and smooth branchlets
bearing reddish, ovoid, bluntly apiculate
winter buds which are enclosed by two con¬
nate scales. Leaves broadly ovate, 3-9 cm
long and 3-6.5 cm wide, palmately-veined,
3-lobed, the lobes elongated and coarsely
toothed and the bases obtuse, rounded or
truncate, the upper surfaces glabrous or
sparsely strigose, the lower paler and with
scattered appressed hairs to nearly glabrous;
petioles 1-2.5 cm long with one or more
pairs of stalked, round-topped glands at the
tips and with one or two pairs of slightly
clavate stipules at the bases. Cymes 4-15 cm
broad, on peduncles 2-6 cm long. Flowers
white, perfect, 8-15 mm wide in the center
of the inflorescence; sterile marginal flowers
15-18 mm wide, with slightly irregular cor¬
ollas. Fruits orange to red, subglobose to
ovoid pulpy drupes, 7-10 mm in diameter;
edible and often used in jellies. 2N — 18.
Generally distributed throughout the
state in poorly drained peaty soils, bogs, low
swampy woods, moist alder thickets, edges
of wet pastures and along moist stream and
lake banks; infrequent on north-facing
slopes, moist deciduous woods and mesic to
dry wooded bluffs. Flowering May to June;
fruiting July to September.
9. Viburnum opulus L. European High¬
bush Cranberry; Guelder Rose Map 9.
Viburnum opulus L. var. opulus
Similar to V. trilobum except the leaves
are more rounded and the lobes less pro¬
longed, the petioles with sessile, concave-
topped glands at the tips and the stipules
are filiform or attenuate. Fruits are more
bitter and less pleasant to the taste than
V. trilobum, often persisting through the
winter. 2N = 18.
A horticultural variant, the snowball-tree,
var. roseum L., with a rounded inflorescence
and only sterile flowers, is sometimes
planted as an ornamental.
This Eurasian species, frequently plant¬
ed in parks, yards, botanical gardens
and arboretums, has become established,
probably through dispersal by birds, in open
and pastured woods, along fencerows, in
shrubby roadsides and in waste areas. The
sparsity of records in the northern half of
the state may be the result of limited collect¬
ing or the preference of botanists for the
native species, V. trilobum.
The similarity in morphological features
of V. trilobum and V. opulus is the reason
some workers consider them as varieties or
subspecies of V . opulus. Since no recent in¬
vestigations have been carried out concern¬
ing actual or potential hybridization be¬
tween them and because of distinguishing
features of the petiolar glands, stipules, fruit
taste, habitat preferences and their allopatric
natural ranges, I have considered them to
be distinct species.
112
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
1979]
Salamun — - Preliminary Reports — Caprifoliaceae
113
114
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
3. TRIOSTEUM L. Horse Gentian;
Feverwort; Wild Coffee
Perennial herbs with erect, coarse, simple
and more or less pubescent stems. Leaves
opposite, entire, sessile, exstipulate, usually
hairy, the blades obovate, oblanceolate to
panduriform, tapering to the bases or con¬
nate about the stem. Flowers perfect, irregu¬
lar, sessile, solitary or in clusters of 2-4 in
the axils of leaves, subtended by bracts or
bracteoles. Calyx of 5 linear-lanceolate,
foliaceous lobes, persistent Corolla 5-lobed,
slightly longer than the calyx, greenish-
yellow to dull red, tubular, often hairy with¬
in and slightly gibbous at the base. Stamens
5, inserted about the middle of the corolla
tube, usually included; filaments short, hairy;
anthers linear to oblong, more or less united.
Ovary 4-5-locular, but only 3 functional
with a solitary ovule in each; style included
or slightly exserted, usually hairy below;
stigma capitate, 3-5-lobed. Fruit a yellow or
red berry, crowned by the persistent calyx,
enclosing 3 bony seeds, becoming hard and
dry with age.
A genus of 10-12 species, chiefly in east¬
ern Asia and eastern North America. Al¬
though included in the tribe Viburneae (Fer¬
guson, 1966), other authors have placed
this genus in the Caprifolieae (Lonicereae)
or consider it between Viburneae and Lin-
naeeae. The taxonomic treatment of Lane
(1955) is used for the Wisconsin taxa.
Key to Species
A. Principal leaves panduriform, with broadly connate-perfoliate bases; stems
mostly glandular-pubescent, the abundant hairs chiefly less than 0.5 mm
long; style exserted about 2 mm beyond the corolla; fruit yellow-orange.
. 1 . T. PERFOLIATUM.
AA. Principal leaves mostly with narrow bases, sometimes narrowly panduriform
and slightly connate at the bases; stems with both glandular and glandless
hairs or chiefly with long glandless hairs, over 0.5 mm long; style equalling
the corolla or included; fruit bright orange, red or reddish-purple.
B. Stems with glandless hairs, 0.5-1. 5 mm long, overtopping shorter glan¬
dular hairs; fruit bright orange . 2. T. aurantiacum.
BB. Stems with glandless hairs up to 3.0 mm long; fruit red or reddish-
purple . 3. T. ILLINOENSE.
1. TRIOSTEUM PERFOLIATUM L.
Tinker’s Weed Map 10.
Triosteum perfoliatum L. var. perfoliatum
Coarse plant, 0.2- 1.0 m tall, with a sim¬
ple, densely glandular-puberulent stem. The
principal (middle) leaves strongly panduri¬
form, 1-3 dm long and 3-9 cm wide with
connate enlarged bases 3-9 cm wide, the
upper ones obovate to oblong-ovate, with
attenuate bases, velutinous beneath, or glab¬
rous to sparsely pubescent in f. glaucescens
Weigand. Flowers erect, 3-4 in each leaf
axil; calyx lobes 0.9-2 mm wide, with acute
or attenuate tips; corolla tubular, slightly
bilabiate, yellowish-green to dull purple,
densely glandular, the mouth 5-6 mm wide;
stamens about equalling the corolla; style
usually exserted about 1. 5-3.0 mm. Fruit
yellow-orange, densely puberulent. 2N =
18.
Locally common in brushy fields, thickets
and open woods, often in gravelly or rocky
areas, less frequent in open fields or pastured
woods, chiefly in the southern one-half of
the state. Flowering mid-May to early-July;
fruiting early August to October.
1979]
Salamun — Preliminary Reports — Caprifoliaceae
115
2. Triosteum aurantiacum Bicknell
Wild Coffee Map 11.
Triosteum aurantiacum Bicknell var.
aurantiacum
Triosteum perjoliatum L. var. aurantia¬
cum (Bicknell) Weigand
Similar to T. perfoliatum but stems with
both glandular and glandless hairs, the latter
up to 1.5 mm long . Leaves ovate to oblong-
ovate with long tapering bases, rarely 1-3
pairs slightly panduriform and connate, the
lower surfaces densely pubescent. Flowers
mostly 1-3 in leaf axils; calyx lobes 1.5-2. 8
mm broad, blunt or acute at the tips; corolla
red-purple, distinctly bilabiate, the month
7-9 mm wide, exceeding the stamens; style
mostly included. Fruit ellipsoid, bright
orange-red. 2N = 18.
Plants with glabrous lower leaf surfaces
have been designated f. glaucescens (Wei¬
gand) Lane, and plants with leaves in whorls
of 3 have been observed, but no special
taxonomic treatment has been described.
Scattered throughout the state in rich moist
soils along wooded river banks, in moist
upland deciduous woods and, occasionally,
in conifer-deciduous woods, dry open de¬
ciduous woods and in thickets. Flowering
mid-May to late-June; fruiting August to
October.
3. Triosteum illinoense (Weigand)
Rydberg Horse Gentian Map 12.
Triosteum perfoliatum L. var. illinoense
Weig.
Triosteum aurantiacum Bicknell var.
illinoense (Weig.) Palmer &
Steyermark.
Differing from T. perfoliatum and T.
aurantiacum in the stems having glandless
hairs, 1.5-2. 5 mm long, and few or no
glandular hairs; upper leaf surfaces hispid-
strigose with hairs up to 1 mm long; calyx
ciliate, with hairs exceeding 1.5 mm in
length. Fruits red to reddish purple. Plants
with glabrous lower leaf-surfaces have been
designated f. glabrescens Lane. 2N = 18.
In open oak woods, lightly wooded rocky
hillsides, open bluffs and infrequently on
slopes above streams in southwestern Wis¬
consin, extending north to Vernon and
Pierce Counties. The distribution pattern
and preferences for drier habitats of this
species suggests a phytogeographic history
which may be associated with the extension
of the prairie peninsula during post-glacial
time (litis, 1963).
Tribe LINNAEAE Fritsch
4. Linnaea Gronovius Twinflower
Trailing or creeping shrub with thin,
slightly ligneus, stoloniferous stem and nu¬
merous short, erect leafy stems, 3-10 cm
high. Leaves evergreen, broadly elliptical to
suborbicular, 0.5-2 cm broad, slightly cre-
nate above the middle, sparingly ciliate, with
obtuse to acute tips and abruptly contracted
at the bases into short petioles. Flowers per¬
fect, borne in pairs (infrequently 3-6) on
erect, glandular-setulose peduncles 2-10
cm high. Calyx of 5 subulate teeth, glandular
pubescent. Corolla regular, funnelform to
campanulate, 5-lobed, constricted at the
base, white and tinged with rose-purple,
pubescent within. Stamens 4, in pairs, in¬
cluded within and attached near the base of
the corolla tube. Ovary 3-locular, with two
abortive and one functional ovule, enclosed
by the glandular-pubescent hypanthium;
style slender, exserted; stigma capitate.
Fruit a 1 -seeded capsule (achene), up to 3
mm in diameter, topped by the persistent
calyx. 2N = 32.
Named by Jan Fredrik Gronovius to
honor the eminent taxonomist, Carolus Lin¬
naeus (1707-1778), who was particularly
fond of this plant, one of his portraits shows
him holding it.
A circumboreal, and possibly monotypic
genus (a morphologically similar taxon has
been noted in China which may be a dis-
116
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
tinct species) with the species, L. borealis
L., subdivided into Eurasian and American
subspecies or varieties. The corolla of the
Eurasian plants is companulate, mostly less
than 10 mm in length with the tube flaring
from within the calyx and the leaves are
mostly orbicular to ovate, rarely elliptic. In
contrast, our plants have a funnel-form
corolla, often 10 mm or more long, with the
tube flaring at or above the tip of the calyx
teeth and the leaves are usually elliptic to
obovate and less commonly orbicular. Glea¬
son and Cronquist (1963) consider all
American plants as L. borealis var. longi-
folia Torr., while Fernald (1950) and Hul-
ten (1970) separate them into two varieties
or subspecies. Hulten’s treatment seems
valid in considering the west coast plants,
with longer corollas and more acute-tipped
leaves, as distinct subspecies from the wide-
ranging eastern and northern plants with
shorter corollas and obtuse to nearly round-
tipped leaves. Fernald (1950) also distin¬
guishes between these two races, but desig¬
nates them as varieties. It is also possible to
consider the American entities as a distinct
subspecies which contain two geographic
races which may be designated as varieties.
This latter treatment is used in this report
to maintain the taxonomic treatment which
has long been used.
The Wisconsin plants are designated:
1. Linnaea borealis L. var. Americana
(Forbes) Rehd. American Twinflower
Map 13.
Linnaea borealis L. subsp. americana
(Forbes) Rehd.
Linnaea borealis L. var. longiflora Torr.
Linnaea americana Forbes
Locally abundant in the northern one-
third of Wisconsin (often with Cornus
canadensis, Trientalis borealis, Coptis tri¬
folia, Clintonia borealis and Lycopodium
spp.) on hummocks and on decaying stumps
and logs in sphagnum bogs, hemlock-hard¬
wood forests, maple woods and pine for¬
ests, less common on sandy soils in pine
woods. In southeastern Wisconsin it oc¬
casionally occurs in bogs or in wooded ra¬
vines along the Lake Michigan shore, while
in central and southern parts of the state it
persists in boreal relicts and sandstone rock
outcrops. Flowering late-May to July; how¬
ever, no mature fruits were observed on any
Wisconsin specimens nor on any specimens
from elsewhere in northeastern North Amer¬
ica. Fernald (1950) and Gleason and Cron¬
quist (1963) also mention little or nothing
about the fruits. Polunin (1959) indicates
the fruit size is about 3 mm long and re¬
marks, “they are rarely developed.” This
species ranges throughout the boreal zone
of the northern hemisphere, including the
western cordilleran region of North Amer¬
ica. The question arises as to how such a
widespread migration could have occurred
with such limited seed production. Appar¬
ently the climatic conditions favorable for
seed production presumably present during
the time of post-glacial migration no longer
prevail, or occur sporadically, and the spe¬
cies is perpetuated where it presently occurs
chiefly by vegetative propagation.
5. SYMPHORICARPOS Duhamel
Snowberry
Branching low, upright or arching shrubs,
0.3 to 2 m tall, sometimes sprouting from
the roots and with flowers or fruits sessile or
on short pedicels in terminal or axillary
racemes or spikes. Winter buds with 2 pairs
of scales. Leaves are ovate-oblong, oval to
rotund, exstipulate, short petioled, entire to
coarsely crenate or shallowly lobed with
acute to rounded tips and bases. Flowers
perfect, subtended by small bracts or brac-
teoles. Calyx 4-5 toothed, persistent. Cor¬
olla 4-5-lobed, white to purplish, regular
or slightly irregular, campanulate to tubular-
funnelform or salverform, sometimes slightly
gibbous at the base and often villous with¬
in. Stamens 4-5, equal, inserted near the top
of the corolla tube, included or exserted;
filaments short, sometimes villous; anthers
1979]
Salamun — Preliminary Reports — Caprifoliaceae
117
oblong or linear. Ovary 4-locular, with 2
fertile 1-ovuled locales / style glabrous or
hairy, shorter than the corolla; stigma capi¬
tate or slightly lobed. Fruit a white or red
globular or ellipsoid berry (drupe) contain¬
ing 2 oblong stony seeds, with small em¬
bryos and copious endosperm.
A genus of 15-16 species in North Amer¬
ica and one in central China.
Key to Species and Varieties
A. Corolla 5-9 mm long; fruit white; twigs with hollow pith.
B. Corolla 5-6 mm long; style and stamens shorter than or equalling the
corolla, not exserted; style 2-3 mm long, glabrous.
C. Low shrub, less than 1 m tall; young twigs pubescent with short
incurved hairs; leaves glaucous and pilose beneath . . .
. . la. Symphoricarpos albus var. albus.
CC. Erect or arching shrub, 1-3 m tall; young twigs glabrous; leaves
glabrous to sparsely pilose beneath . . . .
. . . lb. Symphoricarpos albus var. laevigatus.
BB. Corolla 6-9 mm long; style and stamens exserted; style 4-8 mm long,
pilose near the middle, rarely glabrous .
. . . . .2. Symphoricarpos occidentalis.
A A. Corolla 3-5 mm long; fruit red or coral; twigs with solid pith. . .
. . . 3. Symphoricarpos orbiculatus.
la. Symphoricarpos albus (L.) Blake
var. albus Snowberry Map 14.
Low, bushy shrub, 0.2 to 0.8 m tall, with
slender, minutely pubescent branchlets and
winter buds with ciliate or pubescent scales.
Leaves elliptic-ovate to suborbicular, 1-5 cm
long and 1-4 cm broad, on petioles 2-5 mm
long, the margins ciliate, entire to undulate
or rarely lobed on the young branches, tips
acute to apiculate and bases acute to nearly
rounded, lower surfaces glaucous and pilose
at least on the veins or frequently densely
pilose throughout, upper surfaces green,
sparsely puberulent to glabrous. Flowers on
short pedicels, 1-5 in terminal clusters or in
the axils of the upper leaves. Calyx 5-
toothed, glabrous or slightly ciliate. Corolla
white or pink, campanulate, somewhat gib¬
bous at the base, mostly 5-6 mm long, the
lobes 2-3 mm long, shorter than the tube,
bearded within. Stamens shorter than the
corolla; anthers 1-1.5 mm long. Style 2-3
mm long, shorter than the corolla; stigma
capitate. Fruit a white berry, 6-10 mm in
diameter, with 2-stony seeds, pendent from
the underside of the branchlet. 2N = ca.54.
Chiefly a northern species, extending
southward to Richland, Sauk and Racine
Counties where it is locally abundant at the
margins of open northern hardwood forests,
in jack pine woods, on wooded ravine slopes
and on stabilized, lightly wooded sand
dunes, less common on gravelly, rocky and
sandy slopes, sandstone and limestone rock
outcrops, dry wooded slopes, sandy oak
woods and in second growth forest stands.
Flowering late-May to July; fruiting late
July to October.
lb. Symphoricarpos albus (L.) Blake
var. Laevigatus Blake
Western Snowberry
An erect, branching shrub, 1-3 m tall,
with slender, usually glabrous branchlets
and winter buds with glabrous scales. Leaves
oval to nearly orbicular, 2-3 cm long and
7-15 mm wide, on petioles 2-4 mm long,
tips acute to obtuse and bases acute, the
upper surfaces green and glabrous, the
lower slightly paler, glabrous or slightly
118
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
pubescent, margins entire to sinuate or lobed
on young shoots, glabrous or sparsely cili-
ate. Flowers numerous in short peduncled
racemes 1-2.5 cm long at the tips of the
branches and sometimes in the axils of the
upper leaves. Floral features similar to var.
aibus except corolla lobes longer than the
tube. Fruit white, subglobose or ellipsoid,
the larger ones 12-15 mm in diameter, pen¬
dent in clusters. 2N = 54.
A western species, ranging from south¬
eastern Alaska to California and eastern
Montana; frequently planted as an orna¬
mental in parks and home yards, escaping
to adjoining open woods, thickets and along
railroad embankments. Only a few non-
cultivated specimens were observed in the
various herbaria; therefore, this variety is
not mapped. Flowering and fruiting dates
are similar to those of var. aibus.
2. Symphoricarpos occidentalis Hooker
Wolfberry Map 15.
Densely clumped shrub, 0.3 to 1 m tall,
sprouting from rhizomes and with reddish-
brown, puberulent branchlets. Leaves oval,
2.5-11 cm long and 1.5-7 cm wide, thick
and firm when mature, entire or often with
undulate, coarsely crenate or lobed margins,
with obtuse and apiculate tips, cuneate to
rounded bases and petioles 4-10 mm long,
upper surfaces dull, dark green, glabrous to
sparsely pilose, lower surfaces pale green,
thinly pubescent at least along the veins,
rarely glabrous. Flowers sessile, in terminal
spicate clusters 1-2.5 cm long and in dense
axillary clusters. Calyx 5-toothed, the teeth
ovate, ciliate, 0.7-0. 8 mm long. Corolla
campanulate, pinkish, 6-9 mm long, the
lobes 3-4 mm long, longer than the tube.
Stamens 5, exserted. Style 4-8 mm long,
exserted, longer than the stamens, pilose
near the middle; stigma capitate, yellow.
Fruit globose, pale greenish-white, 6-8 mm
in diameter. Chromosome number not de¬
termined.
Locally abundant, in the southern one-
half of the state, in prairies, on railroad em¬
bankments, dry hillsides and bluff tops,
along borders of upland woods and sandy
roadsides, occasionally in pastures, extend¬
ing northward and northwestward in sandy
barrens and along railroad embankments.
Flowering mid-June to early-September;
fruiting September to October.
3. Symphoricarpos orbiculatus Moench
Coralberry Map 16.
Leafy, erect shrub 0.5 to 2 m tall, with
light brown to purplish branches and densely
puberulent twigs. Leaves oval, ovate to
nearly orbicular, 1-4 cm long, on petioles
2- 4 mm long, the blades with entire to undu¬
late margins, acute to obtuse tips, rounded
to acutish bases, dull green and glabrous or
sparsely pilose on the upper surfaces and
paler, glaucous to soft pubescent beneath.
Flowers densely crowded or on short spikes
in the axils of several to many of the upper
leaves. Calyx 5, tooth-like, persistent in fruit
to form a beak about 1 mm long. Corolla,
3- 5 mm long, pink, broadly campanulate,
villous within, the lobes about as long as the
tube. Stamens 5; anthers about 1 mm long,
shorter than the filaments. Style 2 mm long,
pilose. Fruit elliptical, 5-7 mm long and 4-5
mm broad, glabrous, coral-red, pink or
sometimes purplish. 2N = 18.
Infrequent at margins of woods, along
railroad embankments, on dry open or light¬
ly wooded hillsides and along riverbanks in
southern Wisconsin, elsewhere escaping
from yard plantings or parks to roadsides
and open woods. Flowering July to Septem¬
ber; fruiting September to October.
Kolkwitzia amabilis Graebn., the beauty
bush, a tall shrub with peeling bark, bristly-
hairy pedicels and hypanthia and rose-col¬
ored, tubular to campanulate flowers is often
planted as an ornamental in home yards,
city and county parks and in horticultural
gardens. Its hardiness especially in southern
Wisconsin indicates it may eventually escape
to adjacent roadsides, fencerows and open
woods.
1979]
Salarnun — Preliminary Reports — Caprifoliaceae
119
Tribe DIERVILLEAE C. A. Meyer
6. DIER VILLA Miller
Bush Honeysuckle
Stoloniferous, upright or slightly arching
shrubs, up to 1.5 m tall. Winter buds with
several pairs of pointed scales. Leaves ovate,
ovate-lanceolate to oblong-ovate, 6-12 cm
long and 2-7 cm broad, with acuminate tips
and acute to nearly rounded bases, finely
serrate, glabrous above and glabrous to
densely pubescent beneath, on short petioles,
5-10 mm long, from which extend two his¬
pid decurrent lines on the stem . Flowers
several on short pedunculate cymes, termi¬
nal or axillary in the upper leaves. Calyx
lobes 5, linear-lanceolate, extending from
the constricted neck of the hypanthium. Cor-
rolla, funnelform, yellow, becoming orange
or red after anthesis, 5-lobed, more or less
bilabiate, with a 4-lobed upper lip and a
single lower lip, the tube slightly gibbous at
the base and densely hairy within. Stamens
5, inserted near the tip of the tube; filaments
pubescent; anthers linear, pubescent, in-
trorse, usually exserted. Ovary elongate, 2-
locular with many ovules and parietal pla-
centation; style long, slender, densely pu¬
bescent in lower portion, equal in length or
slightly longer than the corolla tube; stigma
capitate. Fruit an elongated, thin-walled,
septicidal capsule, beaked with the persis¬
tent calyx . Seeds small, ovoid, with large
cotyledons and fleshy endosperm.
A genus of 2 (or 3) species in eastern
North America and about 12 species in
eastern Asia, sometimes combined with the
genus Weigela Thun., which is characterized
by larger pink to red flowers, woody cap¬
sules and winged seeds. Weigela florida
(Bunge) A. DC., a shrub 1-3 m tall, with
large (3-3.5 cm long and nearly 3 cm
broad) and pink to crimson flowers, is wide¬
ly planted as an ornamental and occasion¬
ally is found persisting in abandoned gar¬
dens and in open areas adjacent to parks
and botanical gardens.
Diervilla lonicera Mill, is the only native
species in Wisconsin and is represented by
two varieties :
la. Diervilla lonicera Miller var.
lonicera Map 17.
Shrub up to 1.5 m tall, with glabrous
twigs, except for 2-hispid decurrent lines ex¬
tending from the petiole of each leaf and
with ovate, ovate-lanceolate to oblong-ovate
leaves, on petioles 5-10 mm long, the tips
acute to acuminate and bases acute to
rounded, margins finely serrate, more or less
ciliate; upper surfaces glabrous; lower sur¬
faces glabrous to more or less pubescent on
the veins . Flowers 10-12 mm long; corollas
funnelform, yellowish, turning orange to red
after anthesis. Fruit 10-15 mm long, con¬
stricted near the tip and beaked with the
persistent calyx lobes. 2N = 18.
Widespread throughout the state, often
locally common in large clones at the mar¬
gins of dry to mesic upland hardwood for¬
ests, northern hardwood forests, pine woods,
cut-over areas, open or lightly wooded
rocky slopes, less abundant in pastured
woods, on dry hillsides, along railroad em¬
bankments and roadsides. Flowering June
to mid-August; fruiting late-July to October.
lb. Diervilla lonicera Miller var.
hypomalaca Fernald Map 18.
Similar to var. lonicera but leaves densely
pilose beneath.
Chiefly in Door County and along the
Lake Superior shore in Iron and Bayfield
Counties where it occurs with var. lonicera
in open northern hardwoods stands, on
sandy beaches above the high water mark
and in aspen stands. It is also present in
northeastern Minnesota, upper Michigan
and along the northern shore of Lake Hu¬
ron. The greatest concentration of these
densely pubescent plants, according to Fas-
sett (1942), is in the area north of Lake
Huron. Flowering and fruiting dates are
similar to those of var. lonicera.
120
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
1979]
Salamun — Preliminary Reports — Caprifoliaceae
121
122
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Tribe LONICERAEAE R. Brown ex, DC.
7. LONICERA L. Honeysuckle
Climbing or erect, deciduous shrubs.
Winter buds with 2-several outer scales.
Leaves entire (slightly lobed or toothed in
one introduced species), exstipulate, short-
petioled, sessile or connate, the surfaces
glabrous or hairy. Inflorescences of 2-3-
flowered axillary cymes, or in axillary or in
terminal clusters. Flowers regular or irregu¬
lar, perfect, subtended by 2-4 paired bracte-
oles. Calyx 5-toothed, short. Corolla tubular
or funnelform, sometimes gibbous, 5-lobed,
regular or bilabiate with a 4-lobed upper lip
and a 1 -lobed lower lip. Stamens 5, attached
near the top of the corolla tube; filaments
long and slender; anthers oblong to linear,
introrse, usually exserted. Ovary mostly 2-3
locular with 3-8 ovules and axillary placen-
tation; style slender, equalling or slightly
longer than the corolla tube; stigma capi¬
tate. Fruit a several-seeded berry. Seeds
ovoid, with a smooth or reticulate seed coats
and fleshy endosperms.
A genus of about 180 species in temper¬
ate regions of the northern hemisphere with
several species extending to tropical regions
at higher elevations. About 25 species occur
in North America; seven are native to Wis¬
consin and five are introduced and have
become established. A number of other in¬
troduced species are planted in horticultural
gardens. The species are classified into two
subgenera: Lonicera ( Chamaecerasus L.),
characterized by axillary inflorescences with
the flowers in pairs and the leaves distinct,
and Caprifolium (Mill.) Pers. ( Pericly -
menum L.), with the flowers in terminal
cymes and the upper leaves usually connate
(Ferguson, 1966). These subgenera are
sometimes further divided into sections
based on the regular or irregular corolla,
length of corolla tube, erect or climbing
habit and whether the bracteoles are free or
connate (Rehder, 1903).
Key to Species
A. Leaves all distinct; flowers or fruits in pairs on single axillary peduncles.
B. Erect or ascending shrubs; corollas 1-2 cm long.
C. Bracts below the flowers scale-like or linear, less than .5 cm long.
D. Pith of twigs hollow.
E. Leaves and twigs glabrous. ......... 1. L. tatarica.
EE. Leaves and twigs more or less pubescent.
F. Flowers pale yellow; filaments pubescent; leaves
elliptic-ovate to obovate. .... .2. L. xylosteum.
FF. Flowers pink or white, fading to yellow; filaments
glabrous; leaves ovate to oblong.
G. Leaves pubescent beneath; peduncles, twigs
and calyx densely hairy; bractlets between 3A
and the full length of the ovary, hairy; flowers
white fading to yellow. .... 3. L. morrowii.
GG. Leaves sparsely pubescent, with a few hairs on
the veins beneath; peduncles, twigs and calyx
sparsely hairy; bractlets mostly up to V2 the
length of the ovary (occasionally up to % its
length), sparsely hairy and sometimes with a
few glands flowers pink fading to yellow. . .
. . . . 4. L. X BELLA.
DD. Pith of twigs solid.
1979]
Salamun — Preliminary Reports — Caprifoliaceae
123
H. Peduncles rarely more than 1 cm long, usually shorter
than the flowers; ovaries wholly united; fruit blue .
. . . 5. L. VILLOSA.
HH. Peduncles mostly 2-4 cm long, longer than the flowers;
ovaries separate; fruit red.
I. Lobes of the corolla much shorter than the tube;
leaves oblong-ovate, glabrate, the margins and peti¬
oles ciliate . . . 6. L. canadensis.
II. Lobes of the corolla nearly as long as the tube; leaves
oblong to narrowly obovate, minutely pubescent be¬
neath, not ciliate. . . 7. L. oblongifolia.
CC. Bracts below the flowers broadly oval and leaf-like, almost enclos¬
ing the flowers, 1-2 cm long . 8. L. involucrata.
BB. Climbing or trailing vines; corollas 2-4 cm long. .... .9. L. japonica.
AA. Uppermost leaves connate; flowers or fruits in sessile, terminal or sometimes
axillary clusters.
J. Leaves glabrous above, glabrous or minutely pubescent beneath; margins
glabrous.
K. Connate upper leaves longer than broad, green above and whitened
beneath, pointed or mucronate at the tips . 10. L. dioica.
KK. Connate upper leaves forming a nearly round disk; glaucous above.
. . .......ILL. PROLIFERA.
JJ. Leaves pubescent and green on both sides or grayish beneath; margins
villous-ciliate. . . . 12. L. hirsuta.
Subgenus LONICERA
(Subgenus Chamaecerasus Rehd. not L.)
1. Lonicera tatarica L.
Tartarian Honeysuckle Map 19.
Upright shrub, 1.5 to 3 m high, the stems
with grayish bark, glabrous twigs and brown
hollow pith. Leaves mostly ovate, sometimes
oval to oblong , 3-7 cm long and 1.5-4 cm
wide, on petioles about 5 mm long, with
acute to obtuse tips and cordate or rounded
bases, glabrous or with a few sparse hairs
beneath. Flowers white to pinkish-purple, in
axillary pairs on slender glabrous peduncles,
1.8-2 cm long, subtended by two glabrous
ovate bractlets which are rarely half as long
as the ovaries, and two longer essentially
glabrous bracts which are shorter or longer
than the ovaries. Calyx of 5, lanceolate sep¬
als. Corolla bilabiate, about 1.5 cm long,
glabrous, gibbous at the base and hairy with¬
in, the lobes linear to lanceolate, as long or
longer than the tube. Stamens slightly ex-
serted, the filaments hairy. Ovaries slightly
united at the base, glabrous, the styles hir¬
sute. Fruit a red or sometimes yellow berry.
2N = 18.
White-flowered forms have been desig¬
nated f. alb i flora (DC.) House.
A species of central Asia which is often
planted as an ornamental in home yards,
parks and botanical gardens, and is now
widely distributed, probably transported by
birds, throughout Wisconsin in open woods,
pastured woodlots, on gravelly and quarry
bluffs, along roadsides, fencerows and rail¬
road embankments and edges of woods, of¬
ten bordering parks and horticultural gar¬
dens. Flowering early-May to late-June;
fruiting July to August.
2. Lonicera xylosteum L.
European Fly Honeysuckle Map 20.
Upright shrub, 1-2.5 m high, with soft-
pilose to glabrous twigs and hollow branches.
Leaves elliptic-ovate to obovate, usually
124
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
broadest above the middle, 3-6 cm long and
1-4 cm broad, acute to slightly acuminate
at the tips and rounded to broadly acute to
obtuse at the bases, sparingly pilose above
and densely pubescent beneath. Flowers
axillary, on pubescent, filiform peduncles
0.6-2 cm long, subtended by two elliptic or
oval, pubescent and glandular bractlets
which are about one-half to two-thirds as
long as the ovary and two linear, pubescent-
glandular bracts which equal or exceed the
ovaries. Calyx 5-lobed, pubescent-glandular.
Corolla bilabiate, yellowish-white to some¬
times slightly pinkish, 7-12 mm long, pu¬
bescent. Stamens 5; filaments pubescent.
Ovaries densely pubescent with simple and
glandular hairs. Fruits are deep red berries.
2N = 18.
An Eurasian species which is sometimes
planted as an ornamental and occasionally
escapes into waste areas, into open woods
bordering parks and horticultural gardens,
and sometimes persists on abandoned home¬
steads. Flowering May to June; fruiting July
to August.
3. Lonicera morrowii Gray
Morrow’s Honeysuckle Map 21.
Upright shrub, up to 2 m tall, with gray¬
ish-brown bark, spreading branches and
finely pubescent twigs. Leaves oblong to nar¬
rowly elliptic, 2.5-5 cm long and 1.5-2. 5
cm wide, on short petioles, with obtuse to
nearly rounded tips and cordate to rounded
bases, the upper surfaces finely and sparsely
pubescent, the lower surfaces grayish-
tomentose. Flowers in pairs, on densely
pubescent axillary peduncles 0.5-1. 5 cm
long, subtended by two ciliate-tipped bract-
lets which are three-fourths of or equal in
length to the ovaries, and by two densely
pubescent bracts which exceed the ovaries.
Calyx 5-toothed, ciliate. Corolla white,
fading to yellow, pubescent externally, about
1.5 cm long, the 5-lobes only slightly irreg¬
ular. Stamens exserted; filaments glabrous.
Ovaries separate, glabrous. Fruit a red or
yellow berry. 2N =18.
A native of Japan which is sometimes
planted as a border shrub in home yards,
parks and in horticultural gardens, occa¬
sionally escaping to nearby roadsides, aban¬
doned fields and infrequently persisting
about abandoned dwellings. Flowering early-
May to mid-June; fruiting late-June to late-
August.
4. Lonicera X bella Zabel
Bell’s Honeysuckle Map 22.
Similar to L. tatarica but the twigs are
sparsely pubescent and the leaves are some¬
what pubescent beneath, at least on the
veins. Flowers pink to purple-red fading to
yellow, 1.5-1. 8 cm long, on sparsely pilose
peduncles 10-12 mm long, subtended by
more or less ciliate bractlets which are
mostly one-half, but sometimes two-thirds,
the length of the ovary and by sparsely pu¬
bescent bracts which exceed the ovary in
length.
Lonicera morrowi i
Fig. 1. Sketches of ovaries, bractlets, bracts and
leaf outlines of Lonicera tatarica, L. morrowii and
their hybrid, L. X bella (adapted from Green
(1966)
1979]
Salamun — Preliminary Reports — Caprifoliaceae
125
This honeysuckle is a fertile hybrid be¬
tween L. tatarica and L. morrowii (Fig. 1)
which has been reported to arise spontane¬
ously in cultivation from naturalized plants
of the parental species (Green, 1966, Hau¬
ser, 1966; Barnes and Cottam, 1974). Back-
crosses with both parents apparently occur
as a number of specimens show wide varia¬
tions in the degree of pubescence of the
leaves, bractlets and bracts which some¬
times make it impossible to clearly identify
individuals. 2N =18.
This hybrid plant appears to be more
adaptable than its parents growing in wood¬
land borders, fallow fields, pastured wood-
lots, second growth woods of oak, ash and
basswood, on open slopes and sometimes
along lake and stream banks and river bot¬
toms. Flowering early-May to late-June;
fruiting July to September.
Lonicera maackii Maxim, an introduction
from Asia, has been sighted as an escape in
several southern counties. This upright shrub
is distinguished by the elliptic, oblanceolate
to obovate leaves with acuminate tips and
long-tapering bases and the flowers and
fruits borne in pairs on bractless peduncles
which are shorter than the petioles. Hauser
(1965) reported this species is reproducing
and spreading in Ohio’s strip mining areas,
and it may be only a question of time before
it is established in Wisconsin.
5. Lonicera villosa (Michx.) R. & S.
Mountain Fly Honeysuckle Map 23.
Low, diffuse or erect shrub, up to 1 m
tall, with strongly ascending branches,
shreddy bark, and reddish brown, more or
less pilose-villous twigs. Winter buds scaly,
appressed or ascending, usually without ac¬
cessory buds. Leaves narrowly oblong to
oblong-lanceolate or elliptic, 2.4 cm long
and 0.8- 1.6 cm wide, sessile or on short
petioles, the tips rounded or obtuse and
generally mucronate, the bases rounded or
obtuse, margins ciliate, upper surfaces gla¬
brous to slightly strigose, the lower surfaces
with prominent veins and more or less vil¬
lous. Flowers paired on axillary peduncles
(3-10 mm long), their ovaries completely
united and appearing as one, the subtending
bractlets enclosing the ovaries and the bracts
3-5 mm long, longer than the ovaries. Calyx
of 5 teeth-like lobes. Corolla pale yellow,
narrowly campanulate, 10-15 mm long, the
tube slightly gibbous at the base and slightly
longer than the nearly equal 5 lobes, gla¬
brous or sparsely pubescent externally and
villous within. Stamens 5, exserted. United
ovaries glabrous or sparsely pubescent; styles
glabrous. Fruit a bluish berry, bearing the
scars of the two flowers at the summit. No
chromosome numbers have been recorded.
Gleason and Cronquist (1963) consider
this species as variable in pubescence and
suggest it may be better considered as a
variety of the Eurasian L. caerulea L. Fer-
nald (1950) describes it as a polymorphic
American species and divides it into five
varieties. If Fernald’s treatment is followed,
the Wisconsin plants are designated L. vil¬
losa var. solonis (Eat.) Fern.
This boreal shrub is occasionally present
in moist, acidic soils of open Chamae-
daphne-Sphagnum bogs, Picea-Larix bogs
and sometimes in alkaline to acidic Carex-
Eriophorum meadows in northern Wiscon¬
sin; it is infrequent to rare in bogs of south¬
eastern Wisconsin and is apparently absent
in the Driftless Area. Flowering early-May
to late-June; fruiting mid-June through July.
6. Lonicera canadensis Marsh.
Fly Honeysuckle Map 24.
Straggly-branched shrub, up to 1.5 m
high, with grayish bark, glabrous twigs and
scaly winter buds. Leaves ovate to oblong-
ovate, 3-10 cm long and 2-4 cm wide, on
short, distinct, ciliate petioles, acute to ob¬
tuse at the tips, with cuneate, rounded or
rarely cordate bases, glabrous or sparsely
pubescent beneath and the margins ciliate.
Flowers axillary in pairs, on peduncles 2-3
cm long, subtended by minute bractlets (or
none) and orbicular to elliptic bracts which
are shorter than to slightly longer than the
126
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
ovaries. Calyx of 5 lobes, about 1 mm long.
Corolla greenish-yellow, nearly regular, 1.2-
2 cm long, gibbous at the base, funnelform,
expanding into nearly equal 5 lobes which
are shorter than the tube, slightly hairy
within. Stamens glabrous, mostly included.
Ovaries of the paired flowers distinct and
divergent in fruit, glabrous; style glabrous.
Fruit a reddish, elongated berry. 2N =18.
General range in Wisconsin is north of
the Tension Zone where it is locally com¬
mon in northern hardwood forests, maple-
beech woods, pine-maple woods and less
commonly in second-growth maple-birch
woods and in boggy woods; it also occurs
infrequently in rocky maple-oak woods of
the central counties and in maple-beech-
basswood stands in ravines, on bluff tops
and on morainic ridges in the southeastern
counties. Flowering late-April to mid-June;
fruiting mid-June to September.
7. Lonicera oblongifolia (Goldie) Hook.
Swamp Fly Honeysuckle Map 25.
Shrub up to 1.5 m high, with grayish
bark, ascending, minutely pubescent branch¬
es and scaly winter buds. Leaves oblanceo-
late to oblong, 3-10 cm long and 1-3 cm
wide, the tips acute to obtuse and the bases
tapering to short petioles (mostly less than
2 mm) or sessile, the margins not ciliate,
upper surfaces glabrous or sparsely puberu-
lent and the lower surfaces puberulent.
Flowers in the axils of leaves, in pairs on
peduncles 1-3 cm long, the subtending bracts
much shorter than the ovaries or early de¬
ciduous. Calyx of 5 minute teeth, less than
0.5 mm long. Corolla pale yellow, 10-15
mm long, deeply bilabiate, gibbous near the
base, the upper lip 4-lobed and the lower
1-lobed, more or less pubescent within and
without. Stamens 5, with hairy filaments.
Ovaries of the two flowers slightly united at
their bases; styles hirsute. Fruits are reddish
or purplish berries, more or less united in
pairs. Chromosome numbers have not been
determined.
A native shrub of the coniferous forest
region, occurring in bogs, sedge meadows,
boggy lake shores and moist willow thickets,
chiefly in the glaciated northern and eastern
portions of the state. The sparsity of dots
on the map is probably the result of limited
collecting because of its affinity for moist
mucky habitats. Flowering mid-May to mid-
June; fruiting late-June through July.
8. Lonicera involucrata (Richards)
Banks Fly Honeysuckle Map 26.
Upright to sometimes straggling shrub,
1-3 m tall, often spreading by root sprouts,
with stout branches and glabrous 4-angled
twigs. Leaves ovate, obovate to elliptic-
oblong, 6-12 cm long and 2-5 cm broad,
short acuminate at the tips, tapering at the
bases to short petioles, green and glabrous
above, paler and hirsute on the veins be¬
neath. Flowers in axillary pairs, on pedun¬
cles 2-4 cm long, subtended by 4 greenish
to dark purple, ascending to reflexed, folia-
ceous bracts 1-2 cm long. Calyx minute or
obsolete. Corolla yellow, 10-13 mm long,
tubular to funnelform and saccate at the
base, nearly regular, the short, slightly sub¬
equal lobes erect, mostly less than half as
long as the tube. Stamens glabrous, shorter
or about as long as the corolla. Ovaries 3-
celled, distinct; style exserted and glabrous.
Berries purple-black, subtended by the per¬
sisted bracts. Chromosome numbers have
not been determined.
A boreal-cordilleran species which occurs
in cool, moist, shaded sites in the northern
Great Lakes region. It has been collected at
only one locality in Wisconsin: Bayfield
County, Lake Superior region near Port
Wing (L. S. Cheney, 7055, July 9, 1897,
W1S, UWM; 7169, July 10, 1897, W1S;
7173, July 11, 1897 WIS). Flowering June
to July; fruiting in August.
9. Lonicera japonica Thumb.
Japanese Honeysuckle
Climbing or trailing vine with pubescent
young twigs and branches. Leaves ovate to
oblong, 4-8 cm long and 2-4 cm wide, en-
1979]
Salamun — Preliminary Reports — Caprifoliaceae
127
tire or sometimes slightly toothed or lobed,
short petioled, with obtuse to acute tips and
rounded or broadly cuneate bases and both
surfaces slightly pubescent to nearly gla¬
brous. Flowers in axillary pairs, on pedun¬
cles 5-10 mm long, subtended by ovate,
foliaceous bracts which are longer than the
ovary and by rotund, ciliate bractlets that
are shorter than or nearly equal in length
of the ovary. Calyx long-toothed. Corolla
bilabiate, 3-5 cm long, white or cream-
colored, sometimes tinged with purple, be¬
coming yellow with age, very fragrant, the
pubescent tube about equalling the limb.
Stamens exserted. Ovary pubescent. Fruit a
black berry. 2N = 18.
A species of eastern Asia which has be¬
come a noxious weed in southern and south¬
eastern United States where it overwhelms
shrubs and small trees. It has been planted
in several places in southern Wisconsin as
an ornamental and to stabilize steep slopes.
Recently it has been reported as an escape
along the bank of the Milwaukee River in
Milwaukee County. Except for the Milwau¬
kee specimens there is no other evidence of
the extent of naturalization or hardiness of
this species in the state. Flowering May to
June; fruiting September to October.
Subgenus CAPRIFOLIUM (Mill.) Pers.
(Subgenus Periclymenum Rehd. not L.)
10. Lonicera dioica L. Wild Honeysuckle
Twining, trailing or loosely ascending
shrub with glabrous and glaucous twigs and
the older stems with grayish, peeling bark.
Leaves oblong, elliptic or obovate, 4-10 cm
long and 1.5-4 cm wide, rounded, obtuse
to sometimes acute at the tips and tapering
at the bases or sometimes with short peti¬
oles, green above and whitened beneath, the
upper 1-4 pairs connate-perfoliate, the up¬
permost pair forming an elliptic-ovate to
rhombic involucral disk. Flowers terminal,
in 1-3 whorls on short peduncles. Calyx ob¬
scurely 5-lobed, glabrous. Corolla bilabiate,
1.5-2. 5 cm long, pale yellow to reddish or
purplish, glabrous to pubescent externally
and hairy within, the tube gibbous on one
side at the base and gradually expanding
upward, about equal in length to the lobes.
Stamens exserted, the slender filaments
hairy. Ovary glabrous; the style more or less
hairy. Fruit a red berry. 2N = 18.
Gleason and Cronquist (1962) and Fer-
nald (1950) recognize several varieties and
forms of this species. The following are
present in Wisconsin:
10a. Lonicera dioica L. var. dioica
Map. 27.
Leaves glabrous and glaucous beneath,
the corolla glabrous externally and hairy
within and the style glabrous to sparsely
hairy. Plants with upper leaves in whorls
of three have been designated f. trifolia
Viet. & Rolland.
This variety ranges from New England to
southeastern Minnesota, south to Georgia
and Missouri. In Wisconsin it is found most
commonly in the southern two-thirds of the
state on wooded bluffs, in moist thickets,
lowland woods, wooded ravines, along lake
and river banks and sometimes in moist up¬
land woods and cut-over coniferous and de¬
ciduous woods. It is less common than the
following variety. Flowering May to June;
fruiting mid-June to August.
10b. Lonicera dioica L. var.
glaucescens (Rydb.) Butters Map 28.
Differs from var. dioica in having the
leaves pubescent beneath, the corolla villous
and sometimes glandular externally and
hairy within and the style hirsute. Widely
ranging from western Quebec to British
Columbia, south to Ohio, Iowa and Okla¬
homa. The widespread variety in Wisconsin.
Habitats, flowering and fruiting are similar
to those of var. dioica.
1 1 . Lonicera prolifera (Kirchner) Rehder
var. prolifera Grape Honeysuckle
Map 29.
Twining or climbing vine with glabrous
twigs and glossy, pale-brown bark which is
128
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
often peeling on the older branches. Leaves
broadly oval to obovate, sessile or nearly so,
4- 8 cm long and 2-4 cm wide, rounded, ob¬
tuse or slightly notched at the tips and ta¬
pering at the bases, the upper surfaces green
and more or less glaucous, the lower sur¬
faces pale, glaucous and glabrous to slightly
appressed-puberulent, the uppermost con¬
nate-perfoliate, forming an oval or subro¬
tund disk with obtuse to retuse tips. Flowers
in 2-6 whorls on terminal spikes in the up¬
permost disks. Calyx obscurely 5-lobed,
glabrous. Corolla pale yellow, 2.5-3 cm
long, slightly gibbous at the base, the tube
equalling or slightly longer than the lobes,
glabrous externally, hairy within. Stamens
exserted, the filaments slightly hairy. Ovary
glabrous; style slightly hairy to nearly gla¬
brous. Fruit a red berry. 2N =18.
Chiefly south of the Tension Zone where
it is locally common along the margins and
in open oak and maple woods, logged-off
woods, wooded hillsides, talus slopes, bluff
tops, sometimes in thickets and along brushy
stream banks, and rarely along edges of
marshes and bogs and in open pine woods.
Flowering mid-May to July; fruiting mid-
July to October.
12. Lonicera hirsuta Eat. var.
interior Gl. Hairy Honeysuckle
Map 30.
Climbing vine with hirsute twigs and
smooth grayish-brown bark which becomes
shreddy on older branches. Leaves broadly
elliptic to oval, 5-12 cm long and 3-8 cm
wide, dull green and sparsely to densely
appressed-puberulent on the upper surfaces,
downy-pubescent and paler or sometimes
grayish beneath and with ciliate margins, the
lower with acute tips and rounded to acute
bases, with short petioles, the upper one or
two pairs connate-perfoliate, the terminal
pair forming a rhombic to elliptic or nearly
orbicular disk, with abruptly acuminate tips.
Flowers in 2-several whorls on short-pe-
duncled terminal spikes. Calyx obscurely
5- lobed. Corolla 10-18 mm long, pale yel¬
low to orange, slightly gibbous at the base,
2-lipped, the lobes nearly equal to the tube
in length, more or less glandular-pubescent
externally and hairy within. Stamens ex¬
serted; filaments hairy. Ovary glabrous or
sparsely glandular; style somewhat hairy.
Fruit a red berry. 2N = 18.
A species of the northern hardwood for¬
est, ranging from Quebec and New England
to Saskatchewan, south to Pennsylvania,
northern Michigan, Wisconsin and Minne¬
sota. In Wisconsin it is found north of the
Tension Zone on calcareous, quartzitic,
granitic and morainic sandy soils in maple-
birch-white pine forests, in cut-over areas
regenerating to aspen-birch woods, some¬
times in low, moist aspen woods and occa¬
sionally in open areas along stream banks
and margins of bogs. Flowering June to
August; fruiting August to September.
The Trumpet Honeysuckle, Lonicera sem¬
per virens L. a glabrous high-climbing vine
is sometimes planted in southern Wiscon¬
sin for its showy scarlet-orange, nearly regu¬
lar, tubular, flowers which are 3.5 to 8 cm
long. There are no records of its establish¬
ment outside of cultivation.
Literature Cited
Bailey, L. H. 1949. Manual of Cultivated
Plants. 2nd Ed. Macmillan Co., New York.
1116 pp.
Barnes, W. and G. Cottam. 1974. Some
autecological studies of the Lonicera X bella
complex. Ecology 55:40-50.
Cronquist, A. 1968. The Evolution and
Classification of Flowering Plants. Hough¬
ton Mifflin Co., Boston. 396 pp.
Egolf, D. R. 1962. A cytological study of
the genus Viburnum. J. Arnold Arb. 43:132-
172.
Fassett, N. C. 1942. Mass collections: Dier-
villa lonicera. Bull. Torrey Bot. Club 69:
317-322.
Ferguson, I. K. 1966. The genera of Capri-
foliaceae in the southeastern United States.
J. Arnold Arb. 47:33-59.
Fernald, M. L. 1950. Gray’s Manual of
Botany. Ed. 8. American Book Co., New
York. 1632 pp.
1979]
Salamun — Preliminary Reports — Caprifoliaceae
129
Gleason, H. A. and A. Cronquist. 1963.
Manual of Vascular Plants of Northeastern
United States and Adjacent Canada. Van
Nostrand Co., Princeton, N.J. 810 pp.
Green, P. S. 1966. Identification of the spe¬
cies and hybrids in Lonicera tatarica com¬
plex. J. Arnold Arb. 47:75-88.
Hauser, E. J. P. 1965. The Caprifoliaceae
of Ohio. Ohio J. Sci. 65:118-129.
- . 1966. The natural occurrence of a
hybrid honeysuckle ( Lonicera X bella) in
Ohio and Michigan. Mich. Bot. 5:211-217.
Hillebrand, G. R. and D. E. Fairbrothers.
1969. A serological investigation of intra¬
generic relationships in Viburnum (Capri¬
foliaceae). Bull. Torrey Bot. Club 96:556-
567.
- . 1970a. Phytoserological systematic
survey of the Caprifoliaceae. Brittonia 22:
125-133.
- . 1970b. Serological investigation of
the systematic position of the Caprifoliaceae.
I. Correspondence with selected Rubiaceae
and Cornaceae. Amer. J. Bot. 57:810-815.
Hulten, E. 1970. Circumpolar Plants II.
Dicotyledon. Kungl. Sv. Vetenskap. Handl.
Band 13, Nr. 1. Almquist & Wiksell, Stock¬
holm.
litis, H. H. 1963. Napaea dioica (Malva¬
ceae): Whence came the type? Amer. Midi.
Nat. 70:90-109.
Jones, G. N. 1940. A monograph of the
genus Symphoricarpos. J. Arnold Arb. Vol.
XXI.
Lane, F. C. 1955. The genus Triosteum
(Caprifoliaceae). Ph.D. Thesis, University of
Illinois, Urbana.
McAtee, W. L. 1956. A Review of the
Nearctic Viburnums. Privately Published,
Chapel Hill, N.C. 125 pp.
Polunin, N. 1959. Circumpolar Arctic Flora.
Oxford University Press, London. 514 pp.
Rehder, A. 1903. Synopsis of the genus
Lonicera. Missouri Bot. Gard. Rep. 14:27-
232.
Rosendahl, C. O. 1955. Trees and Shrubs
of the Upper Midwest. Univ. of Minn. Press,
Minneapolis. 411 pp.
Rudenberg, L. and P. S. Green. 1966. A
karyological survey of Lonicera , I. J. Arnold
Arb. 47:222-247.
Sax, K. and D. A. Krebs. 1930. Chromo¬
somes and phylogeny in Caprifoliaceae. J.
Arnold Arb. 11:147-153.
Takhtajan, A. 1969. Flowering Plants: Ori¬
gin and Dispersal. (Translated from the
Russian by C. Jeffrey). Smithsonian Institu¬
tion Press, Washington, D.C. 310 pp.
Thorne, R. F. 1968. Synopsis of a puta¬
tively phylogenetic classification of the
Flowering Plants. Aliso 6:57-66.
Wade, D. R. and D. E. Wade. 1940. Pre¬
liminary report on the flora of Wisconsin
No. 28. Caprifoliaceae. Trans. Wis. Acad.
32:91-101.
Wood, K. 1976. Viburnums at the Arbo¬
retum. Univ. Wisconsin Arboretum News
25:1-23.
DROUGHT IN WISCONSIN
Val L. Mitchell
Wisconsin Geological & Natural History Survey
University of W isconsin-Extension
Madison , Wisconsin
A b struct
Drought in Wisconsin is not as uncommon as the abundant agriculture and
the beautiful greenery of the state might suggest. Both agricultural and hydrologic
droughts, as defined by a simple precipitation criterion, occur in some part of the
state on the average of once in about seven years. Statewide drought occurs less
frequently. There appears to be no cyclical pattern to drought occurrence in
Wisconsin.
Introduction
Drought is a word that brings to mind
parched land, desicated crops and blowing
soil. This, of course, is often the result of
severe or extreme drought. However,
drought need not be extreme to be impor¬
tant.
In this paper, two types will be consid¬
ered, hydrologic and agricultural drought.
Hydrologic drought affects stream flow and
lake and water table levels. Agricultural
drought comes at a time and intensity to
affect crop production. Both types may, but
need not, occur simultaneously.
The effects of hydrologic drought result
from integrated changes in precipitation
over a moderately long time period. As a
result, annual precipitation is used here as
an index of hydrologic drought. For agri¬
cultural drought, rainfall from May through
August is used as an approximation of the
growing season precipitation. Droughts are
not limited to a growing season nor to the
calendar year, but vary in timing and length.
However, for an initial look at Wisconsin
drought, these two periods proved to be
meaningful.
Approach
The term drought is difficult, if not impos¬
sible, to define precisely because it deals
with one end of a precipitation continuum
along which there are no breaks that make
division into wet and dry periods possible.
In this paper, no all-inclusive definition of
drought will be attempted, but rather a sim¬
ple approach to drought based on an analy¬
sis of mean precipitation and variability
about that mean is used.
The determination of drought used in the
following discussion is based on the years
1904 through 1977. This period is the long¬
est for which continuous precipitation rec¬
ords are available for the 18 stations con¬
sidered (Fig. 1). Drought is defined as a
period (either annual or May-August) when
the precipitation for a specific location is
equal to or less than the mean precipitation
minus one standard deviation. For example,
the annual mean precipitation of the Antigo
station is 30.30 inches and the standard
deviation is 5.29. Thus, any year in which
the precipitation is equal to or less than
25.01 inches would be considered a hydro-
logic drought year.
Basing a definition of drought on pre¬
cipitation alone ignores important meteoro¬
logical parameters such as temperature and
wind as well as non-meteorological aspects
of importance. However, this simple ap¬
proach provides a beginning to the consid¬
eration of drought in Wisconsin.
130
1979]
Mitchell — Drought in Wisconsin
131
Fig. 1. Locations of 18 precipitation recording stations (closed circles) used in this study.
Results
Graphs of annual precipitation for each
of the 18 stations from the beginning of the
period of record through 1977 all show cer¬
tain characteristics. These characteristics are
evident in Fig. 2 which represents a north-
south transect across the state. A considera¬
tion of the graphs helps point out the simi¬
larities and the differences in the space and
time variation of drought years.
Year to year variability in precipitation
is relatively high in all parts of the state.
Years with above average precipitation and
years with below average precipitation are
common. In some cases, there is a statewide
correspondence in wet or dry years, but
there are many more years where the wet
or dry years are not correlated across the
state. The four stations, of the 18 studied,
presented here, represent the characteristics
of the other 14 satisfactorily.
Over the period considered, hydrologic
drought occurred at irregular intervals with
an average of one statewide drought in 35
years. It is important to remember that the
35 year interval is only an average. Aver¬
ages are often based on widely varying oc¬
currences as is true in this case.
In growing season totals as in annual
precipitation certain years stand out as
132
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Fig. 2. North to South transect of annual precipitation showing 1904-1977 mean (solid line)
and one standard deviation below the mean (dashed line). Years below the lower line have
hydrologic drought.
Fig. 3. North to South transect of May-August precipitation totals. Mean values (solid line)
and values one standard deviation below the mean (dashed line) are shown. Years below the
dashed line are years with agricultural drought.
1979]
Mitchell — Drought in Wisconsin
133
drought years (Fig. 3). The most out¬
standing years with agricultural drought sea¬
sons occurring essentially statewide were
1895, 1910, 1929, 1936, 1937, 1943, 1963,
and 1976. Some, but not all, of these years
correspond to years of hydrologic drought.
As for annual precipitation, in some years,
the state responded as a unit or a whole, and
in other years, only part of the state was
affected.
It is evident that agricultural drought oc¬
curs more frequently than hydrologic
drought. This suggests that the frequency of
dry periods decreases as the length of the
dry period increases.
Statewide similarity and variability may
also be shown by graphing the percentage
of stations undergoing drought in a given
year. As a result of differences in the length
of precipitation records, the number of sta¬
tions used to compile the values will vary
(Fig. 4). For the 1894-1899 period, 16 sta¬
tions were used. Ashland was added in 1900
and Minocqua Dam was added in 1904 to
bring the total to 18 stations from 1904
through 1977.
Figures 2, 3 and 4 convey two important
facts, drought does occur in Wisconsin fre¬
quently enough to be highly significant and,
drought may be statewide, but more com¬
monly occurs in only a part of the state in
any given year or season.
As pointed out earlier, droughts are not
limited to a single growing season or a
given calendar year. In addition, the arbi¬
trary definition of drought used here does
not address the problem of a dry period
that does not meet the criterion of the
definition. Hence, only the extreme condi¬
tions are dealt with here. The frequency and
timing of drought or near drought is well
illustrated by the 1930’s, a decade infamous
for drought throughout much of the coun¬
try, including Wisconsin. It is instructive to
consider this decade in more detail although
there were droughts in Wisconsin both be¬
fore and after the 1930’s. Drought was not
uncommon during the 1885-1900 period
(Fig. 4). However, because there was a
smaller population and a less well developed
agriculture, the droughts of that period are
not as well documented as those of the
1930’s.
The growing season of 1929 is included
with the 1930’s since over 50% of the 18
stations endured a drought during that grow¬
ing season. Agricultural drought occurred in
some parts of the state in nine of the eleven
years considered (Fig. 4). However, agri¬
cultural drought was reasonably widespread
Fig. 4. Percentage of the 18 locations used that have either hydrologic or agricultural
drought in a specific year.
134
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
in only three years — 1929, 1936, and 1937.
In those years, it affected approximately
50% of Wisconsin. During these eleven
years, agricultural drought was more or less
randomly distributed in both time and space.
Locations varied experiencing droughts from
only one to as many as five years during the
period.
The 1930’s also illustrate the occur¬
rence of drought in a time frame differ¬
ent from that specified by a rigid definition.
In Madison, 1936 with a total precipita¬
tion of 25.81 inches was not dry enough
to meet the criterion for hydrologic drought.
However, 1936 was a devastating drought
agriculturally. This year is remembered in
Madison and the surrounding area for both
the severe dryness and the intense heat of
July. A record high temperature for Madi¬
son, 107° F, occurred on July 14th. The
drought began in March and lasted to mid-
August. From March 1st through August
16th, 6.33 inches of precipitation fell, only
36% of the normal for that period. The
drought ended when 5.22 inches of rain fell
during the last half of August. This illus¬
trates well the problem of considering
drought over a specific period. Many more
similar cases could be listed.
Summary and Conclusions
Although the climate of Wisconsin is one
where precipitation is usually adequate for
abundant crop production and to provide
the state with many lakes and streams,
drought is not uncommon. Using a simple
definition of drought we can show that state¬
wide hydrologic drought occurs on the aver¬
age of about once in 35 years at irregular
intervals. Droughts covering portions of
Wisconsin are much more frequent. Al¬
though these limited droughts are more com¬
mon than statewide drought, there appears
to be no pattern in either time or space. No
one part of the state experiences drought
more frequently than another part. During
the growing season each part of the state is
hit by drought on the average of once in
seven years, again there seems to be no
cycle or pattern.
Acknowledgements
The data used in this study were collected
by the National Weather Service, largely
through the cooperative observer network.
I wish to thank Nancy J. Davis for her
assistance in editing and typing the manu¬
script.
T. C CHAMBERLIN:
THE KETTLE MORAINE AND MULTIPLE GLACIATION
Susan Schultz
Edison National Historic Site
West Orange, New Jersey
On the crest of Observatory Hill between
Washburn Observatory and a bird effigy
mound, stands Chamberlin Rock, a huge,
pinkish gray boulder, that bears a plaque
acknowledging Thomas Chrowder Cham¬
berlin’s contributions to Wisconsin:
This tablet commemorates the services to
Wisconsin of Thomas Chrowder Chamber¬
lin, leader in science and education, State
Geologist of Wisconsin, 1873-1882, Presi¬
dent of the University, 1887-1892. As State
Geologist he conducted a survey distin¬
guished for high scientific and economic
value. As President he made the spirit of
research effective in the organization and
life of the University. He first distinguished
and named the drifts left in this region by
successive ice advances. This boulder,
brought by the continental glacier from
ancient Pre-Cambrian bedrock in Canada,
was deposited here in the Wisconsin, or
latest glacial drift, of which this hill is a
part.
T. C. Chamberlin (1843-1928) was an
eminent American geologist. He enjoyed a
distinguished career as scientific researcher,
educator and government scientific admin¬
istrator, and is best known for his glacial
studies, the planetesimal hypothesis and the
method of multiple working hypotheses.1
Chamberlin’s long and successful career
began in Wisconsin.
The Chamberlin family, its possessions
loaded in two prairie schooners and a small
band of livestock in tow, arrived in Wiscon¬
sin when Thomas was two years old.
Thomas’s father, John Chamberlin, a farmer
and a circuit-riding Methodist preacher
originally from Camden County, North
Carolina, had migrated westward with the
frontier. He married Cecilia Gill in Pales¬
tine, Illinois in 1835. The Chamberlins set¬
tled on the Illinois prairie near present-day
Mattoon, where, on September 25, 1843,
Thomas was born. In 1845 the family
moved again to escape malaria, then en¬
demic to east central Illinois and elsewhere
in the Mississippi River Valley. John Cham¬
berlin purchased a one hundred and sixty
acre homestead about four miles northwest
of Beloit.
Wisconsin was still frontier when the
Chamberlins arrived. Native prairie grass¬
land and scattered oak openings covered
most of southern Wisconsin and the prairie
burned seasonally. A little farther to the
north, Indians hunted and trapped in the
woods and along the streams. Flocks of
passenger pigeons darkened the sky during
spring and fall migrations, and an occa¬
sional wolf came sniffing around the Cham¬
berlins’ new log cabin. The Chamberlins ar¬
rived in Beloit at about the time Beloit Col¬
lege was founded. The college received its
charter from the territorial governor in
1846, and one of Thomas Chamberlin’s
earliest boyhood memories was of his father
describing the ceremony of laying the cor¬
nerstone.
After Thomas and his four brothers at¬
tended the district grammar school, the Rev¬
erend John Chamberlin gave all his sons the
opportunity to continue their education. The
family moved temporarily into town as the
Chamberlin boys began to enter Beloit’s
preparatory academy. Thomas entered the
academy in 1858 and followed the pre¬
scribed curriculum of arithmetic, geography,
English grammar, spelling, composition,
reading, Greek and Latin.
135
136
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
In September, 1862 Thomas began the
traditional course of Greek, Latin, and
mathematics, with lesser amounts of phi¬
losophy, history, literature, and science, in
the college. Young Chamberlin acquired a
budding interest in science under the guid¬
ance of Professor Henry B. Nason, a chem¬
ist and mineralogist who had travelled widely
and was familiar with American and Euro¬
pean geology.2 Chamberlin earned his col¬
lege expenses teaching in county grammar
schools in the vicinity of Beloit and nearby
Rockford, Illinois. A country school teach¬
er’s compensation was uncertain however,
as Chamberlin learned when a member of
the Rockford district school board (who
owned a nursery) persuaded the young
teacher to take his salary in trees. Those he
could not sell, Thomas planted on the fam¬
ily farm.3
Thomas Chamberlin graduated from Be¬
loit College in 1866 and that fall became
high school principal at nearby Delavan.
There he instituted a series of “lecturettes”
in the natural sciences and led his students
into the nearby countryside on sunny after¬
noons so that they might learn to identify
rocks, plants, and animals and observe their
natural relations. The students became so
enthusiastic over this innovation that the
young schoolmaster frequently had to resort
to textbooks to keep up with their curiosity.
This experience made Chamberlin uncom¬
fortably aware that his classical education
had prepared him inadequately to teach the
sciences, and after two years in Delavan he
decided to undertake graduate study to
broaden his foundation in science. Follow¬
ing a year at the University of Michigan
studying geology under Alexander Winchell,
Chamberlin returned to southeastern Wis¬
consin, in 1869, to teach natural sciences in
the Whitewater State Normal School. Dur¬
ing four years at Whitewater, Chamberlin
strengthened instruction in the natural sci¬
ences and motivated several students toward
careers in science teaching.
In 1873, Thomas Chamberlin returned to
Beloit College, teaching geology, zoology,
and botany until 1880, when the depart¬
ment was subdivided and he became Be¬
loit’s first Professor of Geology. Professer
Chamberlin was regarded as a stern but in¬
spiring and innovative teacher, and geology
became a popular subject. As a teacher
Chamberlin endeavored to focus on current
geologic problems, stressing the broader as¬
pects and the methods of the science. A
favorite pedagogical practice was to take
his classes to the cupola of the Middle Col¬
lege building and to ask his students then
and there to write down their interpreta¬
tion of the gently rolling, glacially contoured
topography that lay below them. His ad¬
vanced senior course included the micro¬
scopic study of thin sections of rocks with a
polarizing microscope, then a relatively new
technique being pioneered by Roland D. Irv¬
ing.4 Chamberlin conducted field work for
the Wisconsin Geological Survey concur¬
rently with his teaching. When professional
geology began to absorb the greater portion
of his energies, Chamberlin resigned the
chair of geology at Beloit College in the
spring of 1882, continuing as an occasional
lecturer for five years.
Prior to statehood, David Dale Owen had
surveyed Wisconsin’s mineral resources in
1839-1840. Two other geological surveys
of the state followed, one in 1853-1856
headed by Edward Daniels and J. C. Perci-
val, and the second during 1857-1862 un¬
der the direction of New York state geolo¬
gist James Hall.5 In 1873 the legislature
appropriated funds providing for a complete
and systematic four-year geological survey
of Wisconsin; the survey was later extended
into 1879.
Chamberlin and fellow members of the
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and
Letters were influential in securing political
support for the 1873 survey. The Academy
had been organized in 1870 with Chamber¬
lin as one of its charter members. In the
early years several of the prominent mem¬
bers were geologists, among them Wiscon-
1979]
Schultz — T. C. Chamberlin
137
sin’s versatile naturalist Increase A. Lap-
ham, Chamberlin, and Roland Duer Irving,
professor of geology at the University of
Wisconsin (and nephew of the New York
author Washington Irving).0 When the state
survey was organized, largely as a result of
the lobbying of these men, I. A. Lapham
was appointed state geologist, and R. D.
Irving, T. C. Chamberlin, and Moses Strong
were named as assistants. Lapham, through
no fault on his part, was not reappointed,
and in 1875 O. W. Wight, a political ap¬
pointee, took charge of the survey. Wight
lasted for one year and then was replaced
by Chamberlin in February, 1876. Irving
and Strong remained as assistant geologists.
Irving was responsible for surveying the
ancient crystalline rock formations, including
the Penokee iron and copper ores, of the
north central portion of the state. He was
assisted in his microscopic study of the
Precambrian rocks during the closing years
of the survey by a promising University of
Wisconsin geology student (and future presi¬
dent of the University), Charles Van Hise.
This work of Irving and Van Hise, as well
as Chamberlin’s own microscopic analysis
of the state’s sedimentary rocks, distin¬
guished the Wisconsin survey as among the
first to employ microscopic petrology.7
Strong was to survey the western part of
the state, and particularly the economically
important lead and zinc deposits in the
southwest. At the time of the survey much
of northern Wisconsin was heavily forested
and sparsely populated. There were few
roads. Field work was a rugged, occa¬
sionally hazardous undertaking. In 1877
Moses Strong drowned in the Flambeau
River while attempting to negotiate a tricky
stretch of rapids. After Strong’s death,
Chamberlin completed the final revision of
Strong’s reports for western Wisconsin. Like
Josiah D. Whitney, geologist with James
Hall’s earlier survey, Chamberlin decided
that the lead and zinc ores had originated as
precipitates from the early Paleozoic seas.
However, Chamberlin’s interpretation dif¬
fered from the previous one in his recogni¬
tion of the role of ground water in concen¬
trating the metals in economically signifi¬
cant amounts. Chamberlin proposed that the
lead and zinc minerals had accumulated
simultaneously with, and had originally been
dispersed throughout, the layers of sedi¬
ments. Later the minerals were deposited in
cracks and fissures by ground water seeping
through the sedimentary rocks after the area
had risen above sea level.
As chief geologist, Chamberlin was re¬
sponsible for compiling and editing the sur¬
vey reports. In addition, he was personally
responsible for the survey of southeastern
Wisconsin. He began field work in that area
as assistant geologist in 1873 and continued
after his appointment as director in 1876. At
the time of his field assignment, a friend com¬
miserated, “Mr. Chamberlin, you are shelv¬
ed. What is there to be found in southeast¬
ern Wisconsin?”8 Compared to Irving’s and
Strong’s assignments in areas of econom¬
ically interesting ore rocks, Chamberlin’s
assignment seemed mundane. The lower
Paleozoic sedimentary strata of southeast¬
ern Wisconsin were for the most part buried
under unalluring heaps of glacial drift. But
rather than shelved, Chamberlin became
America’s leading glacial geologist.
Southeastern Wisconsin was a particu¬
larly propitious area in which to study
glacial geology. Most of Wisconsin, with
the exception of the southwest corner, is
covered with a veneer of loose, glacially
transported boulders, gravel, and soils,
called “drift” because, during the first half
of the nineteenth century, geologists had
thought that this material had been carried
by flotillas of icebergs that had broken off
from glaciers to the far north. These ice¬
bergs, it was assumed, had drifted over sub¬
merged areas of the continent, and dropped
their embedded cargo of rocky materials as
they thawed. By the time Chamberlin began
his field studies, most of the drift was rec¬
ognized as actual glacial deposits, rather
than the jetsam of hypothetical icebergs.
138
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
The drift, also known as “ground moraine”
or “till,” had been spread over the surface
as the ice sheet that had carried the rocks
and soil melted and retreated. In Chamber¬
lin’s section of Wisconsin the glacial drift
was deployed in an arcuate pattern of
ridges. The ridges were known locally as the
Potash Kettle Range because the drift con¬
tained many pits and kettle-like depressions
of varying shapes and depths.9 Occasion¬
ally the depressions were filled with water,
forming kettle lakes. Chamberlin concluded
that the Kettle Range was “evidently a gi¬
gantic moraine.” The outermost ridge, or
terminal moraine, marked the farthest ad¬
vance into southern Wisconsin of the tongue
of the continental ice sheet that had ex¬
tended over Green Bay and the Fox River
valley, south into the Rock River valley.
Chamberlin remarked of this feature: “It is
improbable that the whole glacial field,
when fully explored, will offer a better type-
example of the formation of a glacial tongue
in open and comparatively plain country,
and of the remarkable laws that governed
its action, than did the little glacier of the
Green Bay-Rock River Valley, one of the
least among its brethren.”10 Another tongue
of the ice sheet had extended the length of
the Lake Michigan basin, lapping over the
eastern edge of Wisconsin. The main,
roughly north-south section of the Kettle
Range included the moraine formed along
the western edge of the Lake Michigan ice
lobe and the moraine marking the eastern
edge of the Green Bay lobe. Chamberlin
termed this range of moraines, formed in¬
termediate between two glacial tongues, an
“interlobate” moraine.11
Chamberlin considered the Kettle Mo¬
raine to be “a peculiar and irregular aggre¬
gation” of the widespread ground moraine,
and thought at first that the ridges and hills
formed when the ice had halted in the midst
of its retreat and readvanced, plowing the
materials it had deposited into immense
ridges. He supposed the series of more or
less parallel ridges could be explained by
alternating retreats and readvances of the
ice repeated several times.12 The kettles
were formed as large remnant blocks of
glacial ice incorporated within the drift
melted, leaving a depression.13 Chamberlin
also suggested that they might represent
original irregularities in the surface of the
drift or be the result of a sinking and set¬
tling of the drift material in places where
loose sandy material had been carried away
by under-drainage.14
The state geologist studied the striae
caused by rocks frozen into the bottom of
the glacier scraping over the bedrock sur¬
faces, and from the orientation of these
scratches and grooves parallel to glacial mo¬
tion was able to determine the direction of
ice movement within the two glacial lobes.
The movement of the ice had been generally
south and southwestward, parallel to the
axes of the ice lobes and to the trend of the
present basins formerly occupied by the ice.
However, as the ice had fanned outward
from the axes of the lobes, its movement
had been directed at right angles to the
margins of the lobes. Thus the striae on the
bedrock in the peripheral glaciated areas
were generally oriented perpendicular to the
moraines.15 Other features that Chamberlin
used in interpreting ice movement were the
elongated, somewhat “whale-shaped” hills
of unsorted drift known as drumlins. The
axes of the drumlins tend to parallel the
flow of the ice that shaped them and their
steeper ends face in the direction from
which the ice came. The distribution of
boulder trains also indicated the direction
of ice flow. The boulders in these ‘trains’
were of native Wisconsin bedrock, unlike
the many erratics brought into the state by
the ice, and could be traced to certain dis¬
tinctive local source areas. The ice, as it
passed over these source areas, dislodged
weathered chunks of the rock and carried
them away, ‘downstream’ from their source,
and then abandoned the boulders as it re¬
treated. Quartzite boulder trains, strewn in
a generally southwesterly direction as far as
1979]
Schultz — T. C. Chamberlin
139
Fig. 1. Preliminary map of the Kettle Moraine and diagram of glacial movements.
(From T. C. Chamberlin. 1878 Trans. Wis. Acad. Sci. Arts and Letters, Vol. IV, p. 2Q<
140
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
sixty miles from their source near Waterloo,
where the quartzite outcrops, indicated to
Chamberlin that ice movement there had
been from northeast to southwest. South¬
eastern Wisconsin drift was also charac¬
terized by kames — moundlike hills of sorted
drift deposited by flowing melt-water in
openings in, or on the surface of, stagnant
ice or against the margin of the ice sheet;
and eskers (Chamberlin used the Scandina¬
vian term “osar” in his early writings) —
long, serpentine ridges of drift deposited by
meltwater flowing through tunnels at the
base of the ice.
In 1878 Thomas Chamberlin was sent to
Europe as Wisconsin’s delegate to the Paris
Exposition. During this visit he presented a
paper on his glacial studies to the Interna¬
tional Geological Congress and took ad¬
vantage of the opportunity to observe Al¬
pine glaciers and their associated phenom¬
ena. While distinguishing important differ¬
ences between the phenomena produced by
glaciers confined to narrow mountain val¬
leys and those produced by a massive con¬
tinental ice sheet, Chamberlin noted certain
aspects of Alpine glaciation that seemed
roughly analogous to some features of Wis¬
consin’s drift.16 In particular, the “Jardin”
in the Chamonix region of the French Alps,
an area that was free from ice though sur¬
rounded by active glaciers, reminded Cham¬
berlin of Wisconsin’s driftless area. Cham¬
berlin later made a detailed study of the
driftless area with his associate and former
student at Beloit, Rollin Salisbury.17 Unlike
the Alpine Jardin which stood above the
bordering glaciers, the driftless area in
southwestern Wisconsin, southeastern Min¬
nesota, and northeastern Iowa lay in the
Mississippi Valley with higher land to the
north. Chamberlin concluded that . . . “Di¬
verted by highlands, led away by valleys,
consumed by wastage where weak, self-
perpetuated where strong, the fingers of the
mer de glace closed around the ancient
Jardin of the Upper Mississippi Valley, but
failed to close upon it.”18 The driftless area
provided a standard of comparison particu¬
larly valuable because the bedrock forma¬
tions of the driftless area were the same as
those underlying the surrounding glaciated
region. The driftless area suggested how the
preglacial surface of the glaciated region
may have appeared, thus providing Cham¬
berlin with a means for better judging the
work of the ice.
In his discussion of Wisconsin glaciation
for the state survey reports Chamberlin had
concerned himself with the moraine only as
it occurred in the state. In a paper prepared
for the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences,
Arts and Letters, he pointed out that Wis¬
consin’s Kettle Moraine was but the local
segment of the great moraine which had
bordered the lobate edge of the former vast
North American ice sheet (Fig. I).19 He
observed that this entire moraine was not
necessarily coincident with drift marking
the farthest extent of the ice, and hinted at
the possibility of two separate stages of gla¬
ciation in North America.
If the evidence adduced to show that the
Kettle moraine was due to an advance of
the glaciers be trustworthy, then, to the ex¬
tent of that advance, whether much or lit¬
tle, the moraine marks a secondary period
of glaciation, with an interval of deglacia¬
tion between it and the epoch of extreme
advance. Its great extent indicates that
whatever agency caused the advance was
very widespread, if not continental in its in¬
fluence. The moraine, therefore, may be
worthy of study in its bearings upon the
interesting question of glacial and inter¬
glacial periods.20
The Scottish geologists James Geikie and
James Croll had already suggested that
there had been more than one episode of
glaciation in Europe.21 In Scotland, Geikie
had found marine sediments containing
shells, fresh water deposits, and vegetal soils
interstratified with glacial tills containing the
bones of arctic mammals, indicating that the
glacial conditions during which the tills had
been deposited had been interrupted at least
1979]
Schultz — T. C. Chamberlin
141
once, and perhaps several times, by sub¬
mergence and milder climates. Croll related
the occurrence of glaciation to periodic epi¬
sodes of maximum eccentricity in the
earth’s orbit.
Evidence suggesting two occurrences of
glaciation had been accumulating gradually
in the United States. As Chamberlin noted,
there was the distinct terminal moraine to
the north, while the drift south of the mo¬
raine had a more weather-worn appearance,
suggesting that it had been subjected to
erosional processes longer than the drift
bounded by the moraine. More convincing
were the “forest beds,” layers of decayed
vegetable matter found buried between two
distinct sheets of glacial drift at various lo¬
cations.22 These forest beds and layers of
soil suggested that the ice had been absent
and the climate had been warm enough for
forests to grow upon the lower till before
the next ice advance. Despite this evidence,
the interpretation involving alternating gla¬
cial and interglacial phases was not readily
received in the United States. Chamberlin
explained in volume one of the Geology of
Wisconsin (1883), the fourth and last vol¬
ume of the state survey reports to be pub¬
lished, that he had not formally advocated
the hypothesis of multiple glaciation in pre¬
vious volumes “due partly to the fact that
investigations were still in progress, which
made it injudicious to prejudice results by
broad conclusions in advance of the fullest
available data, and partly to the fact that
the existence of two such periods had not
been generally recognized by American ge¬
ologists, although the doctrine of separate
glacial periods had been entertained by sev¬
eral in this country, following the lead of
the Scotch school.”23 Chamberlin, as a re¬
sult of an extended survey of the moraine,
became more firmly convinced that there
had indeed been two episodes of glaciation
in North America.
Our present firmness of conviction arises
(1) from the discovery and working out of
an extended moraine stretching across the
whole of the glaciated area and belonging
to a system of glacial movements which
differ in many important respects from the
earlier ones; and (2) from the differences
of surface contour due to the greater ero¬
sion of the earlier, as already indicated. We
believe that this line of evidence, when de¬
veloped in its fulness, will prove entirely
demonstrative. Only a small part of the re¬
sults now gathered fall specifically within
our present province as chronicler of the
geological history of Wisconsin, but the
total result is, in some important measure,
the outgrowth of investigations begun in
this State.24
Field work for the Wisconsin Geological
Survey ended in March, 1879, but Cham¬
berlin continued his editorial duties into
1882. The reports formed an impressive
four-volume description and interpretation
of Wisconsin’s natural resources with practi¬
cal suggestions for their utilization. The
exemplary character of the survey reports,
Chamberlin’s successful administration of
the survey, and his particular interest in
glacial phenomena attracted the attention of
John Wesley Powell, Director of the United
States Geological Survey. In 1881 Powell
appointed Chamberlin to head the new gla¬
cial division of the USGS. Chamberlin hired
as an assistant Rollin D. Salisbury, a geology
student from Beloit College, thus beginning
a close professional association that was to
last forty years.25 R. D. Irving was given
charge of the USGS Lake Superior division
in 1882. Irving retained Charles R. Van
Hise as his assistant and together they con¬
tinued their pioneering microscopic study of
the Precambrian rocks. Following Irving’s
death six years later, Van Hise succeeded
his mentor as head of the division and rose
to national prominence as a metamorphic
geologist.26
Chamberlin’s first undertaking was the de¬
tailed survey and mapping of the entire
extent of the drift, from the Atlantic coast
across the Midwest and Dakota Territory
142
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
into Montana. He spent field seasons tracing
what he considered the more or less con¬
tinuous, looping “terminal moraine” which
marked the former position of the multi-
lobate edge of the ice sheet, the same for¬
mation he had correlated with Wisconsin’s
Kettle Moraine. As a result of these field
studies, Chamberlin became intimately fa¬
miliar with the wide range of Pleistocene
phenomena. Early in this survey he corrobo¬
rated his Wisconsin observations and their
suggestion of two glaciations in North Amer¬
ica. Chamberlin’s first report was titled
“Preliminary Paper on the Terminal Moraine
of the Second Glacial Epoch.”27
After 1882 Chamberlin pursued U. S.
Geological Survey work full time, occasion¬
ally teaching at Columbian (now George
Washington) University in Washington, D.C.
In 1887, he returned to Wisconsin to be¬
come President of the University. He con¬
tinued his research and his administration
of the USGS glacial division while success¬
fully guiding the growth of the University
of Wisconsin. President Chamberlin’s five-
year administration is credited with strength¬
ening organization, curriculum, and faculty,
and accomplishing the transition from a col¬
lege to a true university.28 In 1892, to de¬
vote more time to teaching and geological
research, Thomas Chamberlin became head
of the Department of Geology at the new
University of Chicago.
As a result of the investigations of the
USGS Pleistocene division, which included
the field work of such able assistant geolo¬
gists as R. D. Salisbury, Warren Upham,
Frank Leverett, and William Alden, it be¬
came apparent that North American glacial
history was indeed complex. One of the ma¬
jor problems facing American glacial geolo¬
gists was the correlation of midwestern gla¬
cial deposits with those in the East. As
Chamberlin had noted during the course of
his earlier Wisconsin studies, the extreme
border of the drift, was not coincident with
the terminal moraine. This divergence of the
moraine from the drift border was particu¬
larly apparent in the Midwest where the
moraine, after forming the loop that out¬
lined the Green Bay lobe of the ice sheet,
crossed Wisconsin north of the driftless
area, entered Minnesota, dipped into
north central Iowa and continued north¬
westward across northeastern Nebraska. Yet
drift material could be found beyond the
morraine as far south as north central Mis¬
souri and northeastern Kansas. However,
east of Ohio the discrepancy between the
moraine and the southernmost extent of the
drift was not so remarkable, nor was the
lobate pattern of the moraine conspicuous in
its eastern reaches. While Chamberlin recog¬
nized, in the weathered drift south of the
moraine, evidence of an earlier glaciation,
with the moraine delimiting the drift of a
second more recent ice advance, geologists
in the East were more inclined to interpret
the eastern drift as evincing only one major
glaciation, with perhaps minor oscillations
in the position of the ice front.
The drift in Pennsylvania had been sur¬
veyed by Henry Carvill Lewis and George
Frederick Wright. Following the death of
Lewis, Wright, a professor of theology at
Oberlin College and an enthusiastic self-
taught geologist, continued the work as a
member of Chamberlin’s USGS Pleistocene
group. Wright thought that drift found be¬
yond the distinct drift border that Chamber¬
lin had identified as the “terminal moraine”
in northwestern Pennsylvania was merely a
“fringe” deposited by the same ice sheet
that had left the moraine, with the moraine
itself marking where the ice front had halted
for a considerable period of time. Chamber¬
lin contended that the moraine-bordered
drift and Wright’s extramorainal “fringe”
indicated two “somewhat widely separated
epochs of glaciation.”29 At issue were
whether the difference in character and po¬
sition between the moraine-bordered drift
and the extramorainal drift represented a
full-scale retreat or a minor “oscillation” of
the ice front, the amount of time involved,
and whether the retreat of the ice had been
1979]
143
Schultz — T.
accompanied by a significant change in
climate, Wright argued that the forest beds
of the Midwest, accepted by Chamberlin
and others as evidence of a considerable
interglacial interval of warmer climate, rep¬
resented forests that had grown along the
margin of the ice sheet, much as conifer
forests grow near valley glaciers in Alaska.
Chamberlin correlated river terraces and
gravels in the Mississippi and Ohio valleys
with two episodes of glaciation, and the ero¬
sion of the major portion of the valley
trenches between upper and lower level ter¬
races with the interglacial interval. Wright
thought the drainage features and gravel
terraces of the Ohio River valley could be
attributed to one episode of glaciation and
the presence, during much of the Pleisto¬
cene epoch, of a huge lake behind a hypo¬
thetical ice dam in the vicinity of Cincin¬
nati. In addition, the chief of the Pleistocene
division and the Oberlin theologian differed
significantly in their broad conceptions of
the ice age. Wright assumed that the glacial
epoch had commenced perhaps one hundred
thousand years ago (when a hypothetical
elevation of the continent triggered climatic
cooling) and a gradual spread of the ice
sheet, with the ice dominating North Amer¬
ica for a scant twenty-five thousand years.
Wright’s ice age was relatively brief, rela¬
tively recent, and one continuous event.
Chamberlin believed that the glacial epoch
had been multiple in nature and of much
greater duration.
Upon completing his field studies, Wright
promptly set about writing a popularized
account of the ice age in North America,
aspiring to emulate James Geikie’s Euro¬
pean work, The Great Ice Age and Its Re¬
lation to the Antiquity of Man. Chamberlin
attempted to discourage him, because he
questioned Wright’s scientific abilities, sus¬
pected Wright of fame-seeking motives, and
believed that North American Pleistocene
research was not yet far enough advanced
to supply a definitive account of the ice age.
Chamberlin undoubtedly also assumed, and
C. Chamberlin
not altogether unjustly, that if a generalized
history of North American glaciation were
to be written, he was the one best qualified
to do it. Nevertheless, Wright’s Ice Age in
North America and Its Bearing upon the
Antiquity of Man was published in 1889,
attracted the popular interest that Chamber¬
lin feared it would, and went through three
editions in three years. In 1892 Wright pro¬
duced a similar work, Man and the Glacial
Period. Chamberlin was scathingly critical
of Wright’s efforts, both in his private cor¬
respondence to fellow geologists and in
print.30 In 1892, Wright also prepared a
paper on the “Unity of the Glacial Epoch”
which was critical of Chamberlin’s advocacy
of two glaciations.31 Chamberlin responded
with a defense of “The Diversity of the
Glacial Epoch,”32 and the great American
glacial debate was launched. The disagree¬
ment over the nature of the glacial epoch
between Wright and Chamberlin and their
various supporters enlivened many sessions
at geological meetings and resulted in many
pages in geological journals. T. C. Cham¬
berlin emerged as the foremost advocate of
multiple glaciation among American geolo¬
gists.33
James D. Dana, of Yale, the dean of
American geologists in the late nineteenth
century and editor of the American Journal
of Science, suggested that the main differ¬
ence among geologists in the glacial debate
was geographical. Those who had done field
work in the East seemed to favor unity,
whereas geologists familiar with midwestern
Pleistocene phenomena discerned at least
two glacial epochs. Dana thought the un¬
derlying reason for this was meteorological.
The higher elevation of the eastern region
and proximity of the Atlantic Ocean would
have produced great amounts of snow,
Dana supposed, while in the drier Midwest
more thawing and more retreats and ad¬
vances of the ice would have occurred.
Dana concluded that there had been only
one continuous glacial epoch with greater
variations in the position of the ice front
144
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
having occurred in the Midwest.31 Cham¬
berlin replied to Dana that geologists only
found one drift sheet in New England be¬
cause the drifts of earlier glaciations had
been overridden and buried under the most
recent drift, whereas in the Midwest a se¬
ries of several drifts was exposed to the
south of the drift of the last glacial advance.
If the different deployments of the drift in
New England and in the Midwest were re¬
lated to different meteorological conditions
as Dana had suggested, then the greatest ex¬
pansion of the drift should not have oc¬
curred, as it had, on the midwestern plains
where climatic and topographic conditions
were supposedly less favorable. Chamberlin
wrote: “The inferiority of the drift of New
England in extent, in massiveness, and in
serial development is the feature that calls
for explanation in adverse conditions rather
than the magnificent deployment of the gla¬
cial series on the plains of the interior.”35
In 1894 Chamberlin supplied a descrip¬
tion of the North American Pleistocene suc¬
cession for the revised third edition of
James Geikie’s Great Ice Age, in which he
subdivided the drift into three glacial for¬
mations representing three stages of glacia¬
tion, with two intervening interglacial for¬
mations.36 On this occasion Chamberlin for
the first time proposed tentative names for
the North American drift sheets. Employing
geographic nomenclature, he suggested the
name “Kansan” for the bottommost layer
of drift deposited during the earliest ice in¬
vasion that had extended the farthest south-
westward into Kansas. The Kansan till was
overlapped by another sheet of drift which
Chamberlin christened the “East Iowan.”
Between this second drift and the older
Kansas till were a well-developed soil hori¬
zon and forest beds. As the name implied,
the East Iowan drift was most characteris¬
tically displayed in northeastern Iowa, and
like the Kansan, was not usually bordered
by any definite terminal moraine. Above the
East Iowan drift sheet was a second horizon
of soils, peat, and vegetal accumulations in¬
dicating another noteworthy interval of de¬
glaciation. Further evidence of such an in¬
terval was the generally eroded topography
of the surface of the East Iowan drift. In
addition, fossiliferous strata containing a
moderate-climate flora and fauna sand¬
wiched between glacial deposits had recently
been reported near Toronto, Canada, indi¬
cating a significant retreat rather than a
minor oscillation of the ice front.37 Cham¬
berlin tentatively correlated these fossilifer¬
ous beds with the soils overlying the East
Iowan drift. Topping off the North Ameri¬
can Pleistocene sequence was the complex,
moraine-bounded drift which Chamberlin
named the “East Wisconsin.” Chamber¬
lin subsequently shortened the names of
the two younger drifts to “Iowan” and
“Wisconsin” and suggested locale names for
the interglacial deposits. The forest bed be¬
tween his Kansan and his Iowan tills was
named the “Aftonian,” for its exposure at a
railway excavation near Afton Junction,
Iowa. The second interglacial formation be¬
tween the Iowan and Wisconsin drifts was
called the “Toronto” formation.38
Meanwhile the glacial drift of the upper
Mississippi Valley was being subjected to
detailed scrutiny by Samuel Calvin and H.
Foster Bain of the Iowa Geological Survey
and by Frank Leverett, one of Chamberlin’s
assistants, in Illinois. Previously, W J Me
Gee of the United States Geological Survey
had distinguished a lower till and an upper
till separated by a forest bed in Iowa. Un¬
der Chamberlin’s classification these became
the Kansan drift sheet, the Aftonian inter¬
glacial beds, and the Iowan drift. During
1895 and 1896 Calvin and Bain sorted out
a third till sheet and a second forest bed in
northeastern Iowa. The Iowa geologists ap¬
plied the term “Iowan” to the newly differ¬
entiated uppermost till sheet and shifted the
term “Kansan” to the till sheet that Cham¬
berlin had named “Iowan.” During this time
Frank Leverett had discerned a drift sheet
in Illinois referable to a separate stage of
glaciation. Leverett traced the Kansan drift
1979]
Schultz — T. C. Chamberlin
145
across the Mississippi River into Illinois
where it lay underneath the “Illinoian”
drift, and in turn had traced his Illinoian
drift sheet west across the Mississippi into
Iowa where it underlay the new Iowan
drift. Thus by 1896 there seemed to be five
distinct North American glacial formations:
1) the sub-Aftonian drift sheet (Chamber¬
lin’s original Kansan), overlain by the Af-
tonian interglacial beds; 2) the Kansan drift
(Chamberlin’s original Iowan), separated
by an interglacial deposit from 3) Leverett’s
Illinoian drift sheet, above which were more
interglacial soils; 4) the Iowa geologists’
Iowan drift, overlain by an interglacial de¬
posit which possibly corresponded with the
Toronto interglacial fossil beds; and 5) the
complex Wisconsin drift.
Chamberlin went over parts of central
Iowa with Assistant State Geologist H.
Foster Bain, who was at the time working
up a section of that area for his doctoral
dissertation under Chamberlin, and in 1896
Chamberlin was willing to accept the trans¬
fer of the Kansan and Iowan terms with
only slight reluctance.39 However, he later
came to regret this change in nomenclature
and wished to re-establish his original des¬
ignations. His original Iowan till, the Kan¬
san of the Iowa geologists, seemed to Cham¬
berlin to be more distinctively displayed in
Iowa than elsewhere and to be the most ex¬
tensive and typical of Iowa’s drifts.40 But
the patriarch of American glacial geology
was not heeded by the younger generation
of geologists. Chamberlin’s Iowan drift be¬
came the Kansan and the lowest, sub-
Aftonian till sheet was renamed the “Ne¬
braskan” drift. The name Iowan was ap¬
plied to the till sheet between the Illinoian
and Wisconsin drifts. Leverett named the
upper three interglacial intervals the “Yar¬
mouth,” between the Kansan and Illinoian
drifts, the “Sangamon,” between the Illi¬
noian and Iowan drifts, and the “Peorian,”
between the Iowan and Wisconsin drifts. In
the early twentieth century, Geikie’s six
European glacial epochs were trimmed to
four stages and the comparatively insignifi¬
cant drift of northeastern Iowa, which
brought the number of North American
glacial formations to five, became an embar¬
rassing anomaly. Although Thomas Cham¬
berlin did not live to see it, this Iowan till
sheet later was demoted from a formation
representing a major ice invasion to a sub¬
stage of the Wisconsin glaciation, leaving
Iowa, though covered by several tills, with
a namesake in none of them.11
For the quarter of a century following his
appointment as head of the United States
Geological Survey Pleistocene division,
Thomas Chamberlin dominated American
glacial geology. After the turn of the twenti¬
eth century, Chamberlin’s research focused
less on glacial problems and more on the
circumstances surrounding the origin of the
Earth. During the 1890’s Chamberlin be¬
came interested in theories of climatic
change and the causal factors of the glacial
epoch. His attention was drawn to the pos¬
sibility that a decrease in the amount of
carbon dioxide in the atmosphere had
lowered the earth’s ability to retain heat and
may have led to a glacial climate.42 Periods
of low atmospheric carbon dioxide content
would correlate with periods of glaciation.
Chamberlin suggested a mechanism which
might cause atmospheric carbon dioxide to
fluctuate. During the chemical weathering of
silicate rocks atmospheric carbon dioxide
combines with minerals to form new car¬
bonate compounds. Chamberlin assumed
that this was the chief process by which
carbon dioxide was subtracted from the at¬
mosphere and locked up in the earth’s crust.
The erosion of massive continental areas
following a major uplift would deplete the
atmospheric store of carbon dioxide and
lead to cooling. An additional factor was
the ocean’s ability to act as a reservoir of
carbon dioxide: the colder the ocean, the
more carbon dioxide it can hold. Then, as
ice sheets covered large areas of crystalline
silicate rocks, the carbonation process would
be halted, depletion of atmospheric carbon
146
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
dioxide would be curtailed, the cooling
trend would be reversed, and glaciers would
retreat. As the ice melted and the crystalline
rocks were again exposed, atmospheric ero¬
sion and carbonation would recommence
and another stage of glaciation would occur.
Alternating glacial and interglacial phases
would continue until erosion brought con¬
tinental areas low, the rate of weathering
processes slowed, and shallow seas crept
over the continental margins providing a
habitat for marine organisms that secreted
calcareous skeletons. During the organic
lime-secreting process carbon dioxide is re¬
moved from sea water and released to the
atmosphere. According to Chamberlin, the
lime-secreting activities of myriads of ma¬
rine organisms would contribute a sufficient
amount of carbon dioxide to the atmo¬
sphere to effect a warming trend. A mild
subtropical climate would ensue until a
large-scale tectonic uplift again exposed vast
continental areas.43
Chamberlin’s consideration of the inter¬
action of the earth’s crust, atmosphere, and
oceans led him deeper and deeper into geo¬
logic history. In conjunction with his study
of climatic change Chamberlin proposed a
new hypothesis for the origin of the earth —
the planetesimal hypothesis — and developed
it over a period of twenty-five years in as¬
sociation with the astronomer Forest R.
Moulton. At the time of Chamberlin’s death
in 1928 the planetesimal hypothesis ranked
as a major twentieth-century cosmogony.
As Chamberlin had remarked, “the cold
trail of the ice invasion had led by this long
and devious path into the field of gene¬
sis.”44 For Thomas Chamberlin, this path
began in the Wisconsin Kettle Moraine.
Notes
1 Biographical material on Chamberlin can be
found in Rollin T. Chamberlin, “Thomas
Chrowder Chamberlin, 1843-1928,” National
Academy of Sciences Biographical Memoirs, 15
(1934): 305-407; George L. Collie and Hiram
D. Densmore, Thomas C. Chamberlin, Ph.D.,
Sc.D., LL.D. and Rollin D. Salisbury, LL.D. A
Beloit College Partnership (Madison: State His¬
torical Society of Wisconsin, 1932); Carroll L.
Fenton and Mildred A. Fenton, Giants of Geol¬
ogy (Garden City: Doubleday and Co., 1952),
pp. 302-317; Kirtley F. Mather, “Thomas
Chrowder Chamberlin,” Dictionary of Scientific
Biography, vol. 3, pp. 189-191; Bailey Willis,
“Memorial of Thomas Chrowder Chamberlin
(1843-1928),” Bulletin of the Geological Society
of America 40 (1929): 23-44; Herbert C. Winnik,
“Science and Morality in Thomas C. Chamber¬
lin,” Journal of the History of Ideas 31 (1970):
441-456; Susan Schultz, “Thomas C. Chamberlin:
An Intellectual Biography of a Geologist and Ed¬
ucator” (Ph.D. dissertation, University of Wis¬
consin, 1976). In addition, the May-June, 1929
issue of the Journal of Geology, vol. 37, pp. 289-
392 contains several articles on various aspects
of the life and work of Chamberlin, and a bibli¬
ography of his works.
2 Thomas C. Chamberlin, Memorial editorial on
Henry B. Nason, Journal of Geology 3 (1895):
342-343.
3 For Chamberlin’s student days and later teach¬
ing career at Beloit College, see Collie and Dens¬
more, Chamberlin and Salisbury.
4 T. C. Chamberlin, “Roland Duer Irving,”
Trans. Wise. Acad. 8 (1892): 433-437.
3 See Ernest F. Bean, “State Geological Sur¬
veys of Wisconsin,” Trans. Wise. Acad. 30 (1937):
203-220 and Walter B. Hendrickson, “Nineteenth-
Century Geological Surveys: Early Government
Support of Science,” Isis 52 (1961): 357-371.
0 Chamberlin later noted that thirty-five per cent
of the papers presented during the first two years
of the Academy’s existence were on geological
topics (“The Founding of the Wisconsin Academy
of Sciences, Arts and Letters,” Science 52 [1920]:
7).
7 George P. Merrill, Contributions to a History
of American State Geological and Natural His¬
tory Surveys, United States National Museum
Bulletin 109 (Washington, D.C.: Government
Printing Office, 1920), pp. 531-532; Louis V.
Pirsson, “The Rise of Petrology as a Science,” in
A Century of Science in America, ed. E. S. Dana,
New Haven: Yale University Press, 1918), p.
255; T. C. Chamberlin, “Charles Richard Van
Hise,” National Academy of Sciences Memoirs
17 (1924): 145; Maurice M. Vance, Charles
Richard Van Hise, Scientist Progressive (Madison:
State Historical Society of Wisconsin, 1960),
pp. 24-25.
8 R. T. Chamberlin, “Chamberlin,” Biographical
Memoir, p. 312.
9 The term “potash kettle” refers to the large
vessel commonly used in the frontier process of
1979]
Schultz — T. C. Chamberlin
147
obtaining potash, a crude form of potassium car¬
bonate, used in making soap. Wood ashes were
lixiviated (leached) and the solution was evapo¬
rated over a fire in large iron pots, yielding the
potassium carbonate as, literally, pot ash.
10 Chamberlin, “Preliminary Paper on the Ter¬
minal Moraine of the Second Glacial Epoch,”
United States Geological Survey Third Annual
Report (1882), p. 315.
11 Chamberlin, “Preliminary Paper on the Ter¬
minal Moraine,” pp. 301-302.
12 Chamberlin, T. C, Geology of Wisconsin,
Survey of 1873-1877, 4 vols. and atlas (Madison:
Commissioners of Public Printing, 1877-1883), 2:
214. When Chamberlin later visited Greenland as
geologist with the Peary auxiliary relief expedi¬
tion in 1894 and observed glaciers in action, he
realized that moraines are not the result of plow¬
ing action on the part of the ice, but rather that
the debris carried within the ice accumulates as
the ice at the glacial margin melts and sloughs
off its load of boulders, gravel, and soil while the
ice front is stationary. When the ice front re¬
advances, it does not plow the debris, but rides
over it (“Recent Glacial Studies in Greenland,”
Bulletin of the Geological Society of America 6
[1895]: 214).
13 This interpretation, the currently accepted ex¬
planation of true kettles, had previously been ad¬
vanced by Charles Whittelsey in “On the Drift
Cavities, or ‘Potash Kettles’ of Wisconsin,” Pro¬
ceedings of the American Association for the Ad¬
vancement of Science 13 (1860): 297-301.
14 Chamberlin, Geology of Wisconsin, 2: 214.
15 Chamberlin later made a comprehensive study
of glacial striae, “The Rock-Scorings of the Great
Ice Invasions,” USGS Seventh Annual Report
(1885-1886), pp. 147-248.
16 Chamberlin, “Observations on the Recent
Glacial Drift of the Alps,” Trans. Wise. Acad. 5
(1877-1881): 258-270.
17 Chamberlin and Rollin D. Salisbury, “Pre¬
liminary Paper on the Driftless Area of the Up¬
per Mississippi Valley,” USGS Sixth Annual Re¬
port (1884-1885), pp. 205-322.
18 Chamberlin and Salisbury, “Driftless Area,”
p. 322.
19 Chamberlin, “On the Extent and Significance
of the Wisconsin Kettle Moraine,” Trans. Wise.
Acad. 4 (1876-1877): 201-234. This paper was
apparently first presented in 1875.
20 Chamberlin, “Wisconsin Kettle Moraine,” pp.
233-234.
21 James Croll, “On the Physical Cause of the
Change of Climate During Geological Epochs,”
Philosophical Magazine 28 (1864): 121-137;
James Geikie, “On Changes of Climate During
the Glacial Epoch,” Geological Magazine 8
(1871): 545-553; 9 (1872): 23-31, 61-69, 105-111,
164-170, 215-222, 254-265, and The Great Ice
Age, 1st and 2nd eds., 1874 and 1877.
22 In 1868 A. G. Worthen had described buried
soils between two tills in Illinois. Between 1869
and 1874 Edward Orton, J. S. Newberry, and
N. H. Winchell also described forest beds, a peat
bog, vegetal material, and soils interstratified be¬
tween two tills in Ohio and Minnesota and rec¬
ognized these deposits as representing an inter¬
glacial interval. See Herman L. Fairchild, “Glacial
Geology in America,” Proceedings of the Ameri¬
can Association for the Advancement of Science
47 (1898): 272; F. T. Thwaites, “The Develop¬
ment of the Theory of Multiple Glaciation in
North America,” Trans. Wise. Acad. 23 (1927):
41-164; G. F. Kay and E. T. Apfel, “The Pre-
Illinoian Pleistocene Geology of Iowa,” Iowa
Geological Survey Annual Report 34 (1929): 71-
72; and R. F. Flint, “Introduction: Historical
Perspectives,” in The Quaternary of the United
States, ed. H. E. Wright, Jr. and D. G. Frey
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1965),
p. 5. Thwaites has surveyed and chronologically
summarized the literature pertaining to the con¬
cept of multiple glaciation in North America.
23 Chamberlin, Geology of Wisconsin, 1: 271-
272.
24 Chamberlin, Geology of Wisconsin, 1 : 272.
25 For the teacher-student relationship between
Chamberlin and Salisbury and their subsequently
interrelated careers as geologists, see Collie and
Densmore, Chamberlin arid Salisbury.
26 For Van Hise’s career, see Vance, Charles
Richard Van Hise.
27 USGS Third Annual Report (1882), pp. 29 1 -
402.
28 Merle Curti and Vernon Garstensen, The Uni¬
versity of Wisconsin. A History, 1848-1925, 2
vols. (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press,
1949), 1: 534-560 and James F. A. Pyre, Wis¬
consin (New York: Oxford University Press,
1920).
29 See G. Frederick Wright, The Glacial Bound¬
ary in Western Pennsylvania, Ohio, Kentucky, In¬
diana, and Illinois with an Introduction by T. C.
Chamberlin, United States Geological Survey Bul¬
letin no. 58 (Washington, D.C.: Government
Printing Office, 1890).
30 See for example, Chamberlin, “Geology and
Archaeology Mistaught,” Dial 13 (1892): 303-
306 and “Professor Wright and the Geological
Survey,” Dial 14 (1893): 7-9. Chamberlin’s pa¬
pers are located in the Department of Special
Collections, Joseph Regenstein Library, Univer¬
sity of Chicago. The controversy broadened and
148
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
several articles and editorials attacking and de¬
fending Wright and his argument for man’s pres¬
ence in North America during the ice age ap¬
peared in the Journal of Geology (edited by
Chamberlin), the American Geologist, and Popu¬
lar Science Monthly in 1892 and 1893. For a
discussion of this controversy over man’s rela¬
tionship to the glacial epoch in North America,
see Schultz, S. Ph.D. dissertation, University of
Wisconsin, 1976, “Thomas C. Chamberlin,” Chap¬
ter IV.
31 American Journal of Science 144 (1892):
351-373.
32 American Journal of Science 145 (1893):
171-200.
33 For additional papers relating to this issue,
see Chamberlin, “Some Additional Evidences
Bearing on the Interval Between the Glacial
Epochs,” Trans. Wise. Acad. 8 (1888-1891): 82-
86; G. F. Wright, “Continuity of the Glacial
Period,” American Journal of Science 147 (1894):
161-187; Chamberlin and Frank Leverett, “Fur¬
ther Studies of the Drainage Features of the Up¬
per Ohio Basin,” American Journal of Science
147 (1894): 247-283, 483. See also “Subdivisions
or Unity of the Glacial Period,” Popular Science
Monthly 44 (1893): 279-280 and “Reviews of
the Ice Age at the World’s Congress on Geol¬
ogy,” American Geologist 12 (1893): 223-231.
31 James D. Dana, “On New England and the
Upper Mississippi Basin in the Glacial Period,”
American Journal of Science 146 (1893): 327-
330. See also Warren Upham, “Diversity of the
Glacial Drift along Its Boundary American Jour¬
nal of Science 147 (1894): 358-365 for a similar
argument. In the fourth edition of his venerable
Manual of Geology Dana does subdivide the gla¬
cial period into three “epochs,” but Dana’s “sub¬
divisions” tend to de-emphasize and obscure the
multiple nature of the glaciation. His early, mid¬
dle, and later glacial “epochs” are actually one
phase of advance and two phases of retreat
separated by “a long halt” of the same, single ice
sheet ( Manual of Geology , 4th ed. [New York:
American Book Company, 1895], p. 934). In
these discussions of Pleistocene glaciation there
seems to have been no consistent attempt to limit
the use of the terms “period” and “epoch” to any
strict stratigraphic time connotations. Hence gla¬
cial “period,” glacial “epoch,” and ice “age” were
often employed indiscriminately and interchange¬
ably. This may have contributed to the lack of
agreement.
30 Chamberlin, Editorial, Journal of Geology 1
(1893): 847-849, quotation from p. 849.
30 Chamberlin, “Glacial Phenomena of North
America,” Chapters 51 and 52 in The Great Ice
Age by James Geikie, 3rd ed. (London: Edward
Stanford, 1894), pp. 724-775. In preceding chap¬
ters Geikie had recognized six distinct glacial
epochs and five interglacial intervals in Scotland.
37 A. P. Coleman, “Interglacial Fossils from the
Don Valley, Toronto,” American Geologist 13
(1894): 85-93, and “Glacial and Interglacial De¬
posits Near Toronto,” Journal of Geology 3
(1895): 622-645.
38 Chamberlin, “The Classification of American
Glacial Deposits,” Journal of Geology 3 (1895):
270-277.
39 See Chamberlin, Editorial on the nomencla¬
ture of the glacial formations, Journal of Geology
4 (1896): 872-876.
40 Chamberlin, Review of “Comparison of North
American and European Glacial Deposits” by
Frank Leverett, Journal of Geology 18 (1910);
473.
41 Current Pleistocene nomenclature recognizes
the following stages:
IV. Wisconsinan glacial (Chamberlin)
Sangamonian interglacial
III. Illinoian glacial
Yarmouthan interglacial
II. Kansan glacial (Chamberlin’s original
Iowan)
Aftonian interglacial (Chamberlin)
I. Nebraskan glacial (Chamberlin’s original
Kansan)
42 A paper by Svente Arrhenius, “On the In¬
fluence of Carbonic Acid in the Air upon the
Temperature of the Ground,” Philosophical Maga¬
zine 5th ser., 41 (1896): 237-276, convinced
Chamberlin that a sufficient depletion of the at¬
mosphere’s carbon dioxide content would be
quantitatively adequate to initiate glacial condi¬
tions. The relationship between atmospheric car¬
bon dioxide and the retention of heat had been
demonstrated three decades earlier by the British
physicist John Tyndall.
43 Chamberlin, “A Group of Hypotheses Bearing
on Climatic Changes,” Journal of Geology 5
(1897): 653-683; “The Ulterior Basis of Time
Divisions and the Classification of Geologic His¬
tory,” Journal of Geology 6 (1898): 449-462;
“The Influence of the Great Epochs of Limestone
Formation upon the Constitution of the Atmo¬
sphere,” Journal of Geology 6 (1898): 609-621;
“An Attempt to Frame a Working Hypothesis of
the Cause of the Glacial Periods on an Atmo¬
spheric Basis,” Journal of Geology 7 (1899): 545-
584, 667-685, 751-787.
44 Chamberlin, Origin of the Earth (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1916), p. 9.
100 YEARS OF WISCONSIN PUBLIC WATER SUPPLIES
Alexander Zaporozec
Geological and Natural History Survey
Madison, Wisconsin
A bstract
Over 70% of Wisconsin population is served by public water-supply systems
which provide water to Wisconsin people for more than a century. History of
Wisconsin public water supplies began relatively late, compared to other states.
In Wisconsin, the first system was built in the city of Milwaukee in 1873. By 1886,
19 more systems were installed. Since then the number of public supplies has
grown steadily at an average rate of little over six systems per year, a rate which
has been declining in the last decade. Especially rapid rate of growth was experi¬
enced in the periods of 1892-96, 1935-1942, 1946-49 and 1964-68. The rate
of growth of the number of public systems and of the population served by these
systems follows closely the rate of increase in Wisconsin’s population. At pres¬
ent, there are well over 500 public systems which provide water of good quality
to more than 70 percent of the state’s population, comparing to merely 10 per¬
cent in 1878.
Introduction
In December 1974, 93rd Congress en¬
acted PL 93-523 — as an amendment to
the Public Health Service Act, under Ti¬
tle XIV, Safety of Public Water Systems —
to assure that the public is provided with
safe drinking water. This Act, known as the
Safe Drinking Water Act, is the first major
U.S. legislation for water management
which recognizes ground water as an indi¬
spensable part of the total national water
resource. In June 1977, uniform federal
drinking water regulations went into effect
for the first time for every public water sys¬
tem. The U.S. Environmental Protection
Agency, responsible for the implementation
of the Act recognized that states must be
allowed maximum flexibility to address their
problems. Therefore, the states had the op¬
tion to utilize the State Public Water System
Supervision Program with the help of EPA
grants. As of September 1, 1979, all but 6
states were involved in the program. In Wis¬
consin, the responsibility for the program
was delegated, in March 1978, to the De¬
partment of Natural Resources that con¬
ducts a regular surveillance of all commu¬
nity water systems.
Wisconsin public water supplies have re¬
cently celebrated an unnoticed 100-year
anniversary, and their significance and his¬
tory is worth remembering. The importance
of water, one of mankind’s vital commodi¬
ties, is generally underestimated and over¬
looked. Many people take their water
supply for granted and regard it as a
common holding, similar to electricity, gas,
or telephone utilities. They expect water to
be instantly available in good quality and
adequate quantity. One can substitute other
light sources for electricity or open fires for
gas, and certainly one can survive without
a telephone. But no one can replace water
or survive without it. It is essential that our
water supplies are strictly protected.
History of Wisconsin Water Supplies
Wisconsin people have been well served
by public water supplies for more than a
century. However, public water supplies in
Wisconsin were relatively slow in develop¬
ing. The first public water system began op-
149
150
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Table 1. The oldest public water supplies
of Wisconsin
Explanation: G-ground water, I-infiltration well,
L-lake, O-large open well, R-river, S-spring.
Fig. 1. The Madison Water Utility crank-and-
flywheel pump, one of the few steam-driven
pumps still existing in the country. It was built by
Allis-Chalmers of Milwaukee, and it served Madi¬
son residents for 50 years, from 1917 to 1967, at
the old Nichols pumping station on Hancock
Street. (Photo: J. Brania)
erating in Boston, Massachusetts in 1652.
The second system was constructed in Beth¬
lehem, Pennsylvania in 1754. In 1873, the
first public water system in Wisconsin was
installed in Milwaukee. In the same decade,
three other cities built public water systems:
Prairie du Chien in 1876, La Crosse in
1877-78, and Kenosha in 1879. By 1886,
twenty cities and villages were supplied with
public systems (Table 1). Most of these
communities were rapidly growing cities and
villages located on large lakes or rivers.
Most of the early systems were supplied
by surface water from lakes or rivers, sur¬
face water was easy to obtain- — inexpensive,
and at that time, of good quality. However,
as the surface water became more polluted,
more communities turned to ground water.
The first two cities supplied by ground water
from deep wells were Prairie du Chien and
Madison. Classification of existing sources
reveals that most communities served by
public systems (about 90%) now use
ground water from wells and springs. In
addition, five communities have combined
surface and ground-water supplies, and
seven use water from surface bodies infil¬
trated through horizontal collectors and infil¬
tration wells. Only seven percent of all com¬
munities served are supplied by treated lake
or river water. However, these communities
happen to represent a large segment of
population which results in a 56:44 ratio
of surface to ground-water use.
The increase in the number of public
water supplies reflects the history of Wis¬
consin’s development and the relatively uni¬
form growth of its population. Early growth
was slow from the time Wisconsin became
a state in 1848 until 1884. In the early days,
waterworks were unnecessary for it was
easy to get satisfactory water from springs
or individual wells. The first settlements were
built on lakes or rivers and proximity to the
surface waters also aided in fire protection.
In 1873, when the first system was built
in Milwaukee the city’s population was al¬
ready about 80,000 and its citizens were
1979] Zaporozec — Wisconsin Public Water Supplies 151
Fig. 2. Population supplied by public water systems and the number of water supplies.
dependent entirely upon domestic wells,
springs, and vendors (who distributed water
taken from Lake Michigan in water wag¬
ons) for water for household and industrial
purposes. Fire protection for the city was
primitive. Prairie du Chien, La Crosse, and
Kenosha — followed the City of Milwaukee
in rapid succession, forced into construction
of central water systems by similar unsatis¬
factory water supplies.
Public demand resulted in a rapid in¬
crease of water systems from 1885 to 1891.
Kirchoffer (1905) attributed this increase
also to the effect of dry weather and changes
in technology. Low precipitation in 1881
followed by drying up of private wells and
increased danger from fire might have pro¬
vided strong motivation. The introduction
of the gasoline engine as a cheap source of
power and the low price of iron might also
have been factors. An increase in the Wis¬
consin population was certainly involved.
The especially fast rate of growth in the
years 1892-96 (over 10 new supplies each
year) might also have been influenced by
inexpensive material and the influx of im¬
migrant labor, as well as by the major
drought of 1894-95.
From 1897 to 1914 the number of public
systems increased rather uniformly in ac¬
cordance with the steady population growth.
New systems averaged over seven per year.
In the years 1915-1934, reflecting the eco¬
nomic troubles of that period culminating in
the deep economic depression, only a few
public supplies were built. In 1935-1942,
economic recovery, stimulated new public
systems at the rate of eight per year.
152
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Fig. 3. Public water supplies of Wisconsin.
1979]
Zaporozec — Wisconsin Public Water Supplies
153
No public supplies were built during
World War II (1943-45). The post-war
economic boom and the increase in state
population were probably the principal rea¬
sons for a rapid increase in public systems
from 1946 to 1949, an average of over nine
new supplies each year. In the 1950’s to
1970’s, the increase was steady, with an
average of five new supplies per year from
1950-1963, and about seven new supplies
per year for 1964-68. In the years 1969-
1975, the rate dropped to less than five new
supplies each year.
The growth in the population supplied
by public systems has nearly equalled the
increase in the total population of Wis¬
consin. At present, more than 70 percent
of the population (more than 3.2 million
people) is served by a public water supply
system, comparing to merely eight percent
in 1875, when only about 100,000 people
were served. The most dramatic increase oc¬
curred in the period 1880-1895 when the
percentage of the population served in¬
creased fourfold, from about ten percent to
almost 40 percent of the population. The
rate of increase in population served was
steady between 1896 to 1935 reaching 60
percent by 1935. In the following period,
1936-1970, the percentage of population
served increased only slightly to 71.3 per¬
cent. Presumably, the population supplied
by public water systems will eventually level
off at about 80 percent since the remaining
20 percent will be difficult or uneconomical
to reach with central systems.
In 1976, there were 576 cities and villages
in Wisconsin of which 461 (over 80%)
have public water supplies. In addition,
many towns and sanitary districts provide
water for the public, bringing the total of
public supplies to 533. There are also 96
private systems serving subdivisions and co¬
operatives. This list does not include semi¬
public supplies in governmental, educa¬
tional, charitable and penal institutions,
state parks, camps, summer resorts, etc.
Many of these institutions have water sup¬
plies separate from any municipality.
Conclusion
This analysis of historical data demon¬
strates the importance of water supplies in
Wisconsin. The need for adequate protec¬
tion is evident. The State Supervision Pro¬
gram will certainly be an important step
toward the protection and enhancement of
quality in public water sources. Moreover,
the cooperation of Federal and State govern¬
ments in the Program, if successful, may be¬
come a model for the implementation of
future legislation in such sensitive areas as
consumer protection.
Acknowledgment
My sincere thanks to Mr. Robert A.
Baumeister, Chief, Public Water Supply Sec¬
tion, Wisconsin Department of Natural Re¬
sources, and his staff for providing updated
information on public supplies published in
1970 (Wis. DNR, 1970), and on the im¬
plementation of the State Surveillance Pro¬
gram.
Literature Cited
Kirchoffer, W. G. 1905. The sources of
water supply in Wisconsin: Univ. Wis. Bull.
No. 106, Eng. Series, v. 3, no. 2.
Wis. Dept, of Natural Resources. 1970.
Public water supply data: Wis. DNR, Div.
of Environ. Protection, Madison.
CHANGING RAIL PATTERNS IN WISCONSIN
Curtis W. Richards
University of Wisconsin-Parkside
Introduction
The railroad industry of the United States
has undergone rapid change during the
1970’s. Mergers of formerly competitive
railroads into combined systems have cre¬
ated railroads larger than ever before. On
the other hand, a growing number of short
lines have been established on lines aban¬
doned by Class I railroads (railroads with
annual gross revenues of $50,000,000 or
more). These changes are combined with a
growing number of bankruptcies and in¬
creasing federal involvement in railroad
matters. The national trends are also evident
in Wisconsin. This paper will examine
changes taking place in railroad service in
Wisconsin and will: (1) analyze the chang¬
ing spatial pattern of rail service in Wiscon¬
sin, and (2) describe the current traffic den¬
sity patterns on lines serving the state.
Rail Abandonments in Wisconsin
Railroads in Wisconsin often mirror na¬
tional trends. For example, In 1920 Wis¬
consin had 7,550 miles of railroad line, but
in 1970 only 6,000 remained, a reduction of
approximately 20 percent.1 Concurrently,
railroad mileage in the United States fell
from 253,000 miles in 1920 to 206,000
miles in 1970, a reduction of 19 percent.2
However, beginning in 1977, Wisconsin has
experienced a far more rapid proportional
decline in railroad mileage. Railroad ser¬
vice to many Wisconsin communities is
likely to be lost in the next five years. The
enactment of the Railroad Revitalization
and Regulatory Reform Act of 1976 (4R
Act), required that railroads provide states
with information regarding potential aban¬
donments. Under revised abandonment pro¬
cedures growing out of the 4R Act, rail¬
roads are now required to submit maps of
their lines grouped into the following cate¬
gories:
Category 1 — all lines which the railroad
will seek to abandon within three years
Category 2 — all lines under study by the
railroad which may be subject to fu¬
ture abandonment attempts
Category 3 — all lines for which an aban¬
donment application is pending before
the Interstate Commerce Commission
(ICC)
Category 4 — all lines that are being oper¬
ated under the rail service continuation
provisions of the 4R Act
Category 5 — all other lines the rail¬
road owns or operates
Service over 942 miles of rail line or 17
percent of the 1980 rail system could be
lost within the next five years (Table I).
Losses are expected throughout the state,
but the most severe effects are centered in
three areas: (1) southwestern Wisconsin,
(2) the Horicon-Ripon area, and (3) from
Green Bay to the Michigan border. South¬
western Wisconsin will be particularly se¬
verely affected (Fig. 1), no less than 300
miles of track are either up for abandon¬
ment or expected to be put up for aban¬
donment. Abandonment impacts may also
be severe in the Horicon-Ripon area where
nearly 200 miles of line may be abandoned.
Further, 100 miles of railroad line extending
north from Green Bay may be abandoned.
Recent efforts by the Wisconsin Department
of Transportation to purchase and arrange
for short line operation may permit some
of these lines to remain in operation. The
restructuring of the Milwaukee Road, now
in the hands of a federal bankruptcy court,
could result in additional abandonments.
154
1979]
Richards — Rail Patterns in Wisconsin
155
LEGEND
> ABANDONMENT APPROVED BY ICC
• ABANDONMENT APPLICATION BEFORE ICC
ANTICIPATED SUBJECT TO ABANDONMENT
WITHIN THREE YEARS
I POTENTIALLY SUBJECT TO ABANDONMENT
OPERATED UNDER SUBSIDY
ALL OTHER LINES
RAIL LINES
POTENTIALLY SUBJECT
TO ABANDONMENT
Fig. 1. Wisconsin rail lines subject to abandonment.
Table 1. Potential Abandonments by Wisconsin’s Railroads
January 1, 1980
Mileage subject to Mileage with preliminary
abandonment by approval for abandonment
Source: Wisconsin Department of Transportation
156
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Conceivably, the entire Milwaukee Road
mileage in Wisconsin could be subject to
abandonment if that company was com¬
pletely liquidated. The mileages listed in
Table 1 do not reflect this remote possibility.
Railroad abandonments in Wisconsin
have not been confined to recent decades, in
fact, they have been occurring for 100 years.
Since 1977, however, abandonments have
accelerated and will probably peak within
the next few years. What factors lie behind
increasing rail abandonment? Early rail
abandonments often resulted from depletion
of resources such as minerals or forests.
Abandonments in northern Wisconsin in the
early decades of this century represent this
type. Abandonments of short stub-ended
lines represent a second type. These lines
constructed to serve small farm communities
have suffered from truck competition.
Trucks enabled farmers to carry their agri¬
cultural products to larger markets and at
the same time to purchase necessary sup¬
plies from these same markets. Loss of
traffic resulted in declining revenues and
subsequent application for abandonment.
Many abandonments in western and central
Wisconsin between 1920 and 1970 represent
this type.
The number of abandonments also reflects
the financial condition of the individual rail¬
roads serving Wisconsin. During the de¬
pression of the 1930’s over 600 miles of rail
lines were abandoned in Wisconsin.3 Eco¬
nomic expansion following World War II
saw the number of miles abandoned de¬
crease as the railroads serving Wisconsin
regained economic health. More recently,
major segments of the American rail indus¬
try have plunged into financial difficulty and
bankruptcy. The Milwaukee Road, which
accounts for over 1,300 miles or approxi¬
mately 25 percent of the rail mileage of the
state, entered voluntary bankruptcy in De¬
cember, 1977. The Chicago and Northwest¬
ern Railroad, which accounts for 40 percent
of Wisconsin’s rail mileage, has not been
among the more profitable United States
railroads in recent years. Together these two
railroads account for over 90 percent of the
potential rail abandonments in Wisconsin.
Often railroads have been forced to reduce
scheduled maintenance of their lightly used
branch lines in an effort to allocate their
limited resources to more productive seg¬
ments of the system. Deferred maintenance,
if continued over a period of years, greatly
reduces efficiency by reducing operating
speeds to as low as 10 miles per hour. With
an operating speed of 10 miles per hour
much railroad crew time is used in slow
traveling between stations. As crew costs are
rising, revenues are probably falling because
of low speed which results in poor service
and diversion of traffic to trucks. The cost
of rehabilitating such a line becomes pro¬
hibitive in relation to the revenues generated.
At some point in this process the railroad
may petition the ICC for permission to
abandon the line.
Wisconsin, unlike neighboring states to
the south and west, does not originate large
volumes of feed grains. The crops grown by
Wisconsin farmers are converted to milk
which is trucked directly to fluid milk mar¬
kets or sold locally for processing into
cheese. The abandonment of rural lines in
Wisconsin results partly from the lack of
sizable quantities of originating traffic.
In recent years, the 100 ton open or cov¬
ered hopper car (used to carry coal, grain
products, and fertilizers) has gained wide
acceptance. These cars, with a loaded weight
of 263,000 lbs. can carry 20 percent more
weight than the cars they are replacing.
However, they cannot be used on rail lines
constructed around the turn of the century
that have a light weight rail of 65 to 80 lbs.
per yard. These older lines cannot compete
with other rail lines capable of handling the
heavier more efficient cars. Alternatives in¬
volving the use of smaller less efficient cars
or partial filling of the larger cars are unat¬
tractive. Many of the lines proposed for
abandonment have been those which could
not handle hopper cars.
1979]
Richards— Rail Patterns in Wisconsin
157
The nearly total demise of passenger ser¬
vice during the 1950’s and 1960’s, elimi¬
nated the need to maintain through lines
for passenger trains. For example, a portion
of the direct Milwaukee Road line between
Madison and Chicago has been proposed for
abandonment. This line which had passen¬
ger service as recently as April, 1971, will
now cease to exist if the abandonment ap¬
plication is approved. As the abandonment
process has accelerated, longer lines are
now facing abandonment as Wisconsin rail¬
roads seek to concentrate traffic on better
utilized and maintained lines.
The 4R Act provides a means whereby
two railroads may meet under the auspices
of the Secretary of Transportation to discuss
coordinated action leading to agreements
whereby one railroad agrees to abandon ser¬
vice to a particular market, in effect leaving
all traffic to the other railroad.4 This is con¬
sidered necessary where traffic levels are
insufficient to support service by two rail¬
roads. The benefits to the two railroads may
be substantial, reducing costs and eliminat¬
ing the need to rehabilitate track which will
be abandoned. Further, provisions are made
for two railroads to discuss consolidation of
operations on one of two parallel main lines,
thereby reducing the need to maintain dupli¬
cate trackage. Such consolidations have
been discussed between the Chicago and
Northwestern and Milwaukee Road rail¬
roads and one outcome could be the elim¬
ination of some parallel main line mileage.
This paper has outlined many reasons
why Class I railroads are seeking to aban¬
don lightly-used rail lines. There is, how¬
ever, a growing interest by public officials
and shippers in keeping these lightly used
lines functioning, usually by having short
line operators provide service following
abandonment. Several individuals have ex¬
pressed interest in establishing short line ser¬
vice on Wisconsin branch lines now up for
abandonment. Lower operating costs cou¬
pled with federal aid for rehabilitation of
the line and financial contributions from
local units of government and shippers can
make short line operation attractive. The
alternative, providing a subsidy to a Class I
railroad to operate the branch line, is con¬
sidered unattractive because of high subsidy
costs for a low level of service. Service on
a number of Wisconsin branch lines aban¬
doned by Class I railroads and purchased
by the State of Wisconsin has been main¬
tained by the establishment of several short
line railroads.
Traffic Densities on
Wisconsin Railroads
Until recently density maps of rail traffic
were not generally available to the public.
However, with increasing governmental in¬
volvement in railroad matters at both fed¬
eral and state levels, this information is now
available in state and federal reports.5 A
simplified map (Fig. 2) depicts the wide
variation in traffic densities on Wisconsin
rail lines. The gross tonnages include the
weight of loaded and empty cars, locomo¬
tives, and cabooses passing over each mile
of railroad.6 The actual weight of the cargo
is estimated to be slightly less than one-half
the gross tonnage.7 It is evident that most
Fig. 2. Wisconsin rail freight density in 1976.
158
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Table 2. Railroad Company Mileage by Density Group (1976)
Source: Wisconsin Railroad Plan, December, 1979 p. V-21
rail lines in the state carry only light traffic.
Seventy percent of Wisconsin’s rail mileage
carries branch line densities of less than five
million gross tons per year (Table 2). 8 Na¬
tionally, 49 percent of United States rail
lines carry less than five million gross tons.9
Wisconsin lines bearing the heaviest traf¬
fic connect Chicago with Minneapolis-St.
Paul. Much of the traffic carried by these
lines is moving through the state rather than
originating or terminating there. The high¬
est density line, that of the Burlington
Northern paralleling the Mississippi River,
carries little traffic originating or terminat¬
ing in Wisconsin. Instead, it carries low sul¬
fur coal and lumber products east and man¬
ufactured products west. The Milwaukee
Road, Chicago and Northwestern, and Soo
Line routes between Chicago and the Twin
Cities also carry heavy volumes of through
traffic. On the other hand, much of the traf¬
fic moving south from Green Bay and other
Fox Valley cities consists of paper and re¬
lated products manufactured in these cities.
Considerable tonnages of raw materials and
steel products move into Milwaukee where
they are converted into automobile frames,
beer, and other manufactured products, then
shipped south through Chicago for distribu¬
tion throughout the United States. Large
tonnages of iron ore, low sulfur coal, and
grains move by rail to the port of Superior
for shipment on the Great Lakes. These
tonnages move only a few miles in Wiscon¬
sin. The majority of the remaining lines in
Wisconsin carry only light traffic densities, a
fact reflected in the growing number of pe¬
titions for abandonment.
Conclusion
Wisconsin railroads face an uncertain
future. Recent growth in traffic has been
confined to the more heavily used routes.
Lightly used branch lines are increasingly
being proposed for abandonment. Whether
merger of the Milwaukee Road and the Chi¬
cago and Northwestern with stronger rail¬
roads would materially change the existing
situation is difficult to assess. It is hoped
that the railroads serving Wisconsin will re¬
gain their vitality so that they may again
contribute to Wisconsin’s economic well be¬
ing.
Notes
1 Wisconsin Department of Transportation, Wis¬
consin Railroad Plan. August 1, 1977, p. V-2.
2 Association of American Railroads, Yearbook
of Railroad Facts, 1978 ed., p. 46.
3 Wisconsin Railroad Plan, p. V-2.
4 United States Department of Transportation,
News Release, June 15, 1978.
5 Wisconsin Railroad Plan, p. V-24, and United
States Department of Transportation, United
States Transportation Zone Maps, 1975.
6 Wisconsin Railroad Plan, p. V-22.
7 Ibid., p. V-22.
8 Ibid., p. V-23.
9 United States Department of Transportation,
Final Standards, Classification, and Designation of
Lines of Class I Railroads in the United States,
Vol. 1, January 19, 1977.
FIELD IDENTIFICATION OF PEROMYSCUS LEUCOPUS AND
P. MANICULATUS WITH DISCRIMINANT ANALYSIS
Mark R. Stromberg
Department of Zoology
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Abstract
Discriminant analysis produced non-overlapping groups of scores for mor¬
phologically similar individuals of Peromyscus maniculatus bairdi and P. leucopus
noveboracensis from southern Wisconsin. This analysis was based on standard
external measurements and can be used in field studies requiring identification of
these mice.
Biologists have been hampered in studies
of closely related species of Peromyscus
because of difficulty in the identification of
individuals with intermediate characteristics.
This difficulty has been cited by Hall and
Kelson (1959), Jackson (1961), and Find¬
ley, et al. (1975) and appears to be a wide¬
spread problem in North America (Hooper,
1968). Many keys to the species are based
on skull characteristics (Hall and Kelson,
1959; Findley, 1975, Lechleitner, 1969)
although external attributes may be in¬
cluded.
Experiments with Peromyscus frequently
require identification of species based on
intact specimens (McNab and Morrison,
1963). However, criteria for separating
southern Wisconsin, Peromyscus species on
the basis of external characteristics, do not
always provide satisfactory identifications
(Fig. 1). This paper demonstrates the use of
discriminant analysis for field identification
of Peromyscus maniculatus bairdi (P. m. b.)
and P. leucopus noveboracensis (P. /. n.).
Individuals of these species are difficult to
tell apart in areas of sympatry (Hall and
Kelson, 1959:628; Jackson, 1961:213) yet
the species are frequently used in ecological
studies (Miller, 1975; Master, 1977). Al¬
though morphologically similar, these spe¬
cies show no evidence of inter-fertility
(Dice, 1933). Habitats are partitioned by
these species when they co-occur: P. 1. n.
occupies deciduous forests but can survive
in fields (Stromberg, 1979), P. m. b. selects
old fields or prairies (Wecker, 1963; Mas¬
ter, 1977) and cannot survive as well in
forests (Stromberg, 1979).
Four field measurements (total length,
tail length, hind foot length, and ear length)
were made on each animal following Hall
(1962). The same four measurements were
made on museum specimens at the Zoology
Museum, University of Wisconsin, Madison.
Data on tags were frequently incomplete
so all skins were re-measured following Hall
(1962). The number of museum specimens
examined of P. /. n. and P. m. b. respe¬
ctively are given following the Wisconsin
county name: Clark 1,1; Dane 4,15; Dodge
9,16; Door 1,0; Jackson 3,0; Jefferson 1,1;
Kewaunee 0,1; Langlade 1,0; Manitowoc
2,0; Marathon 0,1; Marinette 5,0; Milwau¬
kee 4,0; Monroe 1,0; Oneida 1,0; Racine
2,0; Rock 2,4; Sauk 1,0; Shawano 1,0;
Sheboygan 1,0; Waukesha 6,1; Waupaca
5,6. A few specimens from other areas were
available. These include, Long Island, New
York 1,0; Hyattsville, Mo. 1,0; Carthage,
Mo. 0,2.
Mice were trapped from September 1976
to Septetmber 1977 at two locations in Sauk
County, Wisconsin. Specimens of P. /. n.
were measured in the Potter Preserve (T-
159
160
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
P maniculatus bairdi
R leucopus noveboracensis
D
'E, _
14 16 18 20 22 24
HINDFOOT (mm)
40 50 60 70 80 90 100
TAIL (mm)
B
1 - — 1 [E - H
12 14 16 18 20 22
EAR (mm)
Fig. 1. Range of hindfoot, tail and ear lengths
for P. maniculatus bairdi and P. leucopus nova-
boracensis. Sources: A. Peterson, 19666; B. Hoff-
meister, Mohr, 1957; C. Burt, 1946;; D. Hamilton,
1943; E. Jackson, 1961; F. Hall and Kelson, 1959.
P. leucopus noveborocensis
P maniculatus bairdi
I 2
POPULATION
Fig. 2. Discriminant scores for individual Pero-
myscus measured in the field in Sauk Co., Wis¬
consin.
1 IN, R-7E, S-2) in oak-hickory forest.
Specimens of P. m. b. were measured in
Peetz’s Prairie and Schluckebier Prairie
(T-9N, R-6E, S-4) a dry undisturbed
prairie dominated by Andropogon scoparius.
Discriminant analysis (Seal, 1964; Rao,
1952) produces a linear function (scores),
based on the original variables:
4
y = 2 aiXi
1 = 1
(where the Xi’s are the four characters
{total, tail, hind foot, ear) and the a^s are
four coefficients) which maximize the F-
ratio of variance among groups to pooled
variance within groups allowing calculation
of the position of a point for each specimen
along a single synthetic axis. Once this lin¬
ear function is determined for a reference
set of animals, future field identification can
be done using portable pocket calculator to
calculate scores for new specimens.
A constant was added to the function so
that the values center on zero. This does not
affect the properties of the discriminant
function (Seal, 1964). I used the program
CANON (Kowal, et al., 1976) on a Univac
1110 computer.
The validity of a discriminant function
must be evaluated (Morrison, 1969). This
was done by calculating a discriminant func¬
tion based on field measurements and then
using the resultant coefficients to re-classify
reference museum specimens. The museum
specimens chosen were only those Wiscon¬
sin specimens which had been previously
classified to species by H. H. T. Jackson,
F. J. W. Schmidt or W. E. Snyder. The per¬
centage of correctly classified museum spe¬
cimens reflects the validity of the discrimi¬
nant function based on field characteristics.
Voucher specimens identified with this dis¬
criminant function are available in the Uni¬
versity of Wisconsin Zoology Museum.
1979] Stromberg — Identification of Peromyscus with Discriminant Analysis
161
Table 1. Coefficients of the discriminant function based on field measurements. These co¬
efficients depend on the units of measurement and are for use on raw data. Standardized co¬
efficients are independent of the units of measurement and allow comparisons of the absolute
value of the coefficients to determine relative importance of each character in discrimination.
Means (mm) and standard deviations (S.D.) are included. Double asterisk indicates signifi¬
cant difference (p < 0.01) between field and museum measurements. Field sample size for
Peromyscus leucopus noveboracensis (P.l.n.) is 41; for P. maniculatus bairdi (P.m.b.) is 28.
Museum sample sizes (respectively) are 53 and 48.
Results
There is no overlap in discriminant scores
between the two species for mice measured
in the field (Fig. 2). The Mahalanobis’ dis¬
tance (in standard deviation units) between
means of each group is 6.8. Males and fe¬
males were evenly scattered over the range
of scores for each species, hence data were
combined for presentation. Coefficients and
data parameters for field measurements
(Table 1) indicate that the ear, and hind
foot were most useful in discrimination.
Again for the mice measured in the museum,
ear and hind foot were the most useful char¬
acters in discriminating P. /. n. and P. m. b.
(Table 1). Most means for museum meas¬
urements are not significantly different from
field measurements (p > 0.05, t-test). How¬
ever, in the field, ear length of P. m. b. and
tail length of P. /. n. are longer (p < 0.01,
t-test).
The field discriminant function was used
to score museum specimens to evaluate the
function’s validity. There was no overlap in
the scores and no individuals were mis-
classified. Mahalanobis’ distance between
the means of each group is 7.3. This implies
a probability of less than 0.01 of mis-classi-
fication when using the discriminant func¬
tion for mice measured in the field (Fig. 3).
Discussion
The agreement of museum and field meas¬
urement is generally good. When differ¬
ences occur, they suggest shrinkage, which
reduces comparable field values by a small
factor. This factor is likely constant for all
four characters; each depends on shrink¬
age of similar skin.
Because the field and museum data are
so similar, the fact that the field discriminant
function performed well (100% correct) on
museum specimens seems reasonable. More¬
over, a constant shrinkage factor essentially
multiplies the field data by a constant, which
does not change the relative position of dis¬
criminant scores.
Discriminant analysis assumes an a priori
grouping of individuals (Seal, 1964). In
this case, there was no overlap in field hind
foot measurements. Individuals with hind
feet of 19 mm or larger were considered
P. /. n. and those with hind feet 18 mm or
shorter were tentatively classified as P. m. b.
162
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
DISCRIMINANT SCORES FDR MUSEUM DATA -FIELD VECTOR
POPULATION
Fig. 3. Discriminant scores for previously identi¬
fied (reference) museum specimens using the dis¬
criminant function derived from field measure¬
ments of intact individuals in Sauk C., Wiscon¬
sin. Population one is Peromyscus leucopus
noveboracensis and population two is P. manicu-
latus bairdi.
(Fig. 4). Although this one character
showed an apparent consistent difference,
other measurements for most individuals
were not useful in discrimination. Field data
for tail and total length showed extensive
overlap. I have used the field function on
intermediate, unidentified specimens in the
museum (U.W.-Madison) and their scores
fall clearly within one of the distinct groups
determined by the above verification pro¬
cess.
Use of a discriminant function accom¬
plished several things in an objective man¬
ner. First, it demonstrates that two groups
may be distinguished on the basis of external
characters (Fig. 2) although previous
workers implied that separation on field
data was difficult or impossible (Peterson,
1966); Hoffmeister and Mohr, 1957; Burt,
Fig. 4. Data from individual mice measured in
the field were plotted as shaded (left) if hindfoot
was < 18 mm, or slashed (right) if handfoot was
> 19 mm. Additional mice from Dane, Columbia,
and Rock Co., Wisconsin are included. Smaller
individuals were tentatively identified as P. ma-
niculatus bairdi based on non-overlap of hindfoot
measurements. Larger individuals were tentatively
classified as P. leucopus noveboracensis for later
discriminant function calculation.
1946; Hamilton, 1943; Jackson, 1961; Hall
and Kelson, 1959). Discriminant analysis
with large sample sizes will not produce
distinct groups if indeed the a priori group¬
ing was meaningless (Kowal, et al., 1976).
Second, many characters are considered
simultaneously in the classification process
so that mis-classification resulting from the
use of a single spuriously errant character
is avoided. Third, intact individuals can be
classified with reasonable confidence. Thus,
the use of this discriminant function in iden¬
tification of Peromyscus with field characters
should offer behaviorists, ecologists and
physiologists a dependable alternative to use
of cranial measurements.
1979] Stromberg — Identification of Peromyscus with Discriminant Analysis
163
This example clarifies the distinction be¬
tween P. maniculatus bairdi and P. leucopus
noveboracensis in southern Wisconsin )Jack-
son, 1961). Considerable variation exists in
these two species, and this discriminant func¬
tion must be used only in southern Wiscon¬
sin. The function is probably not valid over
the entire range of overlap between the two
species. For instance, the hindfoot pattern
allowing initial a priori groupings of these
mice does not hold true in Minnesota (E. C.
Birney, pers. comm., 1979). To help dis¬
criminate between these species over their
entire range of sympatry, canonical analysis,
an extension of discriminant analysis can be
used. Principal component analysis may be
a useful way to establish a priori grouping
(Seal, 1964) of local populations. This may
also be useful in the western U.S. where
many morphologically similar species of
Peromyscus occur together (see Findley,
et ah, 1975; Hall and Kelson, 1959).
These two Peromyscus species in Min¬
nesota are apparently externally more simi¬
lar than in southern Wisconsin (E. C. Bir¬
ney, pers. comm., 1979). Horner (1954)
found tail length to be related to climbing
ability: long tails meant better climbing in
forest habitats. Dice (1940) suggested the
general correlation of longer tail length and
hind foot length with increased arboreal
habit in relation to the shorter forms in
prairie habitats. Miller (1975) found a
transition in habitat utilization by P. m. b.;
from northern Minnesota to Iowa and south¬
ern Michigan, this species shows a gradual
increase in field versus forest habitat use.
Iverson, et al. (1976) observed P. m. b.
from northwestern Minnesota in aspen and
riparian habitats wherever P. /. n. was ab¬
sent. Perhaps the morphological similarity
between these species reflects convergence
in their habitat use in Minnesota. This pos¬
sible character displacement (Dunham, et
al., 1979) could be studied by comparing
the allopatric forest populations of north¬
western Minnesota to sympatric populations
in southern Wisconsin or Michigan. Greater
differences in habitat use and in morphology
may be evident in southern Wisconsin and
Michigan where these populations are
thought to have co-occurred for a relatively
long time since the glacial retreat (Miller,
1975).
Acknowledgments
I wish to thank Dr. R. Kowal for his pa¬
tient advice and use of his program CANON.
The Department of Zoology, University of
Wisconsin-Madison, provided computer
time. Cheryl Hughes prepared the figures.
Mr. and Mrs. Edwin Young graciously
provided the facilities of the Howard I. Pot¬
ter Preserve, University of Wisconsin Foun¬
dation. The Nature Conservancy allowed
use of the Schluckebier Prairie; Mr. Peetz
allowed me to sample his prairie relict. Dr.
Ed Beals provided assistance in several
ways and I appreciate this help.
Literature Cited
Burt, W. H. 1946. The Mammals of Michi¬
gan. Univ. Michigan Press, Ann Arbor,
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THE NORTHERNMOST STATION FOR
ASPLENIUM PINNATIFIDUM
Martha G. Hanson and Robert P. Hanson
Madison, Wisconsin
A hstract
Lobed spleenwort (Asplenium pinnatifidum) is reported from 148 counties
in the Appalachian Mountains and 49 counties in east-central United States. The
northernmost station of this fern is found on Pinnacle Rock in Iowa County, Wis¬
consin. The markedly discontinuous distribution of the lobed spleenwort outside
of the Appalachians is largely determined by its requirement for an acidic substrate
and for a rock cliff habitat.
Although long considered one of the
Appalachian Aspleniums,1-2 the lobed
spleenwort ( Asplenium pinnatifidum) has
been reported from 49 counties in east-
central United States (Fig. 1), ranging
northwest to Wisconsin and southwestward
to Oklahoma. The record of this fern in
each of the 197 counties (Table 1 and
Table 2) is based upon collections re¬
ported in a publication or established by
correspondence with herbarium curators
and pteridologists. Records were discounted
if a correction had been published,3 or if
there was evidence of confusion in identifi¬
cation or uncertainty of the collection site.
The markedly discontinous distribution
of Asplenium pinnatifidum outside of the
Appalachian Mountains is largely deter¬
mined by its requirement for an acidic or
sub-acidic substrate and for the exacting
microclimate associated with rock cliffs. In
all of the 19 states where the fern has been
reported, it occurs in restricted localities
growing usually on sandstone, but occa¬
sionally on gneiss,4-5’6 or granitic rock.7*8
The northernmost station for Asplenium
pinnatifidum is on Pinnacle Rock in the Town
of Arena, Iowa County, Wisconsin. Dis¬
covered by Hugh litis in 1958, 9 the colony
has numbered about 80 plants over the last
21 years. The fern grows in small crevices
in St. Peter sandstone principally on the
east and northeast face of the rock, although
deeper sheltered crevices on the south sup¬
port a few plants. It is not associated with
any other fern or higher plant in these
crevices.
A second station in Wisconsin is located
on Pompey’s Pillar in the Town of High¬
land in Iowa County. Discovered by Wil¬
liam Tans in 1969, 9 this colony, also in
crevices of the St. Peter sandstone, has num¬
bered over 50 plants for the last 10 years.
The largest number of ferns are on the
south face of the pillar, but a few grow on
the north face.
The third and fourth stations, one on
Cave Bluff in the Town of Brigham, and the
other on Iron Rock in the Town of Arena,
were discovered by the authors in 1970. 9
More than 100 plants have maintained their
numbers over the past 9 years on Cave Bluff
and several bluffs that face it across a nar¬
row valley. These cliffs of St. Peter sandstone
have a verticle exposure of 50 to 80 feet. On
Iron Rock, 15 ferns make up the colony
growing on the east and north face. The St.
Peter sandstone of this outcrop has weath¬
ered more deeply than that of the other sites
and is colored with iron pigment. However,
none of the crevices occupied by the fern
on this rock, or those of the other three sites
allow accumulation of leaf litter, or provide
a site for other plants.
The two Arena stations and the Brigham
station are within 2 miles of each other, and
165
166
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Fig. 1. County distribution of Aspleniurn pinnatifidum in the United States in relation to the
Appalachian Mountains.
Table 1. Distribution of Aspleniurn pinnatifidum by counties in east-central United States
State
Counties
State
Counties
Northern
Arkansas
Illinois
Indiana
Benton (11,12,13)
Cleburne, Van Buren (12)
Garland, Independence (11,12)
Cumberland, Fulton, Massac (14,
15)
Gallatin, Hardin, Jackson, John¬
son, Pope, Saline, Union, Wa¬
bash, Williamson (15,16)
Pulaski (17)
Randolph (17,18,19)
Crawford, Martin (20,21,22,23,24)
Dubois, Gibson (23)
Fountain (20,21,22,25)
Greene, Orange, Perry (21,22)
Lawrence (20,21,22)
Monroe (2,23)
Putnam (22)
Western
Kentucky
Southeastern
Missouri
Eastern
Oklahoma
Southwestern
Wisconsin
Caldwell, Grayson, Hart, Logan,
Todd (26)
Calloway, Edmonson (26,27)
Hardin (26,28)
Warren (26,27,29,30,31)
Butler, Carter, Iron, Madison,
Maries, Saint Francois, Sainte
Genevieve, Washington (32)
Latimer (25,33,34,35,36)
Iowa (9,37)
1979] Hanson and Hanson — Northernmost Station for Asplenium pinnatifidum 167
Table 2. Distribution of Asplenium pinnatifidum by counties in the Appalachian Highlands
State Counties
State Counties
Northern
Alabama
Northern
Georgia
Eastern
Kentucky
Northern
Maryland
Northeastern
Mississippi
Northern
New Jersey
Western
North
Carolina
DeKalb (38,39)
Etowah (38,40)
Franklin, Lamar, Lawrence, Madi¬
son, Marion (41)
Jackson (38,41)
Marshall (38)
Winston (42)
Bartow, DeKalb (5,43,44)
Bibb (25,43,45)
Dade (5,8,39,43,46)
Fulton (5,43)
Hall (43,47)
Stephens (6,8,43)
Twiggs (8, 43)
Walker (5,8)
Bell, Boyd, Carter, Elliott, Floyd,
Greenup, Madison, McCreary,
Morgan, Rockcastle, Rowan,
Whitley (26,27)
Breathitt, Lee, Menifee, Wolfe (48)
Harlan, Letcher, Lewis, Pike (26)
Powell (26,27,48)
Cecil (49,50,51)
Washington (52)
Tishomingo (53,54,55)
Hunterdon, Sussex (56,57)
Caldwell, Wilkes (58,59)
Henderson, Jackson (58,59,60)
Eastern Ashtabula (61)
Ohio Athens, Coshocton, Fairfield,
Hocking (61,62)
Jackson, Pike (62,63)
Knox, Summit (64)
Lawrence, Meigs, Muskingum,
Perry, Ross, Scioto, Vinton,
Washington (62)
Licking (2,62)
Pennsylvania Adams, Chester (65,66)
Armstrong, Greene (65,66,67)
Berks (65,66,67,68)
Bucks (66,69)
Butler, Lawrence (65,67)
Delaware (70)
Fayette (65,66,67,70,71)
Lancaster (40,65,66,67,70)
Monroe (67)
Philadelphia (4,25,65,66,67,70)
York (2,40,65,66,67,70)
Western Greenville (58,59,72)
South Pickens (58,59,72,73)
Carolina
Eastern Bledsoe, Campbell, Fentress,
Tennessee Franklin, Hamilton, Putnam,
Roane, Scot, Sequatchie,
Van Buren (74,75)
Claiborne (74)
Marion (74,75,76)
Virginia Albemarle, Alleghany, Amherst,
Appomattox, Buchanan, Buck¬
ingham, Caroline, Fluvanna,
Franklin, Goochland, Greene,
Nelson, Page (77)
Campbell, Fairfax, Giles, Lou¬
doun, Patrick, Pittsylvania,
Rockbridge, Stafford (77,78)
Clarke (40,79)
Fauquier, Prince William (78)
Roanoke (7,77,78)
Shenandoah (2)
West Virginia Baxton, Kanawha, Lincoln,
Logan, Marion, Mercer, Mingo,
Nicholas (80)
Calhoun, Fayette, Grant, Hamp¬
shire, Mineral, Monongalia,
Pendleton, Pocahontas, Ran¬
dolph, Summers, Wayne, Wet¬
zel, Wyoming (80,81)
Greenbrier, Monroe (80,81,82)
Hardy (2,80,81)
Jefferson (80,81,83,84,85)
McDowell (81)
Upshur (40,80,81)
lie 22 miles east of the Highland station
(Fig. 2). Over 15 similar sandstone bluffs
and pinnacles within this area of the Wis¬
consin driftless region have been examined
without finding a single plant. There is no
reason to believe that collectors have extir¬
pated this fern in Wisconsin, as they have
not known of its presence. Nor is there any
168
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Fig. 2. Four stations of Asplenium pinnatifidum
in Iowa County. 1. Pinnacle Rock 2. Pompey’s
Pillar 3. Cave Bluff 4. Iron Rock.
obvious reason why the fern should have
disappeared from apparently suitable sand¬
stone bluffs within southwestern Wisconsin,
or should have failed to colonize them.
Wisconsin colonies of the fern appear to
have been unaffected by fluctuations in the
weather during the 21 years of observation
in which some of the driest and wettest
years on record have occurred in Iowa
County.10 For most of the past 100 years,
the land around the bluffs has been peri¬
odically burned and continuously pastured.
This is now changing as the present owners
of all 4 sites have allowed afforestation to
take place, a practice which creates shade
where it never existed and modifies the
force and flow of the wind.
Periodic inventory of the Wisconsin popu¬
lation of the lobed spleenwort should re¬
veal any biologic response such as reduc¬
tion in numbers, altered growth, or appear¬
ance of disease that may result from en¬
vironmental change. By comparing the rela¬
tive persistence of the fern at the four sites,
it may be possible to develop a management
strategy that will insure the survival of this
rare fern.
Notations
1. Wherry, E. T. 1925. The Appalachian
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2. Wagner, W. H., Jr. 1954. Reticulate
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Evolution 8:103-118.
3. Wherry, E. T. 1935. Two recent fern
books. Amer. Fern J. 25:59-68.
4. Bates, E. 1898. The Linnaean Fern
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Ferns of Georgia. Univ. of Georgia Press,
Athens, p. 58.
6. McDowell, G. W. 1965. Return to
Panther Creek, Georgia. Amer. Fern J. 55:
80-81.
7. Wood, C. E., Jr. 1944. Notes on the
flora of Roanoke County, Virginia. Rhodora
46:69-86.
8. Duncan, W. H. 1966. Asplenium x
Kentuckiense on granitic gneiss in Georgia.
Amer. Fern J. 56:145-149.
9. Hanson, M. G. 1970. Lobed spleen-
wort in Wisconsin. Bot. Club of Wisconsin
Newsletter. 2(4): 1-2.
10. Environmental Data Service. 1968 through
1977. Climatological Data-Wisconsin. Nat.
Climate Center, Asheville, N.C.
11. Smith, E. B. 1978. Personal correspon¬
dence. University of Arkansas, Fayetteville.
12. Taylor, W. C. 1978. Manuscript. Bot.
Div. Milwaukee Public Mus.
13. Wagner, W. H., Jr. 1958. Notes on the
distribution of Asplenium Kentuckiense.
Amer. Fern J. 48:39-43.
14. Jones, A. G. 1978. Personal correspon¬
dence. University of Illinois, Urbana.
15. Mohlenbrock, R. H., and D. M. Ladd.
1978. Distribution of Illinois Vascular
Plants. Southern Illinois Univ. Press, Car-
bondale, 282 pp.
16. Mohlenbrock, R. H. 1967. The Illus¬
trated Flora of Illinois — Ferns. Southern Il¬
linois Univ. Press, Carbondale, pp. 148-149.
1979] Hanson and Hanson — Northernmost Station for Asplenium Pinnatifidum 169
17. Mohlenbrock, R. H. 1978. Personal
correspondence. Southern Illinois Univer¬
sity, Carbondale.
18. Mohlenbrock, R. H. 1955. The Pteri-
dophytes of Jackson County, Illinois. Amer.
Fern J. 45:143-150.
19. Mohlenbrock, R. H., and J. W. Voigt.
1959. A Flora of Southern Illinois. South¬
ern Illinois Univ. Press, Carbondale, pp. 49-
50.
20. Blanchard, O. J., Jr. 1978. Personal
correspondence. Purdue University, West
Lafayette.
21. Deam, C. C. 1940. Flora of Indiana.
Dep. Conserv. Indianapolis, pp. 53-54.
22. Gastony, G. J. 1978. Personal corre¬
spondence. Indiana University, Blooming¬
ton.
23. Greene, F. C. 1911. The fern flora of
Indiana. Fern Bull. 19:102-115.
24. Tryon, A. F. 1971. American Fern So¬
ciety report of the 1970 fern foray. Amer.
Fern J. 61:44-47.
25. Broun, M. 1938. Index to North Amer¬
ican Ferns. Maurice Broun Publ. Orleans,
MA. p. 21.
26. Cranfill, R. 1978. Personal correspon¬
dence. University of Kentucky, Lexington.
27. McCoy, T. N. 1938. The ferns and
fern allies of Kentucky. Amer. Fern J. 28:
101-110.
28. Holbert, G. K. 1937. Ferns of Hardin
County, Kentucky. Amer. Fern J. 27:3 and
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29. Price, S. F. 1904. Contribution toward
the fern flora of Kentucky. Fern Bull. 12:
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30. Underwood, L. M. 1897. Ferns of
Scolopendrium Lake. Fern Bull. 5:67.
31. Youmans, W. B. 1933. Ferns of the
Mammoth Cave National Park region.
Amer. Fern J. 23:113-116.
32. Steyermark, J. A. 1963. Flora of Mis¬
souri. Iowa State Univ. Press, Ames. p. 30.
33. Correll, D. S. 1956. Ferns and Fern
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Texas, p. 174.
34. Gentry, J. L. 1978. Personal correspon¬
dence. University of Oklahoma, Norman.
35. Little, E. L., Jr. 1932. Asplenium pin -
natifidum Nuttall in Oklahoma. Amer. Fern
J. 22:23.
36. Lundell, C. L. 1966. Flora of Texas.
Texas Res. Found. Renner, Texas, p. 120.
37. Wagner, W. H., Jr. 1968. Hybridiza¬
tion, taxonomy and evolution. In: Modern
Methods in Plant Taxonomy. V. H. Hey-
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125.
38. Graves, E. W. 1920. The fern flora of
Alabama. Amer. Fern J. 10:65-82.
39. Graves, E. W. 1921. An interesting
trip. Amer. Fern J. 11:86-88.
40. Darling, T., Jr. 1957. In search of the
rock-fern hybrid Asplenium Gravesii. Amer.
Fern J. 47:55-66.
41. Haynes, R. R. 1978. Personal corre¬
spondence. University of Alabama, Univer¬
sity.
42. Crawford, L. C. 1951. A new fern for
the United States. Amer. Fern J. 41:15-20.
43. Bruce, J. G. 1978. Personal correspon¬
dence. University of Georgia, Athens.
44. Harper, R. M. 1905. The fern flora of
Georgia. Fern Bull. 13:10-11.
45. Wherry, E. T. 1967. The Bibb County,
Georgia occurrence of Asplenium pinnati¬
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46. Maxon, W. R. 1918. A new hybrid
Asplenium. Amer. Fern J. 8:1-3.
47. Duncan, W. H., and D. Blake. 1965.
Observations on some ferns in Georgia.
Amer. Fern J. 55:145-153.
48. Smith, D. M., and D. A. Levin. 1963.
A chromatographic study of reticulate evolu¬
tion in the Appalachian Asplenium complex.
Amer. J. Bot. 50:952-958.
49. Ralph, R. D. 1978. Personal corre¬
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50. Tatnall, R. R. 1946. Flora of Delaware
and the Eastern Shore. Soc. Natur. Hist.
Delaware, p. 3.
51. Waters, C. E. 1921. The ferns of Balti¬
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52. Shreve, F., M. A. Chrysler, F. H. Blodgett,
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of Maryland. Johns Hopkins Press, Balti¬
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53. Jones, S. B., Jr., T. M. Pullen, and J. R.
Watson. 1969. The Pteridophytes of Missis¬
sippi. SIDA 3(6):359-364.
54. Pullen, T. M. 1966. Additions to the
fern flora of Mississippi. Amer. Fern J. 56.
37.
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55. Pullen, T. M. 1978. Personal corre¬
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56. Chrysler, M. A., and J. L. Edwards.
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57. Fairbrothers, D. E. 1978. Personal cor¬
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SENECELL A C ALAN O IDES JUDAY (CALANOIDA, COPEPODA),
MESOCY CLOPS LEU K ART I CLAUS (CYCLOPOIDA, COPEPODA),
AND DAPHNIA LAEV1S BIRGE (CLADOCERA) IN
INLAND WISCONSIN LAKES
Steven E. Mace
Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources — Madison
Whitefish Lake (Sawyer County, Wiscon¬
sin) was found to support a population of
Senecella calanoides Juday. Whitefish Lake
is a softwater drainage lake, maximum depth
of 31 m and an area of 371 ha. The littoral
zone is unsorted sand and gravel with muck
bottom in the deeper areas; aquatic vegeta¬
tion is scarce. Cisco (Coregonus artedi) and
whitefish ( Coregonus clupeaformis) are
common. Dissolved oxygen was present (0.7
mg/L) at the bottom in late August and
secchi disc visibility ranged from 3-4 m.
Senecella calanoides was collected in
August and November 1978 by vertical
tows using a no. 10 mesh (120 u pore size)
conical net (15 cm mouth). On these dates
5. calanoides was uncommon and only fifth
copepodid (CV) males and females were
found. Senecella is known to be univoltine
with long generation times, usually shedding
eggs during the winter (Carter 1969; Sel-
geby 1975). S. calanoides is distinguished
by its large size (2. 4-2. 9 mm), the male
right first antenna not being geniculate and
females lacking fifth legs. The male fifth
copepodid (CV) stage can be identified on
the basis of its large size and the structure
of the fifth legs (Wilson 1959). Other spe¬
cies found in Whitefish Lake were Skisto-
diaptomus oregonensis, Leptodiaptomus mi-
nutus, L. sicilis, Acanthocyclops vernalis,
Tropocyclops prasinus, Cyclops bicuspidatus
thomasi, Daphnia catawba, D. retrocurva,
Sida crystallina, and Holopedium gibberum.
Much attention has been given to “gla¬
cial relicts” Mysis, Limnocalanus , Ponto-
poreia and Senecella in the Great Lakes
(Carter 1969; Torke 1974; Selgeby 1975;
Morgan and Beeton 1978); investigations in
Ontario and eastern North America have
examined occurrence and glacial dispersal
of the deepwater zooplankton communities
in inland lakes (Martin and Chapman
1965; Hamilton 1971; Patalas 1971; Dads-
well 1974). Dadswell (1974) demonstrated
a relationship between the distribution of
these deepwater communities and the ex¬
tent of glaciation in North America. His
observations suggest that the deepwater
plankton community invaded inland fresh
waters either by marine flooding or through
water ponded in front of advancing ice. The
latter mechanism seems probable in Wis¬
consin.
Reports of Mysis relicta Loven in four
inland Wisconsin lakes and Limnocalanus
macrurus Sars in one (Marsh 1893; Juday
1904; Juday and Birge 1927; Couey 1934;
Mcknight 1976) support Dadswell’s con¬
clusions and match the extent of Wisconsin
glaciation. Senecella has not been recorded
previously in an inland Wisconsin lake. Re¬
cent collections from Geneva Lake (Wal¬
worth County), where Limnocalanus had
been reported (Juday 1904), have failed to
produce specimens of L. macrurus or S.
calanoides. Gannon, et al. (1978) report 5.
calanoides in one inland Michigan lake.
These deepwater species may be present
in other lakes within the glacial boundaries
but sampling has been limited. A conical
plankton net with a large mesh size (No. 6)
and large mouth (30 cm), or a trawl would
be most productive in sampling for these
deepwater species; net avoidance and low
density may be problems.
Mesocyclops leuckarti Claus and Daph¬
nia laevis Birge were collected from Lilly
171
172
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 67
Lake (Kenosha County, Wisconsin). Be¬
cause it is small and shallow (maximum
depth of 2 m and 32 ha in area), Lilly Lake
experiences problems with aquatic weed
growth and winterkill. It has a fish popula¬
tion composed primarily of bass and pan¬
fish. The zooplankton community reflects
the habitat and is comprised of Bosmina
longirostris, Eubosmina coregoni, Diaphan-
osoma leuchtenbergianum, Daphnia laevis,
Ceriodaphnia lacustris, C. reticulata , C.
quadrangula, Skistodiaptomus oregonensis,
Epischura lacustris , Mesocy clops edax, M.
leuckarti, Tropocyclops prasinus, Macro-
cyclops albidus, and numerous chydorids
and ostracods.
Adult M . leuckarti were collected in small
numbers in 1978. M. leuckarti was distin¬
guished from M. edax on the basis of the
hyaline membrane of the terminal segment
of the first antennae, lack of hairs on the
inner margin of the caudal rami and struc¬
ture of the fourth and fifth legs (Yeatman,
1959). Immature individuals were indistin¬
guishable from immature M. edax with which
it occurs.
In examining collections from 190 inland
Wisconsin lakes, Torke (1979) did not find
M. leuckarti, nor has its presence in Wis¬
consin waters been reported elsewhere.
Yeatman (1959) describes this species as
being widely distributed in North America
but scarce and suggests that many individ¬
uals recorded as M. leuckarti are actually
M. edax. In Canada, Smith and Fernando
(1977) found M. leuckarti to inhabit di¬
verse habitats, from bogs and marshes to
large clear lakes. This species has been re¬
ported from British Columbia, Quebec and
Saskatchewan (Willey 1925; Carl 1940;
Moore 1952).
In 1978, adult D. laevis were collected
in samples from Lilly Lake, but were al¬
ways rare. Males and females closely re¬
sembled the specimen described by Brooks
(1957, p. 120; plate 21 E,F,K,L) from a
temporary pool in New Haven, Connecticut.
Torke (1979) did not find D. laevis in his
original work on 190 Wisconsin lakes, how¬
ever, it was later found in Little Mud L.,
Fond du Lac Co., Camp L., Bayfield Co.
and Rush L., Douglas Co. (Torke, pers.
comm.). Brooks (1957) describes D. laevis
as a species of the southern United States,
but notes it has been found as far north as
southern Michigan, Minnesota and New
England.
Brooks also considers D. laevis to be par¬
ent stock of the pelagic Daphnia dubia.
Specimens described by Brooks (1957)
were collected in temporary ponds and pools,
habitats similar to Lilly Lake.
This work, that of Torke and of the Wis¬
consin DNR Bureau of Research, continues
the early studies of Birge, Juday, Marsh and
others in an attempt to more fully under¬
stand and document the distribution and
ecology of Wisconsin zooplankton.
Literature Cited
Brooks, J. L. 1957. The systematics of North
American Daphnia. Mem. Connecticut Acad.
Arts, Sci. 13:180 p.
Carl, G. C. 1940. The distribution of some
Cladocera and free-living Copepoda in Brit¬
ish Columbia. Ecol. Monogr. 10:55-110.
Carter, J. C. H. 1969. Life cycles of Limno-
calanus macrurus and Senecella calanoides,
and seasonal abundance and vertical distri¬
bution of various planktonic copepods in
Parry Sound, Georgian Bay. J. Fish. Res.
Board Can. 26:2543-2560.
Couey, F. M. 1934. Fish food studies of a
number of northeastern Wisconsin lakes.
Trans. Wis. Acad. Sci. Arts, Lett. 29:131-
172.
Dadswell, M. J. 1974. Distribution, ecology
and post glacial dispersal of certain crusta¬
ceans and fishes in eastern North America.
National Museum Nat. Sci., National Mu¬
seum of Can. Special Report, Cat. #NM95-
10/11.
Gannon, J. E., D. J. Mazur and A. M. Beeton.
1978. Distribution of glacial relict Crusta¬
cea in some Michigan inland lakes. Mich.
Acad. 11(1):5-1 8.
Hamilton, A. L. 1971. Zoobenthos of fifteen
1979]
Senecella, Mesocyclops and Daphnia in Wisconsin Lakes
173
lakes in the Experimental Lakes Area, North¬
western Ontario. J. Fish. Res. Board Can.
28:257-263.
Juday, C. 1904. Diurnal movement of plank¬
ton Crustacea. Trans. Wis. Acad. Sci. Arts,
Lett. 14(l):534-568.
Juday, C. and E. A. Birge. 1927. Pontoporeia
and Mysis in Wisconsin lakes. Ecologist 8:
445-452.
Marsh, C. D. 1893. On the Cyclopidae and
Calanidae of central Wisconsin. Trans. Wis.
Acad. Sci. Arts, Lett. (1892-1893) 9:189-
224.
Martin, N. V. and L. J. Chapman. 1965.
Distribution of certain crustaceans and fishes
in the region of Algonquin Park, Ontario. J.
Fish. Res. Board Can. 22:969-976.
McKnight, T. 1976. Opossum shrimp {Mysis
oculata relicta : Loven) discovered in Stormy
Lake, Wisconsin. Trans. Wis. Acad. Sci. Arts,
Lett. 64:154-155.
Moore, J. E. 1952. The Entomostraca of
southern Saskatchewan. Can. J. Zool. 30:
410-449.
Morgan, M. D. and A. M. Beeton. 1978.
Life history and abundance of Mysis relicta
in Lake Michigan. J. Fish. Res. Board Can.
35:1165-1170.
Patalas, K. 1971. Crustacean plankton com¬
munities in forty-five lakes in the Experi¬
mental Lakes Area, northwestern Ontario. J.
Fish. Res. Board Can. 28:231-244.
Selgeby, J. H. 1975. Life histories and
abundance of crustacean zooplankton in the
outlet of Lake Superior, 1971-1972. J. Fish.
Res. Board Can. 32:461-470.
Smith, K. and C. H. Fernando. 1977. New
records and little known freshwater copepods
(Crustacea, Copepods) from Ontario. Can. J.
Zool. 55:1874-1884.
Torke, B. G. 1974. An illustrated guide to
the identification of the planktonic Crustacea
of Lake Michigan with notes on their ecol¬
ogy. Univ. Wisconsin, Center Great Lakes
Stud., Spec. Rep. No. 17, 42 pp.
Torke, B. G. 1979. Crustacean zooplankton
data for 190 selected Wisconsin inland lakes.
Wise. Dept. Nat. Resour. Research Report
101. 69 pp.
Willey, A. 1925. Northern Cyclopidae and
Canthocamtidae. Trans. R. Soc. Can. Sect. 3.
19:137-158.
Wilson, M. S. 1959. Calanoida, pp. 738-
798. In W. T. Edmondson (ed.), Freshwater
Biology, 2nd ed., Wiley, New York, 1248
pp.
Yeatman, H. C. 1959. Cyclopoida, pp. 795-
814. In W. T. Edmondson (ed.), Freshwater
Biology, 2nd, ed., Wiley, New York, 1248
PP-
ADDRESSES OF AUTHORS
Calkins, Charles F.
Carroll College
Department of Geography
Waukesha, WI 53186
S. J. Cary
New Mexico Environmental Dir.
Santa Fe, NM 87503
R. H. Dott, Jr.
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Department of Geology and Geophysics
1215 W. Dayton St.
Madison, WI 53706
Charles D. Goff
University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh
Department of Political Science
Oshkosh, WI 54901
L. J. Graumlich
University of Washington
Department of Geography
Seattle, WA 98103
Martha G. Hanson
5730 Dogwood Place
Madison, WI 53705
Robert P. Hanson
5730 Dogwood Place
Madison, WI 53705
William L. Hilsenhoff
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Department of Entomology
237 Russell Laboratories
1630 Linden Drive
Madison, WI 53706
Hugh H. Iltis
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Department of Botany
Madison, WI 53706
Dennis R. Keeney
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Department of Soil Science
Madison, WI 53706
Thomas S. Karl
Olympic National Forest
U.S. Forest Service
P.O. Box 520
Shelton, WA 98584
Robert A. McCabe
Department of Wildlife Ecology
University of Wisconsin
Madison, WI 53706
P. F. McDowell
Boston University
Department of Geography
Boston, MA 02215
Val L. Mitchell
Wisconsin Geological and
Natural History Survey
University of Wisconsin-Extension
1815 University Ave.
Madison, WI 53706
Curtis W. Richards
University of Wisconsin-Parkside
Department of Geography
Kenosha, WI 53141
Peter J. Salamun
University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee
Department of Botany
Milwaukee, WI 53201
Susan Schultz
201 Watchung Ave.
Orange, NJ 07050
Mark R. Stromberg
Nature Conservancy
1603 Capital Ave. #325
Cheyenne, WY 82001
Michael R. Strenski
236 Bryan St.
Green Bay, WI 54301
William E. Tans
Scientific Area Section
Wisconsin Department of
Natural Resources
P.O. Box 7921
Madison, WI 53707
Kathryn Whitford
University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee
Department of English
Milwaukee, WI 53201
Alexander Zaporozec
Geological and Natural History Survey
University of Wisconsin-Extension
1815 University Ave.
Madison, WI 53706
Steven E. Mace
Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources
P.O. Box 13248
Milwaukee, Wisconsin 53213
THE WISCONSIN ACADEMY OF SCIENCES, ARTS AND LETTERS
The Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters was chartered by the
State Legislature on March 16, 1870 as an incorporated society serving the
people of the State of Wisconsin by encouraging investigation and dissemination
of knowledge in the sciences, arts and letters.
ACTIVE . . . . . $18 annual dues
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PATRON . . . $500 or more in one lifetime payment
CONTRIBUTING . . . $500 or more contributed annually
LIBRARY . $18 annual dues
Your membership will encourage research, discussion and publication in the
various areas of the sciences, arts and letters of Wisconsin. Please send dues
payment, with name and address to: W.A.S.A.L., 1922 University Avenue, Madi¬
son, WI 53705.
Academy members receive the annual TRANSACTIONS; the quarterly
REVIEW; the monthly newsletter, TRIFORIUM; and occasional monographs or
special reports. Members are invited to submit manuscripts for publication con¬
sideration or for presentation at Academy meetings.
Member, Educational Press Association of America
Member, American Association for Advancement of Science
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts & Letters —
Steenbock Center 1922 University Avenue
Madison, Wisconsin 53 705
Telephone 608 263-1692
)
506,73
0J7U63
RANSACTIONS
- of -
the Wisconsin
Academy of
Sciences,
Arts &
Letters
Volume 68
1980
TRANSACTIONS
OF THE
WISCONSIN ACADEMY
OF SCIENCES, ARTS
AND LETTERS
Volume 68, 1980
Editor
FOREST STEARNS
Copyright © 1980
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts, and Letters.
Manufactured in United States of America.
All Rights Reserved.
TRANSACTIONS OF THE
WISCONSIN ACADEMY
Established 1870
Volume 68, 1980
PRESIDENT’S REMARKS
Thompson Webb
WISCONSIN ACADEMY AWARDS— 1980
3
TECHNOLOGICAL ERRORS AND HUMAN DIGNITY—
THE PROBLEM OF BIOMEDICAL PROGRESS 6
Kuang-ming Wu
THE GRIGNON HOTEL AT BUTTE DES MORTS, WISCONSIN:
AN ESSAY IN HISTORICAL PRESERVATION 1 1
Edward Noyes
THE SAPROLITE AT THE PRECAMBRIAN CONTACT,
IRVINE PARK, CHIPPEWA FALLS, WISCONSIN 22
M. L. Cummings and J. V. Scrivner
VERBAL NONVERBAL COMMUNICATIONS AND
RELATED DEVELOPMENTS IN THE DRUM DANCE RELIGION 30
Silvester John Brito
IS THE CHRISTOS PASCHON THE PROTOTYPE OF
CHRISTIAN RELIGIOUS DRAMA? 37
Edmund Roney
FINNEGANS WAKE AND THE LINGUISTIC RENAISSANCE 40
Craig Carver
SNOW CRYSTALLOGRAPHY AND STRENGTH:
AN INDEX OF THE EFFECTIVENESS OF ROOF INSULATION 44
Charles C. Bradley
DOUGHBOYS AND HOME FOLKS: OBSERVATIONS FROM
RUSK COUNTY, WISCONSIN AT THE OPENING OF
WORLD WAR I 50
Paul F. Meszaros
ARTS SUPPORT GOES PUBLIC IN WISCONSIN 64
Fannie Taylor
VEGETATION CHANGE ON THE GOGEBIC IRON RANGE
(IRON COUNTY, WISCONSIN) FROM THE 1860’S
TO THE PRESENT 74
David J. Mladenoff and Evelyn A. Howell
THERMAL STRATIFICATION OF WISCONSIN LAKES 90
Richard C. Lathrop and Richard A. Lillie
ECOLOGICAL RELATIONSHIPS OF RUFFED GROUSE
IN SOUTHWESTERN WISCONSIN 97
Randy D. Rodgers
HELMINTH AND ARTHROPOD PARASITES OF SOME
DOMESTIC ANIMALS IN WISCONSIN 106
Omar M. Amin
THE PHYSICAL AND CHEMICAL LIMNOLOGY
OF A WISCONSIN MEROMICTIC LAKE 1 1 1
T. B. Parkin, M. R. Winfrey and T. D. Brock
FORWARD: COMMON SCHOOLS AND UNCOMMON LEADERS 126
Shirley Kersey
TRANSFORMATION OF U.S. AGRICULTURE:
THE PAST FORTY YEARS 139
Peter Dorner
DEVIL’S LAKE STATE PARK: THE HISTORY OF
ITS ESTABLISHMENT 149
Kenneth I. Lange and D. Debra Berndt
THE FOLK SONGS OF CHARLES BANNEN: THE INTERACTION
OF MUSIC AND HISTORY IN SOUTHWESTERN WISCONSIN 167
Philip V. Bohlman
THE LATE WISCONSINAN GLACIAL LAKES OF THE
FOX RIVER WATERSHED, WISCONSIN 188
Jan S. Wielert
A RELICT GEOMORPHOLOGICAL FEATURE ADJACENT TO THE
SILURIAN ESCARPMENT IN NORTHEASTERN WISCONSIN 202
Ronald D. Stieglitz, Joseph M. Moran and Jeffrey D. Harris
TYPE C BOTULISM LOSSES AT HORICON
NATIONAL WILDLIFE REFUGE, 1978 208
R. M. Windingstad, R. M. Duncan and R. L. Drieslein
WISCONSIN ACADEMY OF SCIENCES, ARTS AND LETTERS
The Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters was chartered by the State
Legislature on March 16, 1870 as an incorporated society serving the people of
the State of Wisconsin by encouraging investigation and dissemination of knowl¬
edge in the sciences, arts and letters.
OFFICERS
VICE PRESIDENT— SCIENCES
Frederick & Frances Hamerstrom
Plainfield
PRESIDENT
Thompson Webb
Waunakee
IMMEDIATE PAST PRESIDENT
Robert A. McCabe
Madison
PRESIDENT ELECT
Reid A. Bryson
Madison
VICE PRESIDENT— ARTS
Margaret Fish Rahill
Milwaukee
VICE PRESIDENT— LETTERS
Kent D. Shifferd
Ashland
SECRETARY-TREASURER
Robert E. Najem
Madison
ACADEMY COUNCIL consists of the above officers plus
COUNCILORS-AT-LARGE
TERM EXPIRES 1984
Charles C. Bradley, Baraboo
Kenneth W. Dowling, Madison
TERM EXPIRES 1981
Malcolm McLean, Ashland
Hannah Swart, Fort Atkinson
TERM EXPIRES 1983
Emily H. Early, Madison
Hugh Highsmith, Fort Atkinson
TERM EXPIRES 1982
H. Clifton Hutchins, Madison
T. N. Savides, Merrimac
PAST PRESIDENTS
(Presently serving on Council)
Katherine G. Nelson, Milwaukee
John W. Thomson, Madison
Adolph A. Suppan, Milwaukee
Norman C. Olson, Milwaukee
Louis W. Busse, Madison
APPOINTED OFFICIALS
EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR
AND PUBLISHER
WISCONSIN ACADEMY REVIEW
James R. Batt
Steenbock Center
1922 University Ave.
Madison, WI 53705
ASSOCIATE DIRECTOR
WISCONSIN JUNIOR ACADEMY
LeRoy Lee
Steenbock Center
Madison, WI 53705
MANAGING EDITOR WISCONSIN
ACADEMY REVIEW
Patricia Powell
Steenbock Center
Madison, WI 53705
EDITOR TRANSACTIONS
Forest Stearns
Botany Department
UW Milwaukee, WI 53201
LIBRARIAN
Jack A. Clarke
4232 Helen White Hall
UW Madison
Madison, WI 53706
This edition of the TRANSACTIONS
of the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences,
Arts and Letters is dedicated to:
DR. ELIZABETH F. McCOY
(1903-1978)
Dr. Elizabeth F. McCoy served as editor of the TRANSACTIONS of the
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters from 1973 until the time of her
death in March, 1978. She had served the Academy also as Vice President for
Sciences in 1972 and as President in 1976. She was accorded the Academy Cita¬
tion, highest award authorized by the Wisconsin Academy, in 1977 and in that
same year was named by the Academy Council as the first Honorary President
in the history of the organization.
Dr. McCoy’s distinguished record as a professor of bacteriology at the Uni¬
versity of Wisconsin-Madison; her many professional accomplishments; her re¬
markable life as teacher, researcher, environmentalist and benefactor; her reputa¬
tion as a human being of warmth and wisdom — all have been well described in
the pages of our companion journal, the Wisconsin Academy Review, and need
not be recounted here.
For one who so singularly honored us through such service and friendship,
it is difficult to find adequate honors to return. Perhaps, however, none would be
more appropriate, nor more appreciated by Dr. McCoy in her modest manner, than
the dedication of the 1980 issue of the TRANSACTIONS. Thus, we do so dedi¬
cate this volume: to Dr. Elizabeth F. McCoy, whose very life was characterized in
part by the diversity and knowledge that are the hallmarks of the TRANSACTIONS
and of its publisher, the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters.
Thank you, Elizabeth, for everything.
EDITORIAL POLICY
The TRANSACTIONS of the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and
Letters is an annual publication devoted to original papers, preference being given
to the works of Academy members. Sound manuscripts dealing with features of
the State of Wisconsin and its people are especially welcome; papers on more
general topics are occasionally published. Subject matter experts review each
manuscript submitted.
Contributors are asked to submit two copies of their manuscripts. Manuscripts
should be typed double-spaced on 8V2 X 11 inch bond paper. The title of the pa¬
per should be centered at the top of the first page. The author’s name and brief
address should appear below the title. Each page of the manuscript beyond the
first should bear the page number and author’s name for identification, e g.
Brown-2, Brown-3, etc. Identify on a separate page, the author with his institu¬
tion, if appropriate, or with his personal address to be used in Authors’ Addresses
at the end of the printed volume.
The style of the text may be that of scholarly writing in the field of the author.
To expedite editing and minimize printing costs, the Editor suggests that the gen¬
eral form of the current volume of TRANSACTIONS be examined and followed
whenever possible. For Science papers, an abstract is requested. Documentary
notations may be useful, especially for the Arts and Letters papers, and should
be numbered for identification in the text. Such notations as a group, should be
separate from the text pages and may occupy one or more pages as needed. Liter¬
ature Cited should be listed alphabetically at the end of the manuscript unless
included in notations. The style of the references will be standardized as in the
current volume to promote accuracy and reduce printing costs.
Figures should be prepared to permit reduction. Lettering should be large
enough to form characters at least 1 mm high after reduction. Ink drawings or high
contrast glossy prints, not larger than 8V2 X 11 inches, are necessary.
Printing is expensive. Each paper will be subject to a per page charge to the
author, the rate being determined yearly. When a paper is accepted, authors with¬
out departmental or grant funds for publication should request that the Director
of the Academy (at the Academy address) waive page charges. Galley proofs and
edited manuscript copy will be forwarded to the authors for proof reading prior
to publication; both must be returned to the editor within one week. Reprints
should be ordered when proof is returned; forms and instructions will be sent to
the authors. Each author will receive one complimentary copy of the volume of
Transactions in which his work appears.
Papers received on or before November 30 will be considered for the next
annual volume. Manuscripts should be sent to:
Philip and Kathryn Whitford Co-Editors: TRANSACTIONS
2647 Booth Street
Milwaukee, Wisconsin 53212
The editor wishes to express appreciation to the incoming editors, Philip and
Kathryn Whitford, for their assistance in completing this volume. The work of
many colleagues as reviewers and consultants is gratefully acknowledged. The
editor appreciates also the patience that authors involved in this volume have
shown with the editorial process.
Forest Stearns
Editor: TRANSACTIONS
Department of Botany
University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee
58 th President 1980
WISCONSIN ACADEMY OF SCIENCE,
ARTS AND LETTERS
Thompson Webb
mm
PRESIDENT’S REMARKS
Thompson Webb
April 1980
The twelve months since the annual meet¬
ing in Kenosha have been a difficult and
painful period for the Academy. The officers
have spent much time considering financial
matters and adjusting Academy affairs to the
dimensions of the Academy’s reduced in¬
come. The McCoy Trust may or may not be
irretrievably lost, but the income from that
source on which the Academy had come to
depend has dried up and will certainly not be
available in the near future, if ever again.
My distinguished predecessor bore the full
impact of the unexpected termination of
this revenue. President McCabe, Executive
Director Batt, and members of the Council
serving in that distressing time deserve the
gratitude of all of us for the time and dedi¬
cation that they gave to Academy affairs in
making the transition to present fiscal cir¬
cumstances as gracefully as they did.
That is now behind us. We can wish for
return of the McCoy Trust; but, meanwhile,
we have to live within present means.
Squeezing Academy programs into a reduced
budget in inflationary times has been no
small task, a heavy burden especially on our
Executive Director; but somehow here we
are, one quarter into the current year with
the prospects of a balanced budget and, so
far, no major activity suspended. The Acad¬
emy is not without resources. If they are
used carefully and if realistic expectations
for gifts materialize, no invasion of the en¬
dowment will be required this year. The
Academy’s transition to more straightened
circumstances has been a process that has
absorbed the full attention of both elected
and staff officers for more than a year. It is
time now that attention be returned to pro¬
gram.
It is regrettable that the staff has been
reduced by one full position, which puts a
greater burden on remaining personnel. The
Academy is more dependent than at any
time in recent years on grants from donors
and on the dues of membership, and gener¬
ating revenue of these kinds will inevitably
take up increasing amounts of staff time.
Nevertheless, the Academy must turn atten¬
tion back to its program. The Executive Di¬
rector and the elected officers must now con¬
sider the goals of the Academy, as defined
in charter and by-laws and as eloquently
expanded from time to time in our publica¬
tions and committee reports. What is needed,
and I consider this imperative, is a plan of
action. The objectives of the Academy need
no further statement; we know what they
are. With the brush fires of recent months
beaten back, what is urgently called for at
this time is a concrete program based on a
clear set of priorities, a program that iden¬
tifies a short list of specific steps that are to
be the Academy’s principal concern through
the short-term future.
A year or more ago, President McCabe
set in motion important steps which, in time,
may result in legislative support to supple¬
ment income from endowment, dues, gifts,
and grants. Our Executive Director is ac¬
tively and successfully engaged in solicit¬
ing donations, and he promises further
efforts toward attracting additional mem¬
bers. On such activity the Academy de¬
pends; but we face what is almost a “hen-
and-egg” problem. Funds are needed to
support programs; but my feeling is that
programs are needed to attract funds. When
the Academy goes to the legislature for an
appropriation, the question is what does
the Academy do that deserves taxpayer’s
money? When foundation, commercial, and
1
2
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
business executives are approached, they
want to see persuasive evidence of accom¬
plishment. Surely the prospective new mem¬
ber wants to know how the Academy con¬
tributes to specific interests of his in order to
be entitled to his support. To all these it is
helpful but not wholly sufficient to point to
Transactions, to the Review, to the Youth
Program, and to other Academy work,
though the questioners may respect those ac¬
tivities as we do. The Academy’s major re¬
sponsibility after Transactions is to facilitate
studies and investigations, as we all know;
but few funds are likely to be attracted on
the basis of potential alone. This is a what-
have-you-done-for-me lately matter. Initia¬
tive will have to come from the Academy.
It should turn its attention as actively as
present resources permit to the search for
projects and programs of the kinds defined
in our charter and to attracting funds to im¬
plement such activity. An outgoing schedule
of that sort is an effective answer to ques¬
tions from legislators, from foundations, and
from prospective new members.
The Academy was established as a service
agency. It has provided distinguished service
for more than a century and is respected for
its accomplishments and what it is con¬
tinuing to accomplish, but laurels are not
enough. The Academy must continue to look
for jobs that need doing. The respect that it
enjoys depends on its own ability to find sig¬
nificant ways of serving Wisconsin and our
fellow citizens. I intend to make it my objec¬
tive in my term of office, which continues
through 1980, to consult closely with the
Executive Director on the program of the
Academy and the search for ways in which
the Academy can contribute as in the past to
the state and its people.
This brings me to a related, and final, point:
consideration of the length of terms of
elected officers. One year is simply not
enough time for a president to become fully
acquainted with Academy affairs, to develop
a mature response to them, and to see any
resulting program even well begun. He, and
perhaps other officers, need longer terms in
order to be effective and to contribute signifi¬
cantly to the direction of the Academy. I
have therefore appointed a by-laws commit¬
tee to review several constitutional questions,
including lengths of terms. My predeces¬
sor, Robert McCabe, has agreed to serve as
chairman of that committee and to report
to us at the annual meeting next year in
Madison with recommendations on this im¬
portant issue.
As you see, complaining of the brevity of
my term, I am obviously saying that my as¬
sociation with the Academy as its president
seems too short. It is a pleasure to have a
part in Academy affairs at an interesting if
not always happy time. In 1981, I will pass
my responsibilities to my distinguished suc¬
cessor, Professor Reid A. Bryson, confident
that the Academy will be in competent hands
and with gratitude to all of you for this op¬
portunity to serve an organization that has
contributed so much to the intellectual and
cultural community that we share.
WISCONSIN ACADEMY AWARDS— 1980
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters — Honorary Membership
Each year the Academy elects to honorary
membership, residents of Wisconsin who
have brought unusual recognition and honor
to our state by achieving great distinction.
At this time, the Academy extends honorary
membership to three of our fellow citizens,
Robert H. Burris, Joseph O. Hirschfelder
and Verner E. Suomi. To each of them, the
President of the United States gave the Na¬
tional Medal of Science, this country’s high¬
est award for scientific achievement.
Joseph O. Hirschfelder, Homer Adkins
professor of theoretical chemistry at the
University of Wisconsin-Madison, is credited
with being the first scientist to predict that
nuclear explosions would produce radiation
fallout. Most of his research has been con¬
ducted in molecular quantum mechanics,
theory of liquids, transport properties of
gases, and flames and detonations. Joseph
Hirschfelder is a fellow of the American
Association of Arts and Science and holds
the Debye Award of the American Chemical
Society for his achievements in theoretical
and physical chemistry, as well as the Sir
Alfred Egerton Gold Medal of the Interna¬
tional Combustion Society for his develop¬
ment of the theory of flames and detona¬
tions. The National Medal of Science was
presented to him in 1976 for his fundamental
contributions to atomic and molecular quan¬
tum mechanics. In presenting him an hon¬
orary doctor of science degree in January,
the University of Southern California cited
him as a respected nd devoted teacher,
caring advisor to students, and as one who
“pursues with imagination and success the
most rigorous and challenging research.”
Verner E. Suomi, professor of meteor¬
ology, and director of the Space Science and
Engineering Center of the University of Wis¬
consin-Madison, headed the Wisconsin team
that developed experiments aboard Explorer
VII and the TIROS-TOSS satellites. He in¬
vented the spin-scan cameras aboard the
ATS-1 and ATS-3 satellites, and directed
the design and construction of atmospheric
heat-measuring devices on three of the Pio¬
neer Venus probes. He holds the Mesinger
Award for aeorological research achieve¬
ment, the Carl-Gustof Rossby Research
Medal, highest award of the Meteorological
Society, and the Charles Franklin Brooks
Award of the American Meteorological So¬
ciety, an organization which he has served
as president. He was honored recently with
the Exceptional Scientific Achievement
Medal from the National Aeronautics and
Space Administration (NASA) for his role
in the Pioneer spaceshot to Venus.
Robert H. Burris. W. H. Peterson Profes¬
sor of biochemistry at the University of Wis¬
consin-Madison, is best known for his re¬
search on nitrogen fixation. His discoveries
hold promise of great practical value for
agriculture in Wisconsin and throughout the
world. Robert Burris, author of more than
200 technical papers, is a member of the
National Academy of Sciences, the Ameri¬
can Academy of Arts and Sciences, the
American Society of Biological Chemists,
the American Chemical Society, and has
served as President of the American Society
of Plant Physiologists and on the Executive
Committee of the Assembly of Life Sciences
of the National Research Council. In 1977
he received the Charles Reid Barnes Life
Membership Award, presented by the Amer¬
ican Society of Plant Physiologists.
3
4
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Academy Citations
Mark Hoyt Ingraham
Mark Hoyt Ingraham, born in Brooklyn,
New York, came to Wisconsin in 1919 with
a bachelor’s degree in economics from Cor¬
nell in order to pursue a masters in mathe¬
matics. Since then, in more than sixty years,
he has wandered off the reservation only
twice, and then briefly — two years for his
doctoral degree from the University of Chi¬
cago and two years as an assistant professor
at Brown University. In 1927, he returned
to Madison for good. I used the word ad¬
visedly. That is what Mark Ingraham has
done for our University, our community,
and our state for over half a century.
At 22, he was a captain in the United
States Army in France. He has been presi¬
dent of the AAUP. He is a national authority
on faculty retirement matters and has served
for many years on University, state, and na¬
tional boards concerned with them. He is the
author of six books.
As a professor of mathematics, as Dean of
Letters and Science, as counsellor to presi¬
dents and chancellors, and to all who con¬
sulted him, he has been friend and guide,
and a source of wisdom to countless students
and colleagues. A pillar of strength on fun¬
damental issues — academic freedom, human
rights, the true liberal education as opposed
to narrow specialization, and faculty voice
in academic affairs — Mark Ingraham has
come to embody the liberalism and enlight¬
enment that characterize Wisconsin far be¬
yond the state borders.
With gratitude and respect, the Wisconsin
Academy of Sciences, Arts, and Letters
acknowledges a profound debt to Mark Hoyt
Ingraham, for which this Wisconsin Acad¬
emy Citation is offered as a token.
Frederick Nelson MacMillin
At the retirement in 1965 of Frederick
Nelson MacMillin, the Milwaukee Journal
described him as “. . . one of the strongest
pillars undergirding the quality and the in¬
tegrity of both local and state government in
the last 35 years.”
Born in Dayton, Ohio, educated at Co¬
lumbia University and the University of
Wisconsin, Frederick MacMillan became the
first full-time executive secretary of the
League of Wisconsin Municipalities in 1929,
and he made it an effective voice of Wiscon¬
sin cities and villages. He served as president
of the American Municipal Association, now
known as the National League of Cities. He
has been a lecturer in political science at the
University of Wisconsin and a frequent con¬
tributor of articles to professional journals
in the fields of municipal government and
public management. In 1943, he formulated
and was responsible for the enactment of
what is now the Wisconsin Retirement Fund.
Frederick MacMillin was a charter mem¬
ber of the Wisconsin Investment Board, on
which he served until after his retirement;
and played a key role in making that board
a national model. He wrote the constitutions
of both the National Association of State
Retirement Administrators and of the Na¬
tional Conference of State Social Security
Administrators and served the latter as
president. Through the Committee on Re¬
tirement of the American Municipal Asso¬
ciation, he was influential in extending social
security coverage to public personnel nation¬
wide and guided through Congress in 1953
the bill that provides social-security coverage
to persons under the Wisconsin Retirement
Fund. He formulated and administered the
group life insurance program as well as the
group health insurance program for state
personnel.
Frederick Nelson MacMillin has devoted
his life to the advancement of the well being
of the State of Wisconsin and its citizens. It
is, therefore, with pleasure that the Wiscon¬
sin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
1980]
Academy Citations
5
takes this occasion to bestow upon him this
Wisconsin Academy Citation, indicative of
the honor in which he is held and the appre¬
ciation of his fellow citizens.
Martha Elizabeth Peterson
Martha Elizabeth Peterson, born and edu¬
cated in Kansas, first became associated in
higher education at the University of Kansas
as a member of the faculty in mathematics
and then as Dean of Women. In the latter
capacity, she came to the University of Wis¬
consin in 1956, where for ten years she ad¬
ministered student affairs, becoming Dean of
Students in the evolving University of Wis¬
consin System. In 1967, she left Wisconsin
to spend eight years as President of Barnard
College and Dean of Columbia University.
Wisconsin, however, was fortunate enough
to be able to claim her again in 1975, when
she returned to take her present post, Presi¬
dent of Beloit College.
She is also a trustee of Notre Dame Uni¬
versity, a member of the President’s Com¬
mission on White House Scholarships, a
member of the Rhodes Scholar Committee
in Wisconsin, recipient of sixteen honorary
degrees, of numerous awards, and a member
of an impressive list of major corporate
boards.
At the University of Wisconsin, Martha
Peterson was largely responsible for the ma¬
jor change in the policy in higher education
from treating undergraduates as children to
respecting them as adults. In Madison and
in New York, she faced the problems of
those troubled years with calm integrity,
defending academic freedom and standards.
To Martha Elizabeth Peterson, citizen of
our state, who has contributed in so many
ways to the values that the Academy repre¬
sents, the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences-
Arts, and Letters presents this Wisconsin
Academy Citation.
TECHNOLOGICAL ERRORS AND HUMAN DIGNITY—
THE PROBLEM OF BIOMEDICAL PROGRESS
Kuang-ming Wu
Philosophy Department
University of W isconsin-Oshkosh
One of the problems of biomedical prog¬
ress can be summed up in one phrase— the
confrontation between errors inherent in
technology and the equally inherent dignity
of human persons. The tragedy is that the
confrontation threatens to resolve itself in a
ruthless triumph of biomedical technology
which reduces human dignity to nothing.
And since biotechnics serves human welfare,
elimination of humanness by such “suc¬
cesses” of biotechnics amounts to the latter’s
failure. The triumph of biotechnology is,
therefore, precisely its failure; our biomedi¬
cal progress is caught in a suicidal tread¬
mill.
This paper proposes to attack the prob¬
lem by (A) taking a close look at the na¬
ture of technological errors, in the light of
which (B) a new understanding of human
nature can be brought about. And from this
new understanding (C) a fresh guideline can
be derived for biotechnical progress which
includes errors.
(A) First, consider the nature of human
error. Technology is peculiarly ambiguous
when it comes to error. On the one hand,
one of the purposes of technics is to accom¬
plish its goal with few, if any, errors. The
intention of technical operation is to reduce
the margin of error to zero; every error is an
occasion for learning how not to repeat it in
the future. On the other hand, since in this
contingent world technics always partakes of
the character of trial and error, error is
operationally inherent in technics. Hence,
the ambiguity: Technology can neither do
with errors (whose elimination is its goal)
nor can it do without them. Errors go in¬
escapably with technics, the purpose of
which is to eliminate them.
This technological ambiguity becomes
serious when technics is medically applied
to humans, for one cannot morally afford a
single mistake on a human being. The sig¬
nificance of the difference in frequency of
errors, usually taken as a distinguishing fac¬
tor between a therapy and an experiment,
is reduced by the equality, in both areas of
operation, in the moral cruciality of bio¬
medical errors.
Biomedical error takes on a sinister char¬
acter when one turns from errors that are
expected to those unexpected. There are
many errors in biomedicine that at the mo¬
ment of treatment are not at all apparent.
They brood under the so-called experimental
or therapeutic “successes.” Consider, for
instance, the use of Thalidomide by preg¬
nant women. Effective as a tranquilizer, it
turned out to be a cause of gross malforma¬
tion in new-borns. It produced its intended
benefit — it was a success — only to cause
unforeseen tragic consequences. Genetic
“improvement” is another example. We think
we have succeeded in eradicating “bad”
genes, such as sickle cell genes, only to strip
ourselves of protection from malaria. “Bad”
genes eliminated mean genetic elasticity re¬
duced, and reduction of genetic variety im¬
poverishes our ability to cope with environ¬
mental change. Genetic manipulation exe¬
cuted to meet present conditions sows the
seed for future genetic havoc.1
Furthermore, not only are biotechnical
errors serious (because they are oncerned
with humans) and sinister (because no one
knows which oresent “successes” will be the
cause of future disasters). The very success
of biotechnics threatens to break down our
idea of humanness. As Kass puts it,
6
1980]
Wu — Technological Errors and Human Dignity
7
We are witnessing the erosion, perhaps the
final erosion, of the idea of man as some¬
thing splendid or divine, and its replacement
with a view that sees man, no less than na¬
ture, as simply more raw material for ma¬
nipulation.
As a result, we have lost our sense of who
we are and where we are going:
Hence, our peculiar . . . painful irony, our
conquest of nature has made us the slave of
blind chance. We triumph over nature’s un¬
predictabilities only to subject ourselves to
the still greater unpredictability of our capri¬
cious wills and our fickle opinions. That we
have a method is no proof against our mad¬
ness. Thus, engineering the engineer as well
as the engine, we race our train, we know
not where.2
This self-defeating predicament of biotech¬
nics culminates the serious and sinister errors
of biomedical revolution. When technics in
our hands confronts ourselves, it tends to
corrode ourselves; the situation is grim and
pervasive. One only vainly tries to impose
a solution external to the situation. For in¬
stance, an effort to stop or reverse scientific-
technological progress is both otiose and im¬
possible.
(B) However, it is not without reason
that humans are plagued with such biotech¬
nological errors. For it is human nature to
change things (including humans themselves)
by the use of tools, that is, to be technical.
And if technics is error-prone, it is because
humans are. Therefore, the solution to the
above problem lies in discerning humanness
through examining the nature of error itself.
Then the ancient wisdom, “To err is hu¬
man,” shall be seen not only to yield fresh
insights into human nature, but also to
disclose positive significance within techno¬
logical errors themselves.
Advancement in technics is part of human
growth in power. And the progress of bio¬
technics is for an impuvement of humanity.
And yet, as was noted above, biotechnics is
error-prone; the more biotechnics progresses,
the more serious the errors it is likely to
commit. Thus, the growth in biotechnical
power amounts to an increase in the pendu¬
lum swing between improving humanity and
annihilating it.
What is noteworthy is that the above fact
implies more than a counsel of futility and
despair. For “the pendulum swings” above
is synonymous with the range of freedom.
To be free is, among other things, to be
prone to error. And to be free to err is to be
human. Therefore, the growth in biotechnics
is growth in human freedom, accompanied
by growth in seriousness of errors which
could destroy freedom. In short, thus to be
free is to be human; that is, since biotech¬
nics, the power of self-transformation, and
its concomitant challenge, errors, are both
typical of being human, to describe biotech¬
nics and its threats (errors) is to describe
humanness. And so, paradoxically, the
growth in seriousness in errors testifies to the
growth in humanness.
Moreover, a recognition of error is im¬
plied in its commission and its judgment. If
to err is human, it is also human to know
its commission. This is indicated in the hu¬
man cries of warning, even of woes, such as
Kass’s mentioned above. But to warn one¬
self is to arm oneself. Cries of woes of bio¬
technics testify to an initiation of human
self-rectification. Thus to cry out in warning
is to grow in the capability to detect and to
control what would, if unchecked, destroy
humanness.
In short, to be human, to be technical,
to be error-prone, and to be able to recog¬
nize error, are all mutually co-implicative.
And it is this co-implication that is typical
of humanness, and it is this humanness that
will in the final analysis save humanity from
self-annihilation. By recognizing error, hu¬
man beings move toward the truth.
It is crucial to note how the above posi¬
tive conclusion was derived from the seem¬
ingly negative notions such as “errors” and
“cries of warning” thereof, both of which
8
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
were discerned to contain rays of hope. It
is imperative to demonstrate that such rea¬
soning is anything but arbitrary. In fact, the
route to positive implications of humanness
from the human proclivity to error is a well-
trodden road in philosophy. It suffices here
briefly to take note of three philosophers:
R. Descartes, J. Royce and P. Ricoeur.
To Rene Descartes it is indubitable that
“I” know I am imperfect, capable of “the
infinitude of errors.” The problem is how
this knowledge is possible. I both must know
that perfection exists, in the light of which
I recognize my imperfection, and must not
be perfection myself, before I can avow my
imperfection, which is characterized by my
errors. I must therefore be “something in¬
termediate between God and naught.” Thus
is paved a Cartesian route from my imper¬
fection (capability to err) to perfection,
whose intimation I possess, and whose im¬
perfect copy I am.
Josiah Royce discovered the condition for
the definite possibility of error. There must
be the All-Enfolder, the universal Thought,
of which all judgments, true or false, are but
fragments. It is a relational Whole, a Unity
in which error is erroneous and truth true.
Since to every truth there are opposed an
infinite number of errors, and since those
errors are real, such all-inclusive Thought
must be infinite and real.
For Paul Ricoeur man is a “dispropor¬
tion,” (a) a noncoincidence with himself,
(b) an internal polarity of the finite and the
infinite, and (c) an act of intermediation
between those two poles. Such an internal
rift is responsible for man’s fallibility, for
man is capable of evil only because of that
from which he falls, de-viates. Evil is to be
understood by freedom, and freedom, by
evil. Freedom recognizes evil as evil, and is
responsible for it; evil, in turn, is an occa¬
sion for a deeper understanding of freedom.3
The three philosophers are at one in point¬
ing to the possibility of error and its recog¬
nition that discloses the overall rubric of our
intuition of the universal all-Enfolder, the
Perfection. The significance of human life
lies in this disproportionate intermediation
between the finite and the infinite. Biomedi¬
cal progress is one manifestation of such
human life.
Now if the above analysis of the human
capacity to err is tenable, our worries about
the unpredictable future provide clues to
what it means to be human. Our worries
exhibit the following features about our¬
selves: 1) our tremendous growth in bio¬
capability, 2) our capacity to remake our¬
selves, which in turn implies 3) our incho¬
ateness, in its twofold meaning of imperfec¬
tion and incipiency, and hence 4) our malle¬
ability, our openness to all possibilities. Be¬
sides, so long as we worry, we have 5) an
intuition (albeit an imperfect one) of some
perfection by which we measure our short¬
comings.
Drawing on the works of biologist A.
Portmann, anthropologist M. Landmann,
and child psychologist S. Fraiberg, among
others, Jack Bemporad said that the biologi¬
cal make-up of humans, in contrast to that
of animals, is essentially incomplete, unspeci¬
fied and open-ended. Hence the historical
nature of man. Man is self-making. He is
the artist of himself, open to the future by
his decisions and his design of self-transfor¬
mation.
Similarly, agreeing with physiologist and
animal psychologist F. J. J. Buytendijk, Mar¬
jorie Grene said that only we humans have
the freedom of self-determination in our
handling of situations. In other words, only
for man are things equivocal; only for man
can an object take on several aspects and
carry a multiplicity of possible uses. We have
an open situation, because we are open,
transcending our immediate milieu and
needs. Thus we have an equivocal relation
to our world in a variety of ways.4
In sum, the scholars agree on one point:
Man is self-changing, as a consequence of
his essential incompleteness and openness to
the future. Biotechnical error is but one
manifestation of such self-change. Since man
1980]
Wu — Technological Errors and Human Dignity
9
is open to alternative visions he sees things
differently at different times. These differ¬
ences create dissatisfaction with the status
quo, and, hence, biotechnical transforma¬
tion of man himself. These differences are
also the basis for judging some biotechnical
consequences to be errors. Thus man by his
capacity to change himself is the source of
his biomedical progress and its concomitant
errors.
(C) What guidelines for biotechnics can
be drawn from humanness disclosed in tech¬
nological errors? How does human self-crea¬
tion differ from self-manipulation that de¬
grades his dignity? In order to answer these
questions, one must return to examine hu¬
man nature.
As stated above, man is open, unspecial¬
ized, and can/does plan and execute self¬
renewal. This means that man is not ma¬
terial to be manipulated but the principle
and the process of self-transformation. Life
is nothing else than “to live,” and to live is
to spend and to change, which includes the
choice of a direction in which to change.
The seeming constant “life” is really a per¬
formative. Man is self-change, not a sub¬
stance.
From this humanness can be drawn two
guidelines: Human self-transformation ought
to be a continuous self -transformation (not
self-destruction), and such transformation
ought to be a ^//-transformation (not self¬
alienation).
(1) Teleologically speaking, human self-
transformation must be such that it facilitates
further transformation. Since man’s nature
is self-change, any change that results in a
stunting of further change is self-defeating,
a destruction of human dignity; and there¬
fore it is unethical. Disease is stunting; so is
any irresponsible behavior that brings about
disease.
One’s duty to oneself, then, is to promote
further changes, and conversely, to prevent
a future stoppage of self-change. Brain¬
washing, genetic designing of man for spe¬
cific purposes (the breeding of legless, pre¬
hensile and muscular dwarfs for space
travel), creating cyborgs, are all unethical.
For though the victims’ biological function¬
ings continue, such genetic manipulation
kills the human potentials for self-change,
narrowing the range of future choices.
(2) Ontologically speaking, human trans¬
formation is good when it is ^//-transforma¬
tion, not only of the self but for the self, if
not always by the self. Parents raise their
children, not primarily for parental satisfac¬
tion but for the sake of the children them¬
selves. Analogously, physicians serve as
agents for the health of their clients.
By contrast, a manipulation of material
occurs when a person is the subject of pur¬
poses he has not endorsed. Again, brain
washing, genetic designing of men for spe¬
cific purposes, even babies produced in
hatcheries, are all unethical manipulations
because they are executed for purposes alien
to the victims. Any agent of change in an¬
other person has done evil if he acts without
the person’s informed consent.
Similarly a person acting for himself in¬
dulges in irresponsible self-manipulation
when he disregards his own inner nisus. He
alienates himself from himself in his self¬
manipulation for purposes other than his
own self-fulfillment. Such actions are no less
than frivolity or fanaticism.
Man’s action upon himself, however, is
a legitimate self-assertion and -creation
when the act fulfills his decision for himself,
that is, expresses his responsibility for him¬
self. A deliberate decision to incorporate
into oneself a mechanical device (either for
therapeutic or for eugenic purposes) is ethi¬
cal when the decision is made self-responsi-
bly. Such decisions include the use of bio¬
medical devices such as the heart pacer,
the kidney machine, the mechanical limbs,
of many sorts. Thus, ethical judgment de¬
pends upon whether the change effected was
meant for self-integration or -alienation,
self-furtherance or -destruction.
So far some positive implications of tech¬
nological error have been explored. One
10
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
cannot, however, brush aside the negativity
of error, which is, after all, what is meant by
error; it is something to be averted, though
due to our human nature, we can not com¬
pletely avert it. Our biotechnical self trans¬
formation intended for self-integration and
-furtherance may turn out to be a disaster.
We cannot morally afford to commit bio¬
medical errors, yet we cannot avoid them
entirely.
In this context, it is important to remem¬
ber that risks are inherent in the human free¬
dom of self-transformation. Such freedom
should include the freedom to learn from
misfortune. Errors committed unintention¬
ally, once fully studied, can become impor¬
tant knowledge by which humanity can guide
itself in a safer and more reasonable manner.
Those misfortunes are now rendered signifi¬
cant. Thalidomide victims will, if they allow
their case histories to be studied, have rea¬
sons to feel proud that their lives spent (and
what life is not spent?) in unforeseen mis¬
eries are at least partially “redeemed” in
human dignity.
There is, however, a world of difference
in significance (if not in frequency) between
the above retrospective exploration of bio¬
medical errors committed unintentionally
and intentional experiments on human mis¬
eries.5 Retrospective investigation is a con¬
scientious redemptive act in the face of in¬
evitable occasional errors. Experimentation
is, by contrast, an unethical utilization of
humans as guinea pigs, by purposely induc¬
ing biomedical disasters so as to observe
their process and extent, usually without the
victims’ prior informed consent.
In the final analysis, biomedical experi¬
ence is a ruthless exploration into what maxi¬
mum humanness can mean, in all its physio-
psychological aspects. The exploration is
ethically fruitful so far as it is faithful to
whatever has been disclosed as genuinely
human. It is fidelity to the importance of be¬
ing human that keeps biomedical exploration
on the right track. As soon as biotechnics
abstracts the human body from humanness,
the purpose of biotechnics is thwarted and
human dignity violated. By contrast, human¬
ness is preserved and enhanced when human
values are respected in all tne stages or mo-
medical progress.
Even human errors can contribute to hu¬
man dignity since the freedom to risk error
in conscious planning for the future is a
uniquely human characteristic.
Notes
1 Nature has a convenient remedy called genetic
mutation. Yet to rely on natural mutation for our
genetic salvation is to admit the futility of our
genetic maneuver. Moreover, it is self-defeating
to rely for our remedy on something natural
(which has been with us without our genetic en¬
deavors), that cancels the fruits of our labor.
There is something strange about safe-guarding
our deliberate and systematic efforts by natural
randomness which nullifies them.
2 Leon Kass, “The New Biology: What Price
Relieving Man’s Estate?”, in Science, Vol. 174
(19 November, 1971), pp. 785f.
3 Rene Descartes, “Meditations on First Philoso¬
phy,” meditations 3 and 4; I consulted Norman
Kemp Smith, Descartes' Philosophical Writings,
The Modern Library, Random House, 1958, etc.,
pp. 193ff.
Josiah Royce, The Religious Aspect of Philoso¬
phy (1885), Harper Torchbook 1958, pp. 384ff.
(reprinted in Josiah Royce: Basic Writings, Vol.
1, University of Chicago Press, 1969, pp. 32 Iff.)
The World and the Individual, Vols. 1 and 2
(1899), Dover, 1959, is his later expansion of this
seminal idea.
Paul Ricoeur, Freedom and Nature, Northwest¬
ern University Press, 1966; Fallible Man, Henry
Regnery, 1965; The Symbolism of Evil, Beacon
Press, 1967.
4 Jack Bemporad, “From Biology to Spirit: The
Artistry of Human Life,” in The Journal of Medi¬
cine and Philosophy, June, 1978, pp. 74ff.
Marjorie Grene, The Knower and the Known,
Basic Books, 1966, pp. 172f.
5 Such as the ghastly Tuskegee syphilis study in
Alabama in 1930 on black farmers. For this ex¬
periment and for others similar to it, see Richard
M. Restak, Premeditated Man, Penguin Books,
1973, etc., pp. 11 Iff., 119ff.
THE GRIGNON HOTEL AT BUTTE DES MORTS, WISCONSIN:
AN ESSAY IN HISTORIC PRESERVATION*1
Edward Noyes
Department of History
University of W isconsin-Oshkosh
One of the older buildings in Winnebago
County, Wisconsin, the hotel constructed by
Augustin Grignon at the village of Butte des
Morts is an attractive subject for an essay in
historic interpretation. The builder was a
person representing the French presence in
historic Wisconsin at its best. Born at Green
Bay in 1780, Grignon was a grandson of the
colorful Charles Langlade and a subject of
the British Empire. As an adult, he occu¬
pied a prominent branch on “the wide-
spreading tree of the Grignons”; and after
the United States barred outsiders from its
Indian trade, he abjured “all allegiance . . .
to every foreign prince . . . particularly to
the king of the United Kingdoms of Great
Britain & Ireland . . .” to become an Ameri¬
can citizen on July 27, 1820.1 Recognizing
Grignon’s grasp of early times in Wisconsin,
Lyman C. Draper believed that an interview
which he obtained from “The Capt.” in 1857
would be regarded by future historians as
“the most valuable individual narrative ever
contributed to the State Historical Society of
Wisconsin.”2
When he died in 1860, Grignon left a
legacy of interests in a variety of far-ranging
pursuits. He had been an entrepreneur in the
Indian trade of Wisconsin. He had pioneered
at farming in the Lower Fox River Valley.
He had acquired widespread holdings in
land. And he had been a community founder
and promoter. In that role, he had striven to
a Published with the permission of the Winne¬
bago County Archeological and Historical Society.
For certain suggestions concerning subject matter,
the writer is indebted to Mrs. Lynn Webster and
Mr. Dean Sandeman of Oshkosh, Wisconsin.
enlarge the importance of Butte des Morts
which he platted in 1848. 3 The hotel he built
there not only figured in the development of
the village, but also was a potential means
of keeping Grignon afloat financially as set¬
tlers from outside Wisconsin shouldered
their way into the affairs of the region.
Built in the simple Greek revival architec¬
tural style popular in America between 1830
and 1850, the Grignon Hotel stands at its
original location on the southeast corner of
the intersection where Main and Washington
streets meet in Butte des Morts. Once, the
hotel looked southward over a broad marsh
through which flowed the Upper Fox River
and across which passed the trail from Por¬
tage to Green Bay. After the damming of the
Lower Fox, however, the waters of Big Lake
Butte des Morts rose, so that today a mere
city block separates the hotel from the north
shoreline of the lake.4
Although the Grignon Hotel has endured
more than 130 years of weather and wind,
its original appearance is largely unaltered.
Admittedly, the building has suffered wear
and tear, and it has undergone both interior
and exterior changes. For example, a central
staircase which extended upward to the sec¬
ond floor from a point facing the main entry
on the first floor has been replaced by nar¬
row steps ascending along the interior of the
front wall. At the rear of the hotel, an out¬
side stairway built to allow guests indepen¬
dent access to the second floor sleeping
rooms has disappeared and with it, an entry
door at the top of the stairs. Some items of
hardware remain as do window panes which
may be the original ones as they are of poor
quality glass badly marred by cords and
11
12
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
seeds. Other original features of the interior
construction are the door-like shutters cover¬
ing the windows. (One writer has claimed
that these devices shut off light from the
rooms and thereby dampened the urge of a
red man to put an arrow through a lighted
window.) A bar — or counter — also remains
which reputedly served a first-floor tavern.
On the second floor, there are chimneys for
stoves used to heat the rooms during the
chill of Wisconsin winters. A large third-
floor room whose precise purpose has been
the topic of some speculation appears to have
experienced little, if any, alteration. A door
between the stairs from the second to the
third floor contains a peep-hole which can
be opened and closed by a small shutter. On
the east side of the building there is an at¬
tached apartment presumably intended as
living quarters for the hotel manager; but
none of the detached structures which once
served the establishment and its guests re¬
main.5
Whatever the condition of the Grignon
Hotel at the time of this writing, in the day
when it was constructed the building stood
in surroundings that could only have pleased
the eye. An early picture demonstrating that
condition, is a sketch of the Grand Butte des
Morts with its “bold shores” drawn by Cap¬
tain Henry Whiting in 1819. Marching with
the Fifth Regiment from Fort Howard to
Prairie du Chien when he captured the view,
Whiting estimated that “about ten lodges”
of Menominees dotted the bluff where one
day Augustin Grignon would build his hotel.
But in Whiting’s time, the Butte served the
red men either by affording the living a place
to camp, or by furnishing the dead a place
to sleep through the ages.6
A year before Whiting sketched the site
of the future village, Augustin Grignon and
Jacques Porlier had built a trading post
where a stream now called Daggett’s Creek
emptied— in the words of Porlier’s son Louis
—into the “upper end of Lake Butte des
Morts, two miles below the present village
of that name.” According to Louis Porlier,
Grignon brought his family to that post in
1840. Porlier’s word has the ring of author¬
ity; in 1840, he became Grignon’s business
manager, and in 1841, he married Grignon’s
daughter, Sophia.7 Writing in observation of
America’s Centennial, reporter Reuben Gold
Th waites of the Oshkosh City Times also
fixed 1840 as the year marking Grignon’s
permanent residence in the Butte des Morts
neighborhood.8 And, in 1839 a surveyor of
the area not only referred in his field notes
to Grignon’s house and improvements, but
also mapped farm land belonging to Grig¬
non.9 The 1840 federal census was the first
to show Grignon to be living in Winnebago
County. At that time, the sixty-year-old
Grignon headed a household of four females
and seven males.10
Having established his family on the soil
of Winnebago County and having improved
his land, Grignon seems to have anticipated
a busy life as a farmer. In November, 1842,
he contracted with one Thomas Evans to
have a new barn built. The agreement called
for the barn to be finished by July 31, 1843;
the building was to measure 30' by 50', and
it was to be of pine lumber. The contract
stipulated, too, that Grignon was to pay
Evans $450 of which $300 was to be due at
the “Monomonee” [s/c] payment in the fall
of 1843; should that source not allow Grig¬
non sufficient funds to settle in full, the
balance was to be paid in livestock at the
going cash price.11 Completing the circle in
1876, Reuben Gold Thwaites wrote that in
the winter of 1842 Evans “worked up his
crops at the Stockbridge mill”; then, from
what appears to be an omission in newsprint,
Thwaites went on to remark, “and used most
of the boards in building a barn for Augustin
Grignon.”12
Although Grignon had settled down to
follow a rustic existence which — according
to the census of 1860 — depended on twenty-
two acres of improved land and fifty acres
that were not,13 in 1840 he made two entries
1980]
Noyes — Grignon Hotel at Butte Des Morts
13
of land which are of especial concern to this
discussion. One parcel lay in Section 30,
Township 19, North, Range 16 East in the
Green Bay Land District. It was the site of
Grignon’s farm home until his death. When
the federal government opened former Me¬
nominee lands lying north and west of the
Fox River for sale in 1840, Grignon entered
another 205.50 acres in Section 24, Town¬
ship 19 North, Range 15 East. It was on
this land that Grignon platted the village of
Butte des Morts where stands the hotel, which
he built on lots one and two in block twelve
of the young settlement.14 •
Being in his late sixties did not deter
Augustin Grignon from promoting the for¬
tunes of Butte des Morts. It has long been
reported that Grignon tried to have the
county seat of Winnebago County, which had
been created in 1840, located there perma¬
nently. As an inducement, in December,
1845, he deeded to the County a plot con¬
taining 90,000 square feet of land — about
2 Vat acres — for a courthouse site, even
though the village was not to be platted un¬
til 1848. The County accepted the gift and
obligation; but there is a curiosity about it
as the deed — and related documents to fol¬
low — located the parcel in Section 24, Town¬
ship 19 North, Range 16 East.15 In other
words, Grignon’s proposed courthouse loca¬
tion lay six miles due east from the spot
where it might be needed. But no matter,
the business of the County came to be con¬
ducted at Oshkosh despite the fact that Grig¬
non had donated a site for the county court¬
house and that Butte des Morts had been
selected as the county seat in 1845. 16 To the
Oshkoshites, it was fitting that county affairs
be so handled; to Augustin Grignon it was
another matter. In 1849 he served public
notice in the Oshkosh True Democrat of
his intention to seek legislative approval for
the purpose of locating the county seat per¬
manently at Butte des Morts. Moreover, he
intended to request the lawmakers at Madi¬
son to approve either his establishing a ferry
or building a bridge across the Fox, and he
wanted their approval for him to construct
a plank road to a ridge of timber near the
farmstead of his nephew Robert.17
Butte des Morts possessed some points
favoring its becoming the seat of justice in
Winnebago County. One was its position on
the historic trail between Portage and Green
Bay. Another, making its selection “emi¬
nently proper,” was its central location in
Winnebago County.15 In response to Grig¬
non’s plans, the Oshkosh True Democrat
noted that the rapidly growing village of
Oshkosh was really the business center of the
County; besides, the Indian country north
and west of the Fox and the Wolf Rivers
was not yet settled. In addition, Oshkosh was
to be the location of a new jail costing $500
to which sum the Oshkoshites were to con¬
tribute $200. To the Democrat, it seemed
hardly fair to have the taxpayers of Oshkosh
pay so much toward the construction of the
jail only to have the county seat moved to
Butte des Morts.19
Despite the contentions of the Democrat,
the legislative wheels began to turn. That
Grignon’s hope to move the county seat en¬
joyed strong support can be substantiated by
the fact that one petition sympathetic to the
change went to Madison with 800 signa¬
tures.20 Next, on January 30, 1850, the lower
house of the legislature received a bill hav¬
ing the purpose of authorizing the electors
of the County “to vote on the removal of
the County Seat.” The first version of the bill
provided for an election to be held in No¬
vember, 1850, plus a fifty-dollar fine for
anyone who offered, gave, or promised to
any elector either money or property in re¬
turn for voting “for or against such re¬
moval.’’ The same penalty was applicable to
a voter who yielded to such temptation. A
substitute bill provided that the citizens were
to make their choice at the yearly meeting
of their towns on the first Tuesday of April,
1850; it dropped the clause concerning the
fine of fifty dollars. The substitute bill re-
14
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
ceived legislative approval, and on February
9, 1850, Governor Dewey signed it into
law.21
Although Butte des Morts had some
points in its favor for becoming the County
seat, that does not mean that Oshkosh was
without advantages for the electorate to con¬
sider. Oshkosh was on the main line of com¬
munication between Milwaukee and Green
Bay; indeed, the Democrat was soon to pro¬
claim that the telegraph was coming to Osh¬
kosh. In addition, Oshkosh was where the
people were; the census of 185^ showed
that it outnumbered Butte des Morts by a
ratio of fourteen to one.22 It was hardly sur¬
prising, therefore, that when the voters cast
their ballots they favored Oshkosh by a
comfortable margin.23 In December, 1852,
the Winnebago County Board returned to
Grignon his gift of land for a county court¬
house.24
Thus it was that Augustin Grignon’s hope
to give Butte des Morts a brighter then ordi¬
nary place in the sun suffered eclipse. But
the grandson of Charles Langlade was no
quitter. In 1853, he organized a company
to build a plank road to run from Butte des
Morts to Ripon, and besides, platted an ad¬
dition to Butte des Morts lying on the north
side of the town.25 Had the county seat been
located in Butte des Morts, his hotel would
have looked out on the courthouse square
and doubtlessly would have given its owner
a position of prestige as well as profit.
Meanwhile, in 1849 the United States
government had taken a step related to Grig¬
non’s building the hotel. On June 15 of that
year, it established a post office at Butte des
Fig. 1. Line drawing of the Grignon Hotel at Butte des Morts. Artist, C. F. Norris, Oshkosh,
Wisconsin. Courtesy of the Winnebago County Archeological and Historical Society.
With deep regret the writer reports the death of Charles F. Norris on November 19, 1981.
He was a man of great talent devoted to serving others.
1980]
Noyes — Grignon Hotel at Butte Des Morts
15
Morts with Grignon as postmaster. The new
post office was a “special” office; that is, it
received mail only once a week because
Butte des Morts did not lie on a direct mail
route.26 Moreover, by terms of the law in
effect, the income from the postmastership
could have been only modest as the compen¬
sation of the postmasters was geared to the
postage on pieces of mail handled.27 Hence,
Grignon soon relinquished the position. Grig-
non’s successor was Finley F. Hamilton, a
man of affairs both at Butte des Morts and
in the county of Winnebago.28 A History of
Northern Wisconsin published in 1881 made
the following remark about the time when
the hotel went up:
In 1849, a post office was established and
Augustin Grignon appointed Postmaster. The
Postmaster, not content with the ‘emoluments
of his position,’ put up a house which he
called a hotel. F. F. Hamilton opened a gen¬
eral store in the first frame building erected
in the village, which saw the light of day
also during that year.29 (Italics mine.)
Although others have suggested various
dates for building the hotel, the writer has
discovered no evidence so sure as the above
statement relative to its construction. Oddly
enough, accounts concerning Grignon and
early Butte des Morts left by Thwaites,
Draper, and Porlier are silent on the subject;
nor has diligent search in papers associated
with the Grignons discovered a date when
the hotel was built. The nomination for en¬
rolling the structure on the National Regis¬
ter of Historic Places stated simply that it
was built in 1852, while Harry Ellsworth
Cole in his Stagecoach and Tavern Tales of
the Old Northwest wrote that it “was erected
about 1848.” On the other hand, the History
of 1881 not only gave a time for building
the hotel but also related it to a contempo¬
rary venture in construction. Furthermore,
the History provided a reason for Grignon’s
erecting the building in connection with his
disappointment over the financial returns
from the postmastership at Butte des
Morts.30 The earliest association of the hotel
with Grignon’s name to come to the writer’s
attention was in a legal instrument negoti¬
ated by Grignon in early January, 1852. The
document referred to the building as “Grig¬
non’s Tavern.”31
Louis Porlier and Mrs. Ebenezer Childs
(Grignon’s daughter Margaret) managed the
hotel until 1855 when they leased it to one
Thomas B. Petford, a native of England.
Petford may have been in the hotel business
before 1855 as the census of 1850 gave his
occupation as landlord, and showed him as
heading a household of ten persons, four of
whom were not members of his family.32 An
advertisement appearing over Petford’s name
in the Oshkosh Courier of August 16, 1854,
invited the public to attend an “Opening
Ball” to be held in the St. Charles Hotel at
Butte des Morts. That Petford operated the
Grignon establishment during the time indi¬
cated can be substantiated by a rent receipt
acknowledging that Petford had paid Grig¬
non “fourty [sic] three Dollars and Seventy
five Cents being in full for the Rent of the
Tavern House up to February 16/56.”33
Evidence suggests that Butte des Morts
may have had more hotels — or at least build¬
ings called by that name — than that of Au¬
gustin Grignon. While visiting the village in
January, 1851, editor Charles D. Robinson
of the Green Bay Advocate reported stop¬
ping at a hotel owned by a man named
Bell.34 Moreover, on August 15 of that year,
the Oshkosh True Democrat reported that
“Mr. Jones, from . . . , New York,” was
erecting “a very large building” intended to
be a hotel. “It is a fine structure,” stated the
Democrat, “and is most conveniently plan¬
ned.” Mr. Jones also had something to say
about the “fine structure.” In January, 1852,
he invited the “young bloods of the county”
to visit his cotillion hall where, in parties of
twelve, they could dance and dine for a
dollar a couple.35 Just a week before Jones’
advertisement appeared, the Democrat men¬
tioned a party to be held at Church’s Hotel
16
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
in the village.30 Surely, it appears that for a
hamlet numbering only 102 souls in 1850,
Butte des Morts was performing well in pro¬
viding overnight facilities for the public.
Whatever the number of hotels at Butte
des Morts, a report concerning that of Au¬
gustin Grignon alleges that a destructive fire
caused it to be rebuilt. But when George
Overton, local historian of Butte des Morts,
remarked that just before the Civil War
“lire completely destroyed the Grignon estab¬
lishment,” he also stated, “Mr. Grignon did
not rebuild but put in a stock of goods in a
building near his . . . [farm] residence.”
However, the fire reported to have destroyed
the old hotel could not have done so; it is
likely that a mercantile concern which Grig¬
non operated “on the east side of Main
street, north of Washington street” was the
building destroyed.37 A recent analysis of the
soil on which the building stands has shown
no indication of any fire.38 Therefore, it can
only be concluded that the report of the ho¬
tel’s having been reduced to ashes is faulty.
The same statement cannot be made, how¬
ever, of the fact that Grignon rendered his
connection with the building somewhat un¬
certain when, in 1852 he put it in hock and
did not redeem it by the time of his death
in 1860.
Why did Grignon turn to borrowing in
1852? Did he borrow because of the decline
in the local Indian trade after 1848 when the
Menominees left the neighborhood around
Butte des Morts for the reservation?39 Was
he attempting to raise funds for his plank
road plan? Did he wish to defray any un¬
settled costs related to building the hotel?
Had his failure to receive compensation long
due him from the Indian trade entangled
Grignon in a financial morass from which
he could not extricate himself? Or, had time
run out for the fur traders of the area?
With regard to the last two questions,
there are some observations to be made.
According to the terms of the Menominee
Treaty of 1836, Grignon had received
$10,000 in settlement for credit extended
members of that nation; in 1837, however,
he received only $1759 under the terms of a
treaty applying to credit allowed the Winne¬
bago.40 Grignon tried to collect more after
the settlement as he entered a claim amount¬
ing to $20,000 for goods which he had sup¬
plied the Winnebago year after year without
adequate repayment, according to deposi¬
tions of old associates in the Indian trade.41
Describing as “erroneous” the “impression
that the old fur traders waxed very rich,”
Louis Porlier once pictured the “universal
credit” they granted the red men as being
most uncertain because the system contained
numerous risks which could spell disaster to
a man in Grignon’s position.42 A document
that leaves little doubt as to the hazards of
the fur trade by the 1840’s is a letter written
by Ramsay Crooks of the American Fur
Company to John Lawe at Green Bay. Writ¬
ing on April 3, 1843, that in a bygone day
the traders could “provide bountifully and
run some risks,” Crooks told Lawe:
The winter has been unusually mild all over
Europe, and fears have been entertained that
Furs would consequently sell badly this
spring. . . . Beaver has fallen about a dollar
per pound, compared with the sales 12
months ago. This is caused principally by the
introduction into England of the French silk
Hat, which looks nearly, or quite as well, as
those made of Beaver, and unfortunately last
almost as long, while they are sold for much
less money.43
Equally gloomy were Crooks’ comments
concerning prices being paid for American
muskrat skins in Europe as a result of the
Hudson’s Bay Company’s unloading 500,000
rat pelts on the markets there.44
Even so, a generation later Reuben Gold
Thwaites wrote that “the glory of Butte des
Morts” was its annual catch of muskrats.45
And although the natural habitat of muskrats
was destroyed in 1905 when the bog in Lake
Butte des Morts began to disintegrate,
George Overton claimed that the “sales of
1980]
Noyes — Grignon Hotel at Butte Des Morts
17
fall rats alone at Butte des Morts totaled
more in 1935 than the entire year’s business
done by Augustin Grignon in 1816 [s/c].”46
Ergo, it would seem that in Grignon’s day,
the fur trade, as then conducted, had be¬
come an unreliable source of income: even
the American Fur Company — whose papers
disclose that on occasion the skins of dogs,
groundhogs, and house cats were in the ship¬
ments overseas — was forced to suspend pay¬
ments in 1842. 47
Whatever Grignon’s reasons for turning
to the money lenders, on January 14, 1852,
he mortgaged the hotel property to one Fran¬
cis B. Webster of Oshkosh. The sum Grig¬
non obtained was $800; the interest he paid
was 12 percent per annum. 4S When the cen¬
sus of 1850 was taken, Webster told the
enumerator that he was a liquor dealer by
occupation; but when he died in 1860, The
Oshkosh Courier complimented Webster as
having been “a shrewd and successful finan¬
cial operator.”49 Whether or not the compli¬
ment was deserved, Grignon continued to
borrow so that by July, 1854, he was obli¬
gated for well over six thousand dollars with
relatively short due dates.50 The upshot of
it all was that he was unable to clear the
slate, and litigation over payments in arrears
occurred before he died intestate on October
2, I860.51
Although the census of 1860 showed Grig¬
non to be the owner of real estate worth
$20,000 and personal property worth $800, 52
Mrs. Ebenezer Childs stated that her father’s
finances were largely encumbered. On the
ground that Louis Porlier best knew Grig¬
non’s business affairs, Mrs. Childs petitioned
that he become executor.53 It followed that
in December, 1860, Porlier received the re¬
sponsibility of settling with the creditors of
his late father-in-law.54 In 1861, the value of
all Grignon’s worldly goods stood at
$15,424.18; and, as Mrs. Childs had stated,
her father’s debts were nearly as great. But
if Augustin Grignon’s estate were obligated
beyond redemption’s cure, the final expenses
connected with his journey through life were
modest; his funeral costs totaled only
$62.00. Forty dollars of that sum went for
teams and drivers to Kaukauna and return
plus entertaining friends of the family. Burial
clothes took five dollars as did the services
of a priest. It cost eleven dollars for a coffin
and one dollar more to dig a grave.55
Pursuing his duty as executor of Grignon's
estate, Louis Porlier decided that because of
Grignon’s heavy indebtedness, all of the
property would have to go on the auction
block to satisfy his creditors' claims. The
courts so ordered on September 16, 1861.
Of greatest interest to this discussion, the
valuation of the hotel property was fixed at
$1,000. 50 A settlement over the hotel did
not become final, however, because — among
Gther reasons — a Grignon grandson and
heir was serving in the Twenty-First Wis¬
consin Regiment and so enjoyed immunity
from civil actions.57 But in due course, by
sheriff’s sale in September, 1866, the hotel
went to Gabriel Bouck, an Oshkosh attor¬
ney.58 Bouck retained the tavern property
for only a few weeks, and, in November,
1866, sold it for $500 to Louise McCord
and Julia Jenney both of whom bore the
Grignon name before marriage. Like Ga¬
briel Bouck, Jenney and McCord soon dis¬
posed of the hotel. In 1869, they sold it for
$450 to Peter C. Peterson, a Norwegian im¬
migrant who arrived at Butte des Morts in
the 1850’s and had begun to keep a store
in the hotel after the expiration of the Pet-
ford lease, presumably in 1859. 59 An asso¬
ciate in the venture was Tomms Tonneson,
another migrant from Norway. Except for
a brief period, 1863-1865, which he spent
at Virginia City, Nevada, Peterson kept the
store until his death on May 28, 1900. 60
Like Augustin Grignon, Peter Peterson
died intestate. His son Percival became ad¬
ministrator of the estate; in 1901, settlement
provided for the real property to go to him
and his sister Frances. By land contract,
Peterson sold the property to John J. Boe,
18
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
aged thirty-one and born in Norway. In
1902, Boe married Peter Peterson’s fifty-
three-year-old widow Bertha, and in 1911
obtained full ownership of the hotel. Boe
operated the store in it until his death in
1952. Under the terms of Boe’s will, the ho¬
tel went to his stepdaughter, Mrs. Frances
Donkle.61 In 1953, she sold the hotel to
Emma Ann Strauss (now Mrs. George Ne-
vitt of Oshkosh). After operating an antique
store in the building for some years, Mrs.
Nevitt gave the old Grignon Hotel to the
Winnebago County Archeological and His¬
torical Society. The structure is presently
undergoing extensive restoration.
There is a postscript to the story of Au¬
gustin Grignon. Until 1941, he and ten mem¬
bers of his family lay in unmarked graves
near Butte des Morts. In that year, under
the direction of Arthur Kannenberg, archae¬
ologist of the Oshkosh Public Museum, the
bones of all were disinterred preparatory to
being placed in a crypt at the Grignon Man¬
sion near Kaukauna, Wisconsin. The trans¬
fer did not take place however, with the
result that for about twenty years the under¬
taker to whom the bones were consigned
kept them in storage. At long last, on Oc¬
tober 12, 1961, the remains were buried in
an unmarked plot of the Holy Cross Ceme¬
tery at Kaukauna. As an associated curiosity,
it was alleged that according to family ac¬
counts, Augustin’s skeleton was identifiable
by a gold Cross and chain suspended from
the neck. The tale appears, however, to have
been confused with a Cross painted in yel¬
low on the lid of his coffin. Indeed, no arti¬
facts were present with Grignon’s remains
except a button presumed — because of its
location among the bones — to have been
from his trousers.62
Whatever the changes in the ownership of
the Grignon Hotel, this paper has attempted
to identify its history with that of Augustin
Grignon and his times. True, Grignon owned
the hotel for a scant eleven years, but during
his ownership economic and social institu¬
tions in the Fox River Valley had begun to
change rapidly and profoundly. In that era
Grignon and his kind were finding it increas¬
ingly difficult to accommodate their ways to
those of a new breed of Wisconsinites who
had little regard for the men who had once
bargained over furs with the Indians. In es¬
sence, the hotel stands as a testimonial to
its builder’s efforts to bridge the gap between
a way of life that had room for persons like
himself and a newer way that did not.
Documentation
1 Mrs. John H. Kinzie, Wau-Bun The Early Day
in the Northwest (1948 reprint, Menasha, Wiscon¬
sin), p. 48 identifies the Grignon family as stated.
For the document assigning American citizenship
to Grignon, see State Historical Society of Wis¬
consin, Division of Archives and Manuscripts,
Grignon, Lawe, and Porlier Papers, 1820-1822,
LXI, pp. 13 and 14, Territory of Michigan, County
Court of Michilimackinac, action of July 27, 1820,
taken in accordance with “An Act to establish an
uniform rule of naturalization. . . .” Hereafter, ma¬
terials used from the Archives and Manuscripts
Division will be cited as A.M.D., S.H.S.W. See also
Reuben Gold Thwaites, editor, Collections of the
Statte Historical Society of Wisconsin (Madison,
1911), XX, pp. 120-121. Cited subsequently as
Collections. The law closing American Indian trade
to non-c»tizens is available in Richard Peters, Esq.,
editor, The Public Statutes at Large of the United
States of America, . . . (Boston, 1848), III, pp. 332-
333. Cited subsequently as U.S. Statutes.
2 Collections, III, p. 195; IV, p. 102. Draper’s
interview with Grignon is in ibid., Ill, pp. 197-295.
3 For the plat of Butte des Morts, see County of
Winnebago, Oshkosh, Wisconsin, Registrar of
Deeds, Plat Book #1, pp. 10-11.
4 Nomination Form, National Register of His¬
toric Places Inventory, Offices of the National
Register of Historic Places, Washington, D.C.
Cited subsequently as Nomination, National Regis¬
ter.
5 Information in this paragraph is derived from
ibid.: and also Martha Wohlford, “Butte des Morts
Has Its Place in History of State,” in Oshkosh
Daily Northwestern, July 1, 1969. Hereafter, the
Oshkosh Daily Northwestern will be cited as
Northwestern.
6 A description of the Grand Butte des Morts is
available in Winnebago County Courthouse, Zon¬
ing Office, Commission of Public Lands Interior
1980]
Noyes — Grignon Hotel at Butte Des Morts
19
East Field Notes, CLV, p. 70, Township 19 North,
Range 16E, D. Giddings, Assistant Surveyor, June
29, 1839, Cited subsequently as Surveyor’s Field
Notes. See also Journal of the March of the 5th
Regiment in June, 1819, from Green Bay to
Prairie du Chien, kept by Captain Henry Whiting,
General Services Administration, The National
Archives, 1949, microfilm in A.M.D., S.H.S.W.
In 1887, Louis B. Porlier indicated that the name
Butte des Morts was based on the place being “a
higher point of land” than customary in the area
and that it was “a principal burying place” for
Sacs, Fox, and Menominees. See “Narrative by
Louis B. Porlier,” in Collections, XV, pp. 439-444.
In 1857, Augustin Grignon stated that certain
burial mounds at the Grand Butte des Morts were
“ordinary burial places” not connected with any
military contest. See Grignon’s “Seventy-two years’
Recollections in Wisconsin” in Collections, III,
p. 293. Concerning the burials at Little Butte des
Morts (sometimes confused with the Grand Butte)
see an essay entitled “Little Butte des Morts, its
former appearance,” by Charles V. Donaldson,
A.M.D., S.H.S.W. Donaldson wrote in 1905 from
memories extending back to 1848 or 1849.
7 Collections, XV, pp. 439 and 445-446. Daggett’s
Creek was formerly called Overton’s Creek. For
data concerning Porlier’s marriage, I am indebted
to John Ebert, Archivist, Catholic Diocese, Green
Bay. Porlier and Sophia Grignon were married
at St. John’s Church, Little Chute, Wisconsin.
8 Beginning on April 29, 1876, Thwaites con¬
tributed to the Oshkosh City Times a series of ar¬
ticles on the history of Winnebago County in re¬
lation to the Centennial observances. Cited subse¬
quently as Thwaites, Times.
9 Surveyor’s Field Notes, 1839, maps and pp. 57
and 68.
10 United States Census, Manuscript, County of
Winnebago, 1840, p. 128. The total population of
the county in 1840 was 132; hence, the Augustin
Grignon household amounted to 6.6 percent of the
tally. Hereafter, all census reports of this class will
be cited as U.S. Manuscript Census with the ap¬
propriate year.
11 See A.M.D., S.H.S.W., Contract of Grignon
and Evans, November 10, 1842, in Grignon, Lawe,
Porlier Papers, B, LXV, p. 49.
“Thwaites, Times , April 29, 1876.
13 U.S. Manuscript Census, 1850, Winnebago
County, Town of Oshkosh, Agriculture, p. 228c.
14 Concerning Grignon’s land entries, see John
L. Homer, Statement of Certification, September 1,
1843, in Grignon, Lawe, Porlier Papers, B, LXV,
p. 51. See also the National Archives, National
Archives and Records Services, General Services
Administration (Washington, 1951), Record Group
49, Records of the General Land Office, Local
Tract Books Wisconsin, XLV, pp. 169, 176-177,
Certificates 2399 and 2455, in A.M.D., S.H.S.W.
Cited subsequently as Local Tract Book. Grignon
purchased these lands under terms of an “Act
Making Further Provision for the Sale of the
Public Lands,” approved on April 24, 1820. For
precise definition of lots and acreages, the writer
has used Joseph H. Osborne, compiler and pub¬
lisher, Sectional Map of the County of Winnebago,
State of Wisconsin (Oshkosh, 1855). Descriptions
of land under Certificates 2399 and 2455 are also
available on microfilm of Book M, pp. 105-106
and 107, Register of Deeds Office, County of Win¬
nebago. Original documents are in storage with the
Winnebago County Highway Commission, Osh¬
kosh, Wisconsin.
“Grignon made his offer on July 16, 1845; the
County Board approved and ordered the land to be
surveyed. See A.M.D., S.H.S.W., Winnebago Small
Series 1, Clerk, Board Proceedings, 1843-1847,
July 16, 31, and Dec. 2, 1845. The survey was done
by S. L. Brooks, county surveyor; it locates the
site in “Sec. 24 of Township 19, North of Range
16 East.” These documents are in the University of
Wisconsin-Oshkosh Area Research Center of the
State Historical Society of Wisconsin. Cited subse¬
quently as Clerk, Board Proceedings. See also Au¬
gustin Grignon Deed to Winnebago County, Wis.,
December 8, 1845; in Book A, Deeds, pp. 120-121,
in the Office of the Register of Deeds, County of
Winnebago. The location of the tract in the deed
corresponds with Brooks’ Survey.
1G See Charles D. Goff, “War for the Court¬
house,” in James J. Metz, editor, Prairie, Pines,
and People, Winnebago County in a New Perspec¬
tive (Menasha, 1976), pp. 149-154. Cited subse¬
quently as Goff, “War.”
17 Issue of November 23, 1849. Cited subse¬
quently as Oshkosh Democrat.
38 See “Petition of Burr S. Craft and 800 other
citizens of Winnebago Co. asking the legislature
to pass an act fixing upon the Village of Butte des
Morts as a point to be voted upon by the people
of the county in reference to the removal and per¬
manent location of the County Seat of said
County” in Secretary of State Election and Rec¬
ords, Petitions 1836-1850-1851, A.M.D., S.H.S.W.
19 Oshkosh Democrat, December 7, 1849.
20 A.M.D., S.H.S.W., “Petition of Burr S.
Craft. . . .”
21 A.M.D., S.H.S.W., Secretary of State Elections
and Records Legislative Bills 1836 — Assembly Bills
1849-51 no. 194(a) A Bill to authorize the Electors
of Winnebago Co. to vote on the removal of the
20
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
County Seat cites the action taken in the legisla¬
ture. For the text of the law authorizing the vote,
see Acts and Resolves passed by the Legislature of
Wisconsin (Madison, 1850), p. 138. Cited subse¬
quently as Wisconsin Laws with appropriate date
and whether general or private and local.
22 Issues of August 16 and September 27, 1850.
The census enumeration of 1850 was then in
process.
23 On April 10, 1850, the Milwaukee Sentinel
reported that of 1,111 votes cast, the majority in
favor of making Oshkosh the permanent county
seat was 279; The Green Bay Advocate gave the
figure as 253. See also Goff, “War.”
24 Oshkosh Democrat , January 30, 1852.
25 An act to incorporate the plank road company
was approved early in 1853. See Wisconsin Laws,
Private and Local, 1853, pp. 155-160. Grignon al¬
ready had under construction a plank road across
the low lying land before Butte des Morts. See
Oshkosh Democrat, February 21, 1851. The plat
of Grignon’s addition of 1853 is available in Win¬
nebago County Plat Book # 1, p. 52.
20 The Milwaukee Sentinel reported Grignon’s
appointment on August 10, 1849. Eli Bowen, The
United States Post Office Guide, . . . (New York,
MDCCCLI), p. 71 defines “special” status. Cited
subsequently as Bowen, Post Office Guide.
27 For rules defining salaries of postmasters for
the period, see U.S. Statutes, LX, pp. 147-148, and
202.
28 Hamilton built a warehouse and dock at Butte
des Morts in 1851; see Oshkosh Democrat, June
27, 1851. He also served as county treasurer from
1848 to 1849.
29 Bowen, Post Office Guide, p. 149, lists F. F.
Hamilton as postmaster at Butte des Morts in
1851, as does Table of Post Offices in the United
States on the First Day of January, 1851, . . .
(Washington, 1851), p. 36. For Grignon’s decision
to build the hotel, see History of Northern Wiscon¬
sin . . . (Chicago, 1881), p. 1191. Cited subse¬
quently as Northern Wisconsin.
30 Nomination, National Register; Harry Ells¬
worth Cole, Stagecoach and Tavern Tales of the
Old Northwest (Cleveland, 1930), p. 173. Cole
quoted entries from “account books kept by the
landlords” during 1854 and 1855 showing that
“there must have been lively times at Butte des
Morts . . (See pp. 234-235). Unfortunately
these ledgers could not be located. Northern Wis¬
consin, p. 1191.
31 County of Winnebago, Mortgages, Book N,
pp. 14-15. These records are on microfilm: the
originals are in storage with the Winnebago County
Highway Commission. Cited subsequently as Win¬
nebago County, Mortgages.
32 Northwestern, August 10, 1936; U.S. Manu¬
script Census, 1850, Winnebago County, p. 162.
33 This receipt is in the Harry Ellsworth Cole
Papers, A.D.M., S.H.S.W.
34 Green Bay Advocate, January 23, 1851.
35 Oshkosh Democrat, January 23, 1852.
30 Ibid., January 16, 1852.
37 Northwestern , August 10, 1936.
38 Statement of Daniel M. Seurer, c. February 1,
1981; and verbal communication from Robert
Hruska, Oshkosh Public Museum, March 17, 1981.
39 For Porlier’s remarks concerning the Indian
trade after 1848, see Collections, XV, p. 447.
40 Charles J. Kappler, Indian Affairs Laws and
Treaties (Washington, 1904), II, pp. 466 and 499.
See also Louise Phelps Kellogg, “The Menominee
Treaty of the Cedars, 1836,” Transactions of the
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
(1931), XXVI, pp. 127-135. A.D.M., S.H.S.W.,
Louise Phelps Kellogg Papers, Notes and Tran¬
scriptions re Indian Treaties, 1794-1836; transcrip¬
tions and translations re social and military Wis¬
consin, 1805-1848, Box 48, Winnebago Tribe of
Indians to Augustin Grignon, Dr., and Baird to
Dear Sir [Augustin Grignon], November 28, 1838.
Cited subsequently as Kellogg Papers.
41 For an example, see Affidavit of Francis
Lousignon given with “the assistance of a sworn
interpreter” on June 22, 1839, in Grignon, Lawe,
Porlier Papers, B, LXV, pp. 5-6.
42 “Narrative by Louis B. Porlier,” Collections,
XV, pp. 441-442.
43 Kellogg Papers.
44 Ibid.
43Thwaites, Times, January 27, 1877.
40 Northwestern, August 10, 1936.
47 Papers of the American Fur Company, ship¬
ment from Detroit Department, November 22,
1838; and Shipments to London 1838 August 30;
see also Grace Lee Nute, “The Papers of the
American Fur Company: A Brief Estimate of
Their Significance,” in The American Historical
Review (New York, 1927), XXXII, p. 538.
48 Winnebago County, Mortgages, Book N, p. 15,
Augustin Grignon Mort. to Franc. B. Webster.
49 U.S. Manuscript Census, 1850, Winnebago
County, p. 63; and Oshkosh Courier, January 27,
1860.
50 In addition to the mortgage for $800 dated
January 1, 1852, Grignon borrowed $1025 in
February, 1852; see Winnebago County, Mort¬
gages, Book N, p. 17; in July, 1852, he borrowed
$2475.68, ibid., pp. 403, 404; in 1854, he borrowed
1980]
Noyes — Grignon Hotel at Butte Des Morts
21
$2188, Book T, p. 320. The Abstract of Title to
the hotel property outlines Grignon’s record of
borrowing: cited subsequently as Abstract.
51 See Winnebago County Circuit Court, Judge¬
ment Rolls, #1657, September term, 1859.
52 U.S. Manuscript Census, Winnebago County,
1860, p. 161.
53 Winnebago County, Probate Court, Documents
36 and 4, Augustin Grignon Estate, on microfilm;
the original documents are in the possession of the
Harry M. Schmitt Abstract Company of Oshkosh.
They include Mrs. Child’s petition. Cited subse¬
quently as Grignon Estate Papers. A copy of Mrs.
Child’s petition is also available in Charles A.
Grignon Papers, A.M.D., S.H.S.W. It was ad¬
dressed by Mrs. Child “To the Honorable R. P.
Hodges County Judge of Winnebago County, Wis¬
consin.”
54 Porlier received his appointment on December
3, 1860. See Abstract, sheet number 5; and Grig¬
non Estate Papers.
53 Grignon Estate Papers.
56 Ibid.
57 William Frances Raney, Wisconsin A Story of
Progress (Appleton, Wisconsin, Perrin Press, 1963),
p. 163.
38 Abstract, sheet number 8.
39 Abstract, sheet number 11. In 1860, Julia
Jennie (Jenne or Jenney) lived with her husband
in the home of Louisa Grignon, Town of Winne-
conne, U.S. Manuscript Census, 1860, p. 375. In
1870, Louisa McCord lived at Winneconne Village,
see ibid., 1870, II, p. 382. See also Northwestern,
August 19, 1936.
00 U.S. Manuscript Census, 1860, Winnebago
County, pp. 362 and 129; Northern Wisconsin,
p. 1191; Northwestern, July 1, 1967.
G1 Northwestern , August 10, 1936; See also, Ab¬
stract, sheet number 29.
62 “Bones of Early Trader in Valley Are Re¬
moved from Unmarked Grave,” in Northwestern,
October 26, 1940; and “Century Old Bones of
Grignon Pioneers Reburied Today,” Appleton Post-
Crescent, October 12, 1961. For a convenient ref¬
erence to the story of the Cross, see Northwestern,
October 29, 1940, quoting Arthur Kannenberg.
The Oshkosh Public Museum’s Report of the Ex¬
cavations of Augustin Grignon, November 2, 1940,
details the disinterment operation and the identi¬
fication of Grignon’s remains.
THE SAPROLITE AT THE PRECAMBRIAN-CAMBRIAN
CONTACT, IRVINE PARK, CHIPPEWA FALLS, WISCONSIN
M. L. Cummings and J. V. Scrivner
Department of Geology
University of W isconsin-Eau Claire
Abstract
The contact between metamorphosed Precambrian rocks and Cambrian
sandstones in west-central Wisconsin is a sharp angular unconformity. Weathering
of trondhjemite gneiss during the late Precambrian and possibly early Cambrian
developed a saprolite that is exposed at Irvine Park, Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin.
The saprolite is mainly kaolinite, quartz and chlorite, its minerology suggests that
weathering occurred in a tropical climate that developed in the Wisconsin area as
the North American continent drifted southward across the paleoequator in the
late Precambrian. Weathered materials from the saprolite became part of the
detrital material deposited in the basal unit of the upper Cambrian Mt. Simon
Formation.
Introduction
In the upper Midwest the contact between
metamorphosed Precambrian basement rocks
and upper Cambrian sandstone is a sharp
angular unconformity. The erosional surface
at the top of the Precambrian rocks is an
irregular surface that truncates the typically
steeply-dipping structural grain of the base-
Fig. 1. Map of the Irvine Park study area. T in¬
dicates the location of outcrops of trondhjemitic
rock at Wissota dam and the dam in Chippewa
Falls.
ment. The basal upper Cambrian sedimen¬
tary rocks are subhorizontal conglomeratic
to fine-grained sandstones and in west-cen¬
tral Wisconsin are the Mt. Simon Formation.
Often at the contact is a clay-rich zone for
which the time of formation and origin are
questioned. This contact is exposed at sev¬
eral localities in west-central Wisconsin in¬
cluding Irvine Park, in southern Chippewa
County, Big Falls County Park in north-
central Eau Claire County, the Neillsville
area in Clark County and south of Lady¬
smith in Rusk County.
The Precambrian-Cambrian contact and
the basal Mt. Simon Formation were studied
the Irvine Park (Fig. 1 ) where they are ex¬
posed in the east bank of Duncan Creek. A
rock fall during the spring of 1979 provided
an excellent unweathered outcrop which in¬
stigated this study. The elevations of Pre¬
cambrian exposures in the immediate area
suggest that the Precambrian outcrop at Ir¬
vine Park is a topographic high in the base¬
ment surface. A zone, at least 2 m and pos¬
sibly 3.5 m thick, of gray-green, clay-rich
material occurs immediately below the con¬
tact of the basal Mt. Simon Formation. Ap-
22
1980]
Cummings and Scrivner — Saprolite at Chippewa Falls
23
proximately 13 m of sandstone are exposed
at the site; the lower 5 m and the Precam-
brian contact are exposed in an unweathered
outcrop.
This study was undertaken to 1) deter¬
mine the mineralogy of the Precambrian
basement and the clay-rich zone, as well as
the heavy mineral suite of the lower part of
the Mt. Simon Formation; and 2) determine
the mode and time of formation of the clay-
rich zone.
Previous Work
The Precambrian rocks of west-central
Wisconsin are strongly deformed amphibo¬
lite gneisses and schists, and quartzo-feld-
spathic gneisses that have been intruded by
granitic to tonalitic intrusives. The time of
plutonic emplacement relative to regional
deformation and metamorphism during a
complicated geologic history is reflected in
the textures and structures of the intrusives
(Myers, 1976, Cummings and Myers, 1978,
Cummings, 1975). The amphibolites are
considered Archean while the intrusives are
of differing ages. Many were intruded during
the Proterozoic I Penokean orogeny, circa
1850 m.y. (Van Schmus, 1976, 1980).
The lower Paleozoic Mt. Simon Forma¬
tion was deposited during the Dresbachian
stage (late Cambrian). The formation in¬
creases in thickness to the south from 100
feet thick in the Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin,
area to approximately 800 feet thick in
southern Wisconsin (Asthana, 1969). Out¬
crops of the Mt. Simon Formation occur for
at least 50 miles north of Chippewa Falls
(e.g. outcrops at Conrath and Ladysmith,
Wisconsin). The northernmost outcrops ap¬
parently represent the original northern ex¬
tent of the formation. However, Asthana
(1969), on the basis of lithologic character¬
istics and mineralogical composition, sug¬
gested that the Mt. Simon Formation was
correlative with the Jacobsville Formation
of northern Michigan, part of the Bayfield
Group of northern Wisconsin, and the
Hinckley-Fond du Lac Formations of Min¬
nesota. Drill core data from central Minne¬
sota indicates that the Mt. Simon Formation
is stratigraphically above the Hinckley-Fond
du Lac Formation, which, with the Bayfield
Group and Jacobsville Formation are be¬
lieved to be upper Precambrian Formations
(Tryhorn and Ojakangas, 1972). However,
the absence of fossils in the postulated upper
Precambrian sandstones and the lower unit
of the Mt. Simon Formation leaves the age
question unsettled.
The Mt. Simon Formation is divided into
3 units: the lower of conglomerate to pebbly
sandstone, the middle of coarse to medium¬
grained sandstone and the upper of coarse to
very fine-grained sandstone. Fossil fragments
and trace fossils are present especially in the
upper unit and indicate marine deposition.
Trace fossils are the only evidence that the
lower and middle Mt. Simon Formation are
marine deposits.
The upper Cambrian section in the Mid¬
continent Region has traditionally been in¬
terpreted as sediment deposited during re¬
peated marine encroachments onto the Wis¬
consin dome. Asthana (1969) interpreted
the Mt. Simon Formation as the lowermost
formation in a transgressive sequence. The
overlying Eau Claire Formation, a fine¬
grained sandstone to shale, represents the
near shore environment.
Byers (1978), citing a lack of recogniz¬
able “quiet water” offshore environments,
lack of fossil diversity, and exposure indica¬
tors, argued that the basal sandstones of the
Cambrian sequence were best interpreted as
subtidal shelf or tidal-channel deposits. The
Eau Claire and Mt. Simon sequence was
considered pro-gradational. Driese (1979b),
basing his arguements on sedimentary struc¬
tures and paleontologic evidence, interpreted
the Mt. Simon Formation ‘as largely pro-
gradational, shoaling- and fining-upward
tidal sequence.” The same sedimentation
pattern continued during deposition of the
Eau Claire Formation.
24
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
The sandstones exposed at Irvine Park are
part of the lower and middle units of the
Mt. Simon Formation (Driese, 1979a).
Method of Study
Phe Precambrian trondhjemite and clay-
rich zone were sampled to represent the
gradation from fresh to altered rock. The
trondhjemite was studied in thin section and
chemically stained to indicate feldspar types.
The intensely altered trondhjemite was dis¬
aggregated in water and sieved. The coarser
fractions were studied under a binocular
microscope, the clay fraction was x-rayed
and the heavy mineral suite was separated
from the fine sand fraction and studied under
a petrographic microscope.
Two stratigraphic sections of the Mt.
Simon Formation were measured from the
basal contact and samples representing the
main lithologies were fragmented and sieved.
_± _ i. _ _ _ — _J
15* 10® 5* 3*
Fig. 2. X-ray diffraction pattern for clays from
the Precambrian regolith at Irvine Park. Analyses
were provided by S. W. Bailey, University of Wis-
consin-Madison.
Histograms and cumulative percent curves
were constructed from sieve analyses. A
Franz-Isodynamic separator was used to sep¬
arate the heavy minerals from the fine sand
fraction. The suites were mounted and stud¬
ied under a petrographic microscope.
Description of Units
The basement rock at Irvine Park is me¬
dium grained, weakly foliated, reddish-pink
trondhjemite. The minerals of the trondhje¬
mite are plagioclase, quartz, and biotite.
Zircon and ilmenite are accessory. Similar
trondhjemite rocks crop out at dams on the
Chippewa River at Lake Wissota and Chip-
PG: pebbles and granules,
greater than 2mm
CS- coarse sand, 2mm-l/2mm
MS: medium sand, l/2mm-l/4mm
FS: fine sand, l/4mm- I/I6mm
S= silt, less than I/I6mm
Fig. 3. Histograms of the Mt. Simon Formation
and weathered trondhjemite at Irvine Park. A)
Weathered trondhjemite, B) Subunit 1, sample 1,
C) Subunit 1, sample 3, D) Subunit 2, sample 4,
E) Subunit 3, sample 6, F) Subunit 3, sample 7,
G) Subunit 4, sample 15, H) Subunit 4, sample 19,
I) Subunit 5, sample 18.
60-
40
20-
PG CS MS FS S
1980]
Cummings and Scrivner — Saprolite at Chippewa Falls
25
pewa Falls (Fig. 1), but the relation among
the outcrops is not certain.
The fresh trondhjemite becomes increas¬
ingly altered to clay minerals as the contact
with the overlying sandstone is approached.
At the contact the minerals of the altered
rock are chiefly quartz, clay minerals and
chlorite. Strongly altered plagioclase, ilme-
nite and zircon are accessory minerals. Bio-
tite in the trondhjemite apparently is altered
to chlorite and plagioclase mainly to clay
minerals. Clay minerals separated from the
zone were analyzed by x-ray diffraction:
80-90% of the clay is kaolinite while the
remaining 10-20% is illite and vermiculite
(Fig. 2). The altered trondhjemite is soft
and upon drying can be disaggregated and
sieved (Fig. 3). Examination of the various
size fractions indicate that grains greater
than 1.0 mm are composites of quartz and
plagioclase. The composite grains are as
small as 0.59 mm but are absent in finer size
fractions. Although the alteration of the
trondhjemite is extreme, metamorphic tex¬
tures of gniess are preserved in the clay-rich
zone to the contact; a paleosol has not been
observed.
Locally the altered material has been ex¬
posed to recent weathering and is maroon-
red rather than the usual gray-green. The
color of the clay-rich zone results primaril)
from the chlorite. Upon weathering hema¬
tite becomes concentrated as red spots in
the chlorite producing the maroon-red color
of the zone.
The lower unit and lower 3 m of the mid¬
dle unit of the Mt. Simon Formation are
exposed at Irvine Park. The lower unit is
divided into 4 subunits (Fig. 4). The sub¬
units are generally similar to the sequences
defined at the park by Driese (1979a). The
reader is directed to the work of Driese who
provides a thorough and extensive descrip¬
tion of the lithologic units. This report pre¬
sents information obtained from recent
slumps that was not available to earlier au¬
thors.
The lowermost subunit contains inter-
bedded and cross-bedded conglomerate, con¬
glomeratic sandstone and fine to medium
sandstone (Fig. 3, Table 1). The subunit un-
conformably overlies the irregular surface at
the top of the clay-rich zone. Quartz clasts
up to 7 cm long occur immediately above
the basal contact. These clasts represent
vein quartz that has weathered from the
Precambrian basement. Sandstones at the
contact, which are generally conglomeratic,
are locally fine-grained and greenish clay
occurs locally on cross-bed surfaces and
discontinuous thin partings on the bedding
planes. Cross-beds are poorly developed.
The composition of the heavy mineral suites
of two samples from the subunit was deter¬
mined (Table 2). In sample 10, immediately
above the contact, 20-30% of the heavy
Table 1. Mean diameters and sorting coefficients
for the Mt. Simon Formation and regolith at
Irvine Park, Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin. Units are
listed in order of decreasing stratigraphic position.
Mean
Mt. Simon Diameter Sorting Sample
Formation (mm) Coefficient Number
Subunit 5 —
26
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
_M]ddJe unit_
Lower unit
4* sample
Mt. Simon Formation
Precambr ian
Fine-grained sandstone containing shale partings
Cross-bedded, pebbly, medium to coarse-grained sandstone
Cross-bedded medium to fine-grained sandstone. Granules occur on cross-beds,
•4*^, Precambrian regolith
Fig. 4. Stratigraphic columns for the Mt. Simon
Formation at Irvine Park, Chippewa Falls, Wis¬
consin. The left column (no. 1 in text) was pre¬
pared from an area of recent rock falls.
mineral suite is green chlorite, however, in
sample 1, 0.5 m above the contact, chlorite
is present in trace amounts. Altered grains
of plagioclase are common to both samples.
The second subunit is well-sorted fine to
medium sandstone (Fig. 3, Table 1) with
parting lineation and low angle cross-lami¬
nation present. The top of the subunit in
column 1 (Fig. 4) is marked by a mudstone
bed up to 10 cm thick. The bed extends
laterally only 5 m because at both ends it is
erosionally truncated by a prominent cross-
bedded bed 15 cm thick that defines the base
of the third subunit. The top of the mud¬
stone bed contains polygonal cracks believed
to be dessication cracks, suggesting subaerial
exposure of the bed before it was partially
eroded. The top of the second subunit is also
the top of an upward fining sequence from
the bottom of subunit 1 at the basal contact
of the formation (Table 1).
The base of the third subunit is marked
by prominent through-set cross-bedding.
Clasts of shale from the top of the underly¬
ing mudstone bed occur in the lowest beds
of the third subunit in the area of column
1 (Fig. 4). The base of the subunit is much
coarser and more poorly sorted (Table 1)
than underlying subunit 2. The subunit con¬
tains medium to coarse-grained sand and
granules which commonly occur on cross¬
bed surfaces. Interbedding of fine-grained
and medium to coarse-grained sandstones is
a common feature of subunits 3 and 4
(Table 1).
1980]
27
Cummings and Scrivner — Saprolite at Chippewa Falls
The fourth subunit is characterized by
large-scale tabular cross beds. Granules of
quartz occur on cross-bed surfaces in me¬
dium to coarse-grained sandstone. In gen¬
eral this subunit has the greatest variability
in sorting. Small amounts of reddish-green
chlorite flakes occur in the heavy mineral
suite of sample 17 (Table 2), approximately
9.5 m above the basal contact. Tourmaline,
zircon and ilmenite are also present. The
uppermost subunit defines a receding slope
underlain by medium to fine-grained friable
sandstone. The sandstone is locally finely
cross-laminated. The fifth subunit of this
study is the lowermost exposure of the mid¬
dle unit of the Mt. Simon Formation.
Interpretation
This study is concerned with the time of
formation and origin of the clay-rich zone
at the Precambrian-Cambrian contact. The
angular unconformity between the Precam-
brian basement and the Mt. Simon Forma¬
tion represents a time gap of several hundred
million years in the geologic record of west-
central Wisconsin. During this time the clay-
rich layer at the contact developed either
1) by sedimentation, 2) by in situ chemical
weathering of the basement during the late
Precambrian or 3) by ground-water leach¬
ing after deposition of the Mt. Simon Forma¬
tion.
We believe that the upward gradation
from fresh trondhjemite to clay-rich material
which preserves relic gneissic fabric pre¬
cludes formation of the deposits by sedimen¬
tation during the late Precambrian.
Ground water seepage along the Pre¬
cambrian-Cambrian contact is commonly
observed in west-central Wisconsin. As water
percolates down through the sandstone and
migrates laterally, seeps develop along val¬
leys that have been cut into the Precambrian
basement. Such interaction between ground
water and the basement rock could have
leached and altered the Precambrian ma¬
terial after the Mt. Simon Formation was
deposited. The fabric of the basement rock
would be preserved under these conditions.
Examples of saprolitization occurring be¬
neath cover have been described by Carroll
(1969). The saprolite develops if water per¬
colates down through the overlying material
and the covering material protects the de¬
veloping saprolite from erosion.
Saprolites formed by Pre-Cretaceous
weathering and characterized by excellent
preservation of primary structures in Pre¬
cambrian gneiss are recorded in the Minne¬
sota River Valley (Goldich, 1938). Actually
two extended periods of weathering are re¬
corded in the Paleozoic-Mesozoic strati¬
graphy of Minnesota. The older occurs be¬
tween the Precambrian basement and the
Cambrian Mt. Simon Formation; the younger
developed prior to deposition of the Creta¬
ceous system. The clay-rich zone at Irvine
Park is in the same relative stratigraphic po¬
sition as the older saprolites in Minnesota,
suggesting a similar origin.
If weathering in the late Precambrian
formed the clay-rich zone, one would expect
weathering products to occur in the Mt. Si¬
mon Formation. Two approaches to the
problem were pursued: 1) comparison of
the grain sizes of materials collected from
the clay-rich zone and from the Mt. Simon
Formation, 2) comparison of the heavy
mineral suites of the materials.
The clay and silt sizes prominent in the
clay-rich zone are not present or are present
in small amounts in the sandstone (Fig. 3).
Also the composite grains commonly ob¬
served in the sand-sized fractions from the
clay-rich zone are not observed in the sand¬
stone. However, the silt size fractions of
both units contain altered plagioclase grains.
The silt and clay size fractions from the clay
zone were apparently winnowed from the
sediment and the composite grains of plagio¬
clase and quartz were destroyed during depo¬
sition of the sandstone. However, the altered
plagioclase grains suggest a link between
the two units.
The composition of the heavy mineral
suites from the sandstone is more diverse
28
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
than from the clay zone (Table 2). Garnet
and epidote in the sandstone are possibly
derived from locally occurring garnet am¬
phibolites. Zircon, ilmenite and tourmaline
are found in all suites. Zircons from the clay
zone are zoned as are zircons from the basal
sandstone, but the zircons occur in a coarser
size-fraction (0.125 — 0.250 mm fraction)
in the clay zone than in the sandstone (most
occur in 0.062 — 0.125 mm, a few in 0.125
— 0.250 mm fractions). The difference in
size does not allow a clear determination of
local provenance for zircon in the sandstone
but such a suggestion is not negated.
The best diagnostic mineral in the heavy
mineral suites is chlorite. Chlorite is the pri¬
mary heavy mineral in the clay zone (sam¬
ple 8), occurring as thin, pale to medium
green flakes of uniform color. Chlorite of
the same physical appearance comprises 20-
30% of the heavy mineral suite in sample
10 immediately above the contact. Chlorite
flakes are rare 0.5 m above the contact and
are present in small amounts in sample 17
approximately 9.5 m above the contact. The
chlorites from sample 17 are more reddish-
green than in sample 10, possibly indicat¬
ing post-depositional oxidation. The chlorite
flakes in the basal Mt. Simon Formation
strongly suggest that the clay-rich zone pro¬
vided weathered sediment to the Mt. Simon
Formation and that the clay-rich zone is a
saprolite that formed before the deposition of
the Mt. Simon Formation.
The excellent unweathered exposures of
the basal Mt. Simon Formation that were
developed for a brief time at Irvine Park
contain discontinuous clay partings and clay
occurs interstitially to sand grains on cross¬
beds and bedding planes. These features are
not visible on weathered outcrop surfaces.
Such features occur mainly in the lower two
subunits of the Mt. Simon Formation. The
clays may have been derived from the clay
zone, however available data does not con¬
firm this interpretation.
If the clay zone developed by weathering
during the late Precambrian, what were the
conditions of weathering? The formation of
clay minerals is a function of temperature,
precipitation, topography, drainage and par¬
ent material (Loughnan, 1969). Kaolinite,
illite and vermiculite are the clay minerals
at the top of the weathering profile at Irvine
Park. Kaolinite, the main clay mineral, can
be formed by weathering of any aluminum
silicate material by leaching of K+, Na+, Ca2+,
Mg2+, and Fe2+ provided H+ is added. The
general conditions require precipitation
greater than evaporation, permeable rock,
percolating fresh water and oxidation of Fe2+
(Keller, 1970). The associated illite and
vermiculite can be derived from weathering
of micas and chlorite under the same condi¬
tions. The clay minerals from the regolith
in the Minnesota River Valley indicate illite
is the main clay deeper in the regolith and
kaolinite is the main clay in the upper rego¬
lith (Morey, 1972). The sampling at Irvine
Park was confined to the upper 0.2 m of
the regolith so a similar pattern is not docu¬
mented.
Paleomagnetic data indicate that western
Wisconsin was equatorial during the late
Precambrian. The paleoequator passed
through Central Wisconsin in the Eocam-
brian (700 m.y. Dott and Batten, 1971)
and by the late Cambrian Wisconsin was
approximately 15° south latitude (Irving,
1964). Equatorial climates include humid
tropical or tropical savanna; either would
meet the requirements to produce kaolin-rich
clay deposits such as those found in the
saprolites of this period.
The weathering of the Precambrian rocks
in west-central Wisconsin during the late
Precambrian occurred under a humid tropi¬
cal climate as the mid-continent region
drifted southward from the equator. (Recon¬
structions based on the present configuration
of the continents show the paleoequator
north and south during the Precambrian so
that the North American continent appears
to have migrated from east to west during the
Cambrian.) The tropical weathering condi¬
tions formed saprolites from Wisconsin into
1980]
Cummings and Scrivner — -Saprolite at Chippewa Falls
29
central and western Minnesota. The extent
of the saprolites formed during the same
weathering period in the mid-continent re¬
gion is not known.
Conclusions
The exposures of the Precambrian-Cam-
brian contact and the lower unit of the Mt.
Simon Formation at Irvine Park suggest the
following conclusions.
1) The Precambrian trondhjemite was
weathered to form a kaolinite-rich saprolite
prior to deposition of the Mt. Simon Forma¬
tion. Clastic materials from a saprolite were
deposited in the basal Mt. Simon Formation.
2) Weathering to form a saprolite was
controlled by a humid tropical climate that
developed as the mid-continent region drifted
southward during the late Precambrian.
Acknowledgments
The authors have drawn heavily on the
work of Steven Driese for interpretation of
the sedimentary environments represented
by the lower unit of the Mt. Simon Forma¬
tion. X-ray analyses of the clays were pro¬
vided by S. W. Bailey at the University of
Wisconsin-Madison. C. Lutzewitz and J.
Lauer helped in sediment collection and
analysis.
We also thank Ronald Willis, Robert Van
Atta, Steven Driese and Charles Byers for
constructive criticism of the manuscript.
References Cited
Asthana, V. L. 1969. The Mt. Simon Forma¬
tion (Dresbachian Stage) of Wisconsin.
Ph.D. dissertation, Univ. of Wisconsin-Madi¬
son.
Byers, C. W. 1978. Enigmas in Wisconsin
Cambrian and new depositional model for
type St. Croixan (abs.) . Amer. Assoc, of
Petr. Geol. Bull. 62:502.
Carroll, D. 1969. Rock weathering. Plenum
Press, New York. 200 pp.
Cummings, M. L. 1975. Structure and Petrol¬
ogy of Precambrian amphibolites, Big Falls
County Park, Eau Claire County, Wiscon¬
sin (abs.). 21st Ann. Inst, on Lake Superior
Geology.
Cummings, M. L., and Myers, P. E. 1978.
Petrology and geochemistry of amphibo¬
lites, Eau Claire River, Eau Claire County,
Wisconsin (abs.). 24th Ann. Inst, on Lake
Superior Geology.
Dott, R. H., Jr., and R. L. Batten. 1971. Evo¬
lution of the Earth. McGraw-Hill, New
York. 620 pp.
Driese, S. G. 1979a. Paleoenvironments of the
upper Cambrian Mt. Simon Formation in
Western and West-central Wisconsin. M.S.
Thesis, Univ. of Wisconsin-Madison. 207 pp.
Driese, S. G. 1979b. Depositional Environment
of the Upper Cambrian Mt. Simon Sand¬
stone in Western Wisconsin (abs.). North-
central Section of the Geol. Soc. of Amer.
11(5) :228.
Goldich, S. S. 1938. A study of rock weather¬
ing. J. of Geology. 46: 17-58.
Irving, E. 1964. Paleomagnetism and its ap¬
plication to geological and geophysical prob¬
lems. John Wiley and Sons, New York. 384
pp.
Keller, W. D. 1970. Environmental aspects of
clay minerals. J. of Sedimentary Petrology.
40:788-813.
Loughnan, F. C. 1969. Chemical weathering
of the silicate minerals. American Elsevier,
New York. 142 pp.
Morey, G. B. 1972. Pre-Mt. Simon Regolith,
in Geology of Minnesota: A Centennial Vol¬
ume, pp. 506-508.
Myers, P. E. 1974. Precambrian geology.
Guidebook, 38th Annual Tri-state Geologi¬
cal Field Conference.
Tryhorn, A. K., and Ojakangas, R. W. 1972.
Sedimentation and Petrology of the Upper
Precambrian Hinckley Sandstone of East-
Central Minnesota, in Geology of Minne¬
sota: A Centennial Volume, pp. 431-435.
Van Schmus, R. W. 1976. Early and Middle
Proterozoic History of the Great Lakes
Area, North America. Philos. Trans, of the
Royal Society of London. 280:605-628.
Van Schmus, R. W. 1980. Chronology of ig¬
neous -rocks associated with the Penokean
orogeny in Wisconsin, in Selected Studies of
Archean Gneisses and Lower Proterozoic
Rocks, Southern Canadian Shield, ed. Morey,
G. B., and Hanson, G. N. Special Paper 182,
Geol. Soc. of Amer. pp. 159-168.
VERBAL NONVERBAL COMMUNICATIONS AND RELATED
DEVELOPMENTS IN THE DRUM DANCE RELIGION
Silvester John Brito
Departments of English and Anthropology
University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee
The Native American Drum Dance re¬
ligion probably originated among the Sioux,
according to my Menominie informants,
and was brought to the Menominies by the
Chippewas. It has been practiced among the
Menominies for at least three generations
and perhaps much longer. It centers on a
sacred drum, or drums, which carry the pe¬
titioners’ prayers to God. The present fol¬
lowers of the Drum Dance religion consti¬
tute a very small group with a principal
center of population in Zoar, Wisconsin.
This settlement is the northernmost of the
three major communities located on the
Menominie Reservation in the northeastern
part of the state.
The greater portion of this religious com¬
munity is made up of people who prefer to
retain a more traditional life style than do
the Menominie of the other two communi¬
ties, Neopit and Keshena. Possibly as a re¬
sult, this northern community has remained
quite isolated, maintaining its detachment
from the outside world to the extent of re¬
fusing to have telephones within the settle¬
ment.1 Because of such isolationist practices,
the people of Zoar are regarded by the
other two Menominie communities as back¬
ward and pagan.2
The purpose of this paper is to examine
closely those current internal and external
factors that are important to both the suc¬
cess and future of the ritual process of the
Drum Dance religion among the people of
Zoar. I shall concentrate on the various forms
and levels of communication within the cere¬
mony as they are experienced by an appren¬
tice ceremonial leader. Finally, I shall specu¬
late on the direction that this native religion
may take in the near future.
Ideally the people of Zoar would prefer
to keep religious membership within a sin¬
gle tribe. However, there are too few of their
own people to carry out ritual acts related
to the specific Drums that form the focal
point of their religious ceremony: For them
to have a full service, they must rely on help
from followers of the same religion who be¬
long to other tribes. Therefore Chippewa,
Potowatomie, and Winnebago attend Me¬
nominie ceremonies, and in turn, the Me¬
nominie reciprocate by helping any of the
other groups with their ceremonies in the
northwestern part of the state. Furthermore,
Kansas Potowatomie and Kickapoo adher¬
ents of the same religion (with slight vari¬
ants) make special trips to Wisconsin to
serve as supporters for the Wisconsin
groups. These Wisconsin people and relig¬
ious groups from the Plains and Southwest
also invite Canadian Indians, as well as Wis¬
consin Indians from other religions, to their
major seasonal ceremonies. One sees the
greatest mixture of people from different
tribes when a specific rite is to be conducted
at a ceremony such as the installation (initi¬
ation) of a member who will be assigned to
a vacant station on a specific Dream Drum.
The other major occasion calling for a con¬
fluence of members from different tribes is
the death of one of the main ceremonial
members.
Thus the religious ceremonies held by the
Drum Dance people have become intertribal,
creating the necessity for intergroup rela¬
tions as well as for contact with outside
30
1980] Brito — Verbal Nonverbal Communications in the Drum Dance Religion
31
tribal groups and native religions. However,
it is important to realize that even though
all these people practice the same native
religion, each group retains certain nuances
particular to its life style and world view.
The oral tradition, is basic to the struc¬
ture of the ritual process. The oral aspect of
the Drum Dance ceremony is thus signifi¬
cantly affected when a mixed tribal ceremony
takes place, for traditional oral presentations
have a tendency to create both a communi¬
cations barrier and animosity between local
people and visiting members of a different
tribe who do not speak or understand one
another’s language. The lack of a common
language is not troublesome when a cere¬
monial leader prays in his native tongue.
The acceptance of this practice lies in the
old Indian belief that it is very important for
one to pray in his own language because the
Creator gave all peoples on this earth their
own language so they might address him very
specifically in their prayers. Therefore, mem¬
bers of all Indian religious societies recog¬
nize that each tribe must pray in its native
tongue.
Problems arise, however, when leaders
deliver advisory speeches (as opposed to
prayers) in their native language. Although
almost all of the participants understand En¬
glish, anyone who delivered a speech or
prayers in that language would be repri¬
manded by older traditionalists (a good ex¬
ample of the power of tradition).
The rigors of comprehending and adjust¬
ing to levels of communication, and to vari¬
ous other nuances that occur in such a com¬
plex ceremony, can best be viewed by fol¬
lowing the instruction of an apprentice cere¬
monial leader. One of his first lessons is to
learn the prescribed order in which speeches
are presented in the ritual process, such as
the designated points in the ceremonial
structure when chiefs are expected to speak.
The prescribed times for such speeches are
as follows: 1) When the Drum Chief calls
upon either one of the sub-chiefs, or when
another Drum Chief whom he knows pre¬
sents an eloquent and spontaneous speech to
the group; 2) when a chief assistant is called
upon by the main Drum Chief to speak to
the congregation (each can expect to be
called on at any time during the ritual); and
3) when the Chief, the assistants, or any
other member of the congregation requests
the floor for the purpose of addressing either
a religious or secular issue. These im¬
promptu speeches may be directed to the
whole congregation or only to specific mem¬
bers within that ceremony. There are occa¬
sions when a ceremonial leader will arise to
rebuke an inappropriate ritual act or some
deviant behavior which has occurred within
the prescribed ritual. When something of
that kind occurs the ceremonial leader will
not call attention to the deviant act at the
time it takes place. In accordance wih pre¬
scribed ritual order, he will wait until the ap¬
propriate time to do so — one of the times
when Chiefs are expected to speak. Further¬
more, instead of addressing the person or
persons who broke the ritual, the ceremonial
leader will direct his reprimand to the entire
congregation. This tactic achieves its point
but does not directly embarrass the offender.
It is also important to note the prescribed
manner in which the floor is obtained by
ceremonial leaders. In lieu of a verbal re¬
quest, the speaker simply rises, steps out to¬
ward the middle of the floor, and begins his
address. The apprentice as well as the con¬
gregation is well aware of the meaning of this
act, for upon seeing this movement they
know that the individual has an important
statement to convey to the membership. In
other words, the speaker utilizes both body
language and group cultural space as a
mechanism to show that he has something
important to say to the congregation. The
members in turn recognize the meaning of
this particular ritualistic act. Should it hap¬
pen that a member does not respond to
32
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vo-1. 68
this symbolic act, it is the duty of one of the
sub-chiefs, the one closest to the individual,
to call tactfully for his attention.
As the apprentice becomes better ac¬
quainted with the ceremony, he acquires the
ability to discern when an orator is present¬
ing a religious prayer rather than a secular
speech. The interaction between the speaker
and the participants, as well as within the
group, is different in each case. When a
speaker is praying or addressing the congre¬
gation with regard to religious matters,
movement within the congregation is stilled.
Mothers and fathers, relatives, and friends do
their best to quiet a crying baby. If this is not
possible, someone will take the child out of
the ceremonial area. In addition, the care¬
taker who is seated by the eastern entrance,
which is his ceremonial station, sees to it that
any young child, adolescent, or adult who
may be moving around or talking, restrains
himself. These restrictive measures are insti¬
tuted so that the congregation may hear what
the orator is saying. The attention given to
the speakers is very noticeable, for the con¬
gregation becomes a captive audience. Body
movements and behavior are so contained
when someone is praying that there is almost
a dead silence, unlike the atmosphere during
a secular speech. A deep reverence is felt
among the communicants during the time a
religious prayer is offered.
All the speeches in a Drum Dance cere¬
mony are related to religious matters, but
there is a distinct difference evident between
those of a very sacred nature, and those
which lean more toward secular, everyday
life. During the latter babies are allowed to
cry, and the children, even though they are
discouraged from doing so, are permitted
to move about a bit. In this atmosphere,
communicants may, if necessary, speak to
each other even during a speech.
The apprentice ceremonial leader must
learn that two types of orators are sanctioned
within the Drum Dance religion. One mem¬
orizes his material and the other is a spon¬
taneous orator. The communicants differen¬
tiate clearly between the two types. For
example, those speakers who memorize the
sayings and teachings of old ceremonial
leaders are considered “long-winded.” Be¬
cause they have memorized what should be
said during each particular occasion of the
rituals, they are thought of as men who speak
from the head. More highly revered speakers
“speak from their heart and not their head.”
They do not memorize their prayers. When
these religious leaders recite the teachings
of the older people they do so in their own
words while maintaining the general sense
of what the old people have said. Such
orators adapt the teachings and prayers of
the older generation to meet current prob¬
lems. As part of his education the appren¬
tice learns that members of his religious so¬
ciety feel that the man who speaks from the
heart is not only more sincere, but, in a
sense, is holier, because he is inspired by the
needs of the congregation and by his helpers
such as the Thunderbirds.
The problems of communication become
acute for an initiate who does not understand
the language of a particular native speaker,
either because he has not learned his own
native tongue or because he is from a differ¬
ent tribe. He may overcome this handicap
by learning to read and understand the ges¬
tures of the native speaker as well as the
responding proximic behavior of the com-
cunicants and older ceremonial leaders. The
apprentice learns to recognize the symbolic
signs such as body language and the various
sounds that are used by the congregation to
sanction or disapprove of a ritual act. He is
also expected to realize the importance of
dance in the ritual.
Part of this instruction is carried out by
participating in the religious dances which
form a significant part of the ritual. He must
recognize the meaning of symbols which an¬
nounce an upcoming event in the ceremony.
For example, if there is going to be a Belt
Dance he must learn to recognize the signs
1980] Brito — - Verbal Nonverbal Communications in the Drum Dance Religion
33
which will announce its occurrence: the Belt
Dance Song must be played four times on the
second night of the four-day ceremony. If the
Song is not sung four times there will be no
Belt Dance on Saturday, the third day. Mem¬
bers of the congregation also recognize this
symbolic language. They rely on and thus
listen for such signs as the Belt Song. No one
announces or asks if there will be a Belt
Dance. The songs carry this message. The
apprentice must also know when it is appro¬
priate only for men to dance and when
women are permitted to dance, as in a secu¬
lar ceremony. He must learn that, with few
exceptions, only men may dance during the
first three days and nights of a four-day-and-
night major seasonal religious ceremony.
Women are allowed to dance only when their
song is sung during a religious ceremony or
during a Squaw Dance or a Chief’s Dance.
During the sacred Belt Dance which takes
place on the third day he sees that great cau¬
tion is taken that no child runs loose or falls
for such an event might prestate a future
tragedy.
The apprentice must also recognize the
symbolic meaning of a feather which falls
from a sacred Belt (there are generally two
Eagle feather Belts in a Belt Dance). Feath¬
ers used in the Drum Dance ceremony are
considered sacred; they are also symbols of
power. In earlier times in most Indian so¬
cieties, as today among the more traditional
groups, different feathers signified different
powers, such as those obtained through
spiritual contemplation in a vision quest.
Warriors were the only ones who could wear
eagle feathers. Only a warrior had the power
to pick up a power object such as a feather.
This belief and practice is still maintained in
the Drum Dance religion. Thus, only a war
veteran or the close male relative of a de¬
ceased war veteran can pick up a fallen
feather. For an apprentice to learn all of
these rules and regulations he must be pres¬
ent and participate actively in the ritual pro¬
cess of both sacred and secular ceremonies.
After the apprentice learns the basic struc¬
ture of the ritual he begins to achieve a
higher level of awareness. He functions
within a nonverbal communication system
which binds the orator and the group.3 He
comes to realize that there are some aspects
of the Drum Dance ceremony that are so
spiritually related to his education that they
can be apprehended only in a state of total
immersion. He must let the ritual speak to
him and for him, must lose his own sense of
immediate identity in an essentially mystical
unity with the group.
The complexity of the communications
problems experienced by the apprentice is
difficult for non-Indians to understand. The
closest analogy in Western society may be
the traditional Roman Catholic ritual (prior
to the 1960’s) that members of an Ameri¬
can congregation might not understand be¬
cause the Mass was conducted in Latin. In
this situation, however, Catholics could rely
upon written translations, for they had hand
missals designed to aid them in following the
liturgy. Within the oral tradition of the Drum
Dance religion, however, there is no missal.
In these ceremonies the people basically rely
on their faith, their knowledge of the order
of the ritual process and the body language
of the speaker.4 These people adhere so
tenaciously to their traditional ways that,
unlike the members of the inter-tribal Na¬
tive American Church who use English to
convey an advisory message or to relate the
subject of a prayer, the people of the Drum
Dance religion cling to their native speech.
This is not to say that communicants in the
Drum Dance religion never converse with
each other in English after a ceremony.
However, when they speak English they
carefully refrain from discussing religious
experiences connected with their ceremonies,
making a point of keeping their conversation
within a social context.
After being intensely involved in an elec¬
trifying religious experience which lasts four
days and four nights the initiate inevitably
34
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
feels a sense of anticlimax when the cere¬
mony ends. Half a dozen ceremonial ap¬
prentices have described their emotional
state in interviews.5 To his dismay, he real¬
izes that he has lost sight of many of the
significant rites which had taken place within
the ritual. Not only does he experience a
sense of emptiness and exhaustion, but he
also finds himself questioning what he had,
in reality, learned from his first experiences
as a ceremonial apprentice. He also recog¬
nizes the possibility that perhaps he is just
temporarily disillusioned because of the over¬
whelming effect of what he has experienced.
He further rationalizes that, by going through
such a traumatic experience, he actually may
have learned more than he consciously real¬
ized during particular periods in the cere¬
mony. As he sums up these experiences he
is aware that he has been deeply affected by
all the energy forces released in the cere¬
mony, especially those rites that rely on
subtle means of non-verbal communication.
He realizes that the role of an apprentice
is much more psychologically taxing than
being a member of the congregation. To
add to his state of confusion and frustration,
the priestly elder who had been working
with him throughout the ceremony asks him
if he has learned anything. After hesitating
for a moment or two while rhetorically ask¬
ing himself “What can I say?” he confesses
that he feels he is not really sure that he
can say what he has actually perceived in
his first experience as novice ceremonial
leader. At the same time he assures his
teacher that he has undergone an intense
metaphysical and physical experience. Fi¬
nally, he summarizes his total experience in
one dramatic statement: that both physically
and mentally he experienced the feeling of
being in a vacuum — he had a sense of aban¬
donment and helplessness — even though he
was among his own people.
After hearing the apprentice speak of his
first experiences, members of the veteran
priestly class lift his depressed spirits simply
by smiling and saying that the next time will
be better. By this they mean that the more
the apprentice participates in the ceremony,
the more he will know when specific rites
should take place during the ritual process
and the more acutely he will perceive all the
nuances inherent in them. The communica¬
tion medium is participation and experience.
After several years of learning his new
role, the apprentice assistant leader realizes
the significance of being keenly in tune with
the physical behavior of the communicants.
In time, he learns the importance of being
aware of the congregation’s kinesics as a
vital element interrelated with the oral com¬
munication process.6 He knows what is tak¬
ing place between the speaker as narrator
and actor as well as what simultaneous sym¬
bolic interactions and metaphysical phenom¬
enon are taking place for narrator, audience,
and other ceremonial assistants.
There are indications, however, that the
education of an apprentice may be made
slightly easier in the future. In the past few
years, a number of older orators have re¬
sponded in an interesting way to the lan¬
guage problem. They have begun to break
with the old tradition of presenting their
speeches entirely in an Indian language. To
reach out to the younger members of the
tribes these orators are moving toward the
use of English as a lingua franca. They pref¬
ace speeches they deliver in their native
tongue by using one or two explanatory
phrases in English. A few older members of
the Drum Dance religion have stated that
they realize the reason so many of their
younger members, the below-thirty age
group, do not speak an Indian language is
because many of them are sons and daugh¬
ters of tribally mixed marriages. In such
cases the parents who speak their own tribal
language as well as English but do not under¬
stand each other’s language use English in
the home. Ironically, in this situation most
of the children do not learn either of the
Indian languages and thus grow up knowing
1980] Brito — Verbal Nonverbal Communications in the Drum Dance Religion
35
only English. To further complicate the
problem, some of the younger members are
offspring of an Indian and a non-Indian
parent. Such children usually hear only En¬
glish spoken in their homes. Other youths
are not able to learn an Indian language
because they live in cities where Indian lan¬
guages are seldom spoken in the schools or
in the working milieu of the parents. In few
cases does an adolescent in his late teens,
and out of school, have the opportunity to
live and work in a rural Indian atmosphere
and thus, in time, learn the Indian language
of a particular community.7
From a traditional point of view the older
people would prefer to have their prayers
and speeches presented in an Indian lan¬
guage. However, as a result of the environ¬
mental and sociocultural factors involved,
the majority of native orators may one day
use English, even for their ceremonial
speeches, thus significantly altering current
practice.
In addition to changes designed to solve
the language problem, other changes can be
noted in those impromptu religious speeches
that are presented by orators who “speak
from the heart.” These leaders, as well as
members of the lay congregation, are moving
away from the older custom of preaching
and responding to a way of life related to an
older tradition. This does not mean that they
do not respect the customs of the older mem¬
bers of the church, but rather that, as
younger religious leaders, they realize that
they must communicate with God according
to the current needs of their religious society.
They realize that the older church people led
a more placid and stable way of life in which
there were fewer stressful encounters with
either whites or Indian people of different
tribes. These leaders are also aware that their
young people face totally different encoun¬
ters in Western-oriented society: young peo¬
ple often find themselves in a world of rapid
change that has created a different set of
needs than those expected in the old days.
There are leaders in the Drum Dance re¬
ligion who would like to maintain and re¬
vitalize some of the older traditional ways of
life, although they must use discretion in
stressing such things in prayers that must
also be relevant to the younger generation.
They know that what their elders taught
often is no longer directly applicable to
everyday life. In response to such internal
and external pressures, their speeches have
become more complex, and are often more
eloquent than earlier narratives. Such ora¬
tions deal with sociocultural factors — for
example, change within the group — as well
as providing church members with spiritual
support to aid them in their adaptation to the
pressures of the dominant Anglo-American
society. Modifications of the ceremony are
also made to accommodate people of differ¬
ent tribal backgrounds who may have differ¬
ent world views. All these factors will have
a significant effect upon the communication
process in the Drum Dance religion as it is
now practiced among the people of Zoar.
Notations
1 This is not to say that they do not have any
contact with the outside world, for I do not know
of any Indian reservation in the Northern Hemi¬
sphere which has not been exposed to and affected
by the ways of Western society. The Zoar com¬
munity, in fact, is comparable to those communi¬
ties which make up the major populated sections
of the Hopi Reservation.
2 This particular point of inter-group reference
may be the result of the influence and impact that
Christianity has had upon the people in the south¬
ernmost Menominie settlements. It is safe to state
that the greater portion of the population within
Neopit and Keshena have acquired the beliefs and
values of the Western world of Christianity. In
contrast it is important to note that the Zoar peo¬
ple, even though being exposed to great pressures
from the outside world, from their counterparts,
continue to maintain and practice many of the old
traditional ways of life.
3 See Edward T. Hall’s The Hidden Dimension
for a discussion of proximic behavior.
4 The repetition of the ritual reaffirms their faith
and helps to maintain the religious values within
36
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
the society. For further reference to a major study
on this type of phenomenon, see Victor Turner’s
Ritual Process.
5 Wallace Pyawasit, 60, Potowatomie-Menomo-
nie
Johnson Awonahopay, 63, Potowatomie-Me-
nomonie
Jerry Hawpetoss, 27, Potowatomie-Menomonie
Littie Dixon, 41, Cherokee
Irene Mack, 65, Menomonie
Max Dixon, 43, Menomonie
Kevin Dixon, 20, Menomonie-Cherokee
Wallace Pyawasit and Johnson Awonahopay are
ceremonial leaders, Jerry Hawpetoss and Max
Dixon are sub-leaders, and the others are appren¬
tices. It is important to note that there is no set
age at which a person becomes a ritual apprentice.
These interviews were done in 1976-77.
6 See Ray Birdwhistell’s Kinesics and Context;
Essays on Body Motion Communication for
the kinesics theory.
7 It is important to note that this language prob¬
lem is now being addressed by the University of
Wisconsin at Oshkosh, Green Bay, and Milwaukee
as well as Northland College in Ashland, Wiscon¬
sin. These institutions offer Indian language pro¬
grams which are geared to help older native speak¬
ers learn how to teach their native language. In
turn, it is expected that these people will obtain
positions in public schools which have Indian
students and teach these young people the language
of their heritage. It is too early to predict whether
or not these programs will affect the direction the
ceremonial speeches will take in the Drum Dance
religion in comparison to their current presentation
in a native language.
IS THE CHRISTOS PASCHON THE PROTOTYPE OF
CHRISTIAN RELIGIOUS DRAMA?
Edmund Roney
Speech and Drama Department
Ripon College
In his Essai sur les Moers et L’Espirit des
Nations, Voltaire states his belief that Chris¬
tian religious drama was originated by Gre¬
gorio Nazianzeno, the 4th century bishop
who served briefly as patriarch of Constan¬
tinople.1 Since the only drama attributed to
Gregorio Nazianzeno is the Christos Pas-
chon, we may conclude that Voltaire based
his remarks on his familiarity with this play,
which has come down to us through a 12th
century manuscript.
The Christos Paschon is of great interest
for a wide variety of reasons, not the least of
which is that it is the earliest known com¬
plete dramatization of the passion of Christ.
It is composed in the form of a cento, a style
of poetic composition popular in the fourth
and fifth centuries. This poetic form has re¬
pulsed many later critics because it has ap¬
peared to them to be based on plagiarism.
The form requires the composer to select his
lines from well-known works of poetry or
drama and re-work them into a separate,
self-contained poetic composition. In the
case of the Christos Paschon, more than 80
percent of the lines are recognizably derived
from a wide variety of Euripides’ plays. It
should be noted that this was a perfectly ac¬
ceptable and respectable poetic form that
came into being around the 4th century A.D.
and continued in use for some centuries
thereafter. Once the play is translated into
the vernacular, the resemblance of its lines
to those of Euripides vanishes and the play
stands forth as a strikingly original dramati¬
zation of the passion of Christ.
Although Gregorio Nazianzeno is the au¬
thor to whom the play is most frequently at¬
tributed, it has also been attributed to a
variety of subsequent sources, some as late
as the 12th century. Even if the latest at¬
tribution is accepted, the Christos Paschon
remains the earliest example of a complete
dramatization of the passion of Christ. If
the earliest attribution is accepted, then it is
clearly the earliest example of a Christian
liturgical drama.
Andre Tuilier consulted twenty five extant
manuscripts of the play in thirteen different
libraries in Europe and Asia Minor.2 While
his main effort is devoted to establishing the
authenticity of the authorship of Gregorio
Nazianzeno, his scholarship indicates that
the manuscripts were circulating in the west
as early as the twelfth century and perhaps
earlier.3 In a recent paper “Gregoire de Na-
zianze, La Passion du Christ, Tragedie,”
which includes a fully annotated publication
of the Greek text with a French translation,
Tuilier concludes that the play is very prob¬
ably the work of the 4th century patriarch,
Gregorio Nazianzeno, who lived from 330 to
390 A.D.1 In another article containing an
excellent thematic analysis of the play, San¬
dro Sticca also concludes that the play
should be attributed to Gregorio Nazian¬
zeno.5 Professor Sticca pays particular atten¬
tion to the theological intent of the author,
which he thinks parallels the theological in¬
terests of Gregorio. In “Liturgical Drama in
Byzantine Literature,” Theodore Bogdanos,
while recognizing the persuasiveness of Pro¬
fessor Sticca’s arguments, nevertheless be¬
lieves that the play is a literary exercise of
the eleventh or twelfth centuries.6 Professor
Bogdanos’ opinion seems to be based on his
extreme distaste for the form of the cento.
In an earlier article, “La datation et l’attribu-
tion du Christos Paschon et 1’art du centon,”
Tuilier clearly established the historical fact
37
38
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
that the cento was an art form that flourished
in the 4th and 5th centuries.7
The early date of the play is further sup¬
ported by Venetia Cottas who presents a
fascinating argument that the Christos Pas-
chon served as a direct inspiration for most
of the iconographic works dealing with the
passion of Christ from as early as the fifth
century A.D.8 While admitting that she is
unable to present direct testimony on this
point, she nevertheless presents numerous
persuasive examples of art works whose de¬
tails coincide meticulously with the scenic
details set forth in the dialogue and action
of the Christos Paschon.
Regardless of the fact that over eighty
percent of its lines may be shown to have
been adapted from various sources in Eurip¬
ides and elsewhere, an objective examination
of the work reveals that it is a self-contained
dramatization of the passion of Christ pre¬
sented through the perspective of his mother,
Mary. Tuilier aptly refers to the play as.
. . la tragedie Chretienne par excellence.
Ce drame imite les Anciens pour le fond et
pour la forme. Tout en reprenant les expres¬
sions memes du grand Tragique, l’auteur
utilize les themes et la mis en scene du
theatre grec.9
The play’s dramaturgy is wrought with great
technical skill, and its thematic development
presents considerable insight into the human
condition. It assumes the fundamental dig¬
nity of man and womankind, emphasizes free
will and responsibility in the area of moral
choices, and assumes the existence of a super¬
natural force that is concerned with human
affairs. It then proceeds to dramatize the
conflict between its tragic heroine and the
problem of evil in the universe. The pattern
of action thus presented is tragic in form.
The text of the play, as translated by
Tuilier, commences with a thirty line pro¬
logue. The author states his intent to drama¬
tize the passion of Christ after the manner
of Euripides, and outlines his theme of the
redemption of humanity through the sacri¬
fice of Christ. The action starts with a mono¬
logue by Theotokos, the virgin mother of
Christ, who explains that she is abroad in
the night to witness the passion of her son.
She is shortly joined by a chorus of holy
women, and, together, they witness the ap¬
proach of an armed crowd that is cursing
and beating Christ. A messenger enters and
describes the betrayal of Christ by Judas
and the condemnation of Christ to death.
They follow the mob to Calvary, where
Christ speaks to her from the cross, entrust¬
ing John to her care and consoling her in
moving terms. From this point on, Mary as¬
sumes the additional role of the mother of
humanity. Christ grants her pleas for the
forgiveness of Peter and the descendants of
those who are tormenting him. After his
death, John, who is also referred to as the
Theologian, predicts his resurrection. The
chorus then divides itself into two parts to
interpret and discuss the preceeding events.
Their dialogue is interrupted by the episode
of the centurion Longinus and his miracu¬
lous conversion. Joseph of Aramithea and
Nicodemus then arrive to recover Christ’s
body. They lower it into the arms of Mary,
who gives voice to a particularly poignant
lamentation over the body of her son. This
scene is felt by Venetia Cottas, the author
of L’influence du drame Christos Paschon
sur Vart chretienne d’Orient to have served
as the initial inspiration for many subsequent
depictions in the graphic arts of Mary
mourning over the body of her son.10 Joseph
then announces the death of Judas, and the
chorus gloats in a manner strongly reminis¬
cent of the Bacchae exulting over the death
of Pentheus. Joseph and Nicodemus then
carry the body to the tomb, and all of the
characters repair to John’s house to rest for
the night. In his role as Theologian, John
explains the Christian mysteries and de¬
scribes the harrowing of Hell to Joseph and
Nicodemus. In the morning, a messenger ar¬
rives to report that a guard has been placed
over the tomb of Christ. This persuades
them to remain in the house until Easter
39
Roney — Is the Christos Paschon the Prototype of Religious Drama?
1980]
morning. That night the Virgin asks for a
volunteer to reconnoiter the tomb and Mary
Magdalene agrees to do it. The Virgin then
decides to accompany her and (from lines
2020 through 2097) the visit of the Marys
to Christ’s tomb on Easter morning is acted
out. Christ appears to them and instructs
them to inform the disciples of the good
news. On their way to do so, they are
stopped by a messenger who relates the dia¬
logue he has just overheard between the
tomb guards and the Temple priests after the
resurrection. The priests have bribed the
guards to hide the truth. As the messenger
repeats the words of one of the guards, his
speech gradually assumes the characteristics
of that guard until he actually becomes the
guard. At this point, he is joined by the High
Priests and Pilate and they proceed to act
out the scene that the messenger has been
describing. The dramaturgic intent of the
author seems clearly to have been to insert a
flashback scene into his play at this point. It
is probably the earliest example of the use
of a flashback scene in dramatic literature.
At the end of this scene, the messenger re¬
assumes his initial characterization, and the
focus of the scene returns to Mary, the
chorus and Mary Magdalene, with no sign
of a break in the continuous action of these
scene. Presumably, Pilate, the High Priests
and the other guards leave the stage as the
flashback ends.
The characters then return to John’s
house, where Christ again appears and in¬
structs the disciples to preach his word
throughout the world. The play concludes
with a prayer or exodos celebrating the dual
nature of Mary, both as Mother of God and
as the mother of humanity.
While it cannot be denied that there has
been a great deal of controversy concerning
the authorship of the Christos Paschon, the
latest, most meticulous scholarship appears
to indicate that it is the work of Gregorio
Nazianzeno. It would therefore seem to be
an authentic drama of the 4th century A.D.
In “II Christus Patiens: Rassegna Delle
Attribuzioni,” Francesco Trisoglio presents
an exhaustive review of research concerning
the play.11 It is by far the best bibliographi¬
cal study of the problem to date. While he
does not seem to clearly state his own opin¬
ion concerning the attribution of the play,
the latest research covered by his study seems
to favor the authorship of Gregorio Nazian¬
zeno, lending further credence to its standing
as a 4th century A.D. drama.
While there is no evidence that it directly
inspired a Latin liturgical drama, the mere
existence of Christos Paschon lends consider¬
able support to Voltaire’s assertion that
Christian Greek religious drama influenced
the origins of medieval Italian and French
religious drama. If the latest scholarship dat¬
ing the play from the 4th century A.D. is
accepted, then it is undoubtedly our earliest
example of Christian drama.
Notations
1 Voltaire, Essai sur les Moers et L’Esprit des
Nations, in Oeuvres Completes, tome 17 (L’lmpri-
merie de la Societe Litteraire-Typographic, 1785),
pp. 376-7.
2 Tuilier, Andre, “Gregoire de Nazianze, La
Passion du Christ,” Sources Chretienne, tome 149
(1969), pp. 75-116.
3 Loc. Cit.
4 Tuilier, Andre, “Gregoire de Nazianze, La Pas¬
sion du Christ, Tragedie, Introduction, Texte, Tra¬
duction, Notes et Index,” Sources Chretienne, tome
149 (1969), p. 116. Eds du cerf, Paris.
3 Sticca, Sandro, “The Christos Paschon and the
Byzantine Theater,” Comparative Drama, Spring,
1974, pp. 28-41.
G Bogdanos, Theodore, “Liturgical Drama in By¬
zantine Literature,” Comparative Drama, 1976-77,
p. 208.
7 Tuilier, Andre, “La datation et l’attribution du
Christos Paschon et Part du centon.” Actes du VP
Congres International d’ etudes byzantines (Paris:
1948), tome I (1950), pp. 403-9.
8 Cottas, Venetia, L’influence du drame “ Christos
Paschon” sur Part chretien d’orient (Paris: Librairie
Orientaliste Paul Guenthner, 1931), pp. 110-13.
9 Tuilier, Andre, “Greboire de Nazianze, La Pas¬
sion du Christ,” p. 19.
10 Ibid., pp. 36-42.
11 Trisoglio, Francesco. “II Christus Patiens:
Rassegna delle attribuzioni,” Rivista di Studi Clas-
sici, 22: 351-423.
FINNEGANS WAKE AND THE LINGUISTIC RENAISSANCE
Craig Carver
Department of English
University of W isconsin-Madison
In James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake, there
is a passage in which Shaun the Post de¬
scribes the interior of his brother’s house.
Because his brother, Shem the Penman, is
a writer, it isn’t surprising to find that
Shem’s house is cluttered with literary debris
which has collected like dust-balls and cob¬
webs over the years :
You brag of your brass castle or your tyled
house in ballyfermont? Niggs, niggs and
niggs again. For this was a stinksome inken-
stink, quite puzzonal to the wrottel. Smatter-
afact, Angles aftanon browsing there thought
not Edam reeked more rare. My wud! The
warped flooring of the lair and the sound¬
conducting walls thereof, to say nothing of
the uprights and imposts, were persianly
literatured with burst loveletters, telltale
stories, stickyback snaps, doubtful eggshells,
bouchers, flints, borers, puffers, amygdaloid
almonds, rindless raisins, alphybettyformed
verbage, vivlical viasses, ompiter dictas . . .
once current puns, quashed quotatoes, messes
of mottage, unquestionable issue papers
(FW 183). 1
Besides an impression of general clutter, the
last thing we get from this description is a
clear picture of Shem’s room. It is as if such
a picture were irrelevant. The words are so
busy calling our attention to themselves that
the things they refer to get lost. Shem’s room
is buried in “messes of mottage”; it is hidden
beneath the very “alphybettyformed verb-
age” which should reveal it. The words them¬
selves have more being and substance than
the things they refer to. Moreover, though
this is one of the clearer passages in Finne¬
gans Wake, in order to puzzle it out, we will
need either some knowledge of half a dozen
languages or else own half a dozen diction¬
aries.
We might well ask, what ever happened
to the straightforward story with a straight¬
forward narrative? Why this apparent lin¬
guistic anarchy which Joyce himself calls
the “abnihilisation of the etym?” What hap¬
pened in the period between Jane Austin’s
genteel descriptions of drawing rooms and
this seemingly chaotic version of a descrip¬
tion?
To begin to answer these questions, I will
first examine briefly the so-called 19th cen¬
tury discovery of language; then, I will out¬
line the way in which much of 20th century
literature embodies three ideas emerging
from the linguistic renaissance: first, that
words are objective, concrete entities; sec¬
ond, that words are “rooted” in the past and
connect us with the order and culture of our
ancestors; and third, that languages are in¬
terrelated. I will concentrate on Joyce’s last
work, Finnegans Wake, which is in many
ways a paradigm for the linguistic concerns
of many of the writers of the 20th century.
During the 17th century the works of
Descartes and Locke shifted attention to the
nature of mind and thought, and thus even¬
tually to language, the medium of thought.
Language became the subject of a renais¬
sance of scientific and philosophical inquiry
which inevitably influenced literature, though
not overtly until the end of the 19th century
when writers began to scrutinize their artistic
medium with a new intensity, making it part
of their message. Thus, one of the charac¬
teristics of 20th century modernism is its
linguistic self-consciousness, its unprece¬
dented, heightened awareness of language.
40
1980]
Carver — -Finnegans Wake and the Linguistic Renaissance
41
This awareness, it is true, is in some degree
an innate part of the genius of every poet;
but by the 20th century, it had become an
overtly conscious part.
When the philologists Rasmus Rask and
Franz Bopp in the first decades of the 19th
century led the way into the uncharted land
of languages, the only equipment they took
with them was the scientific method. The
purpose of their expedition, and of the more
refined ones conducted later, was to gather
phonological and morphological specimens
from several Indo-European languages, and,
by comparative analysis, inductively to de¬
rive laws of linguistic change. For the first
time with any real depth or consistency, lan¬
guage was being treated as an observable
phenomenon. Words and their sound pat¬
terns were empirical entities that could be
studied.
By the turn of the 19th century, after dec¬
ades of scientific philology, the impact of
which was popularly felt in the monumental
and scholarly Oxford English Dictionary,
the writer as never before was aware of his
medium as a medium, with its own ontology.
Words were now no longer simply transpar¬
ent signifiers, but were seen to participate
more directly in reality; they were objects
in a world of objects. This insight was ex¬
ploited not only by Joyce, but by Pound,
Eliot and others, and forms a foundation for
the poetic theory and works of William Car¬
los Williams, the Objectivist and later Pro-
jectivist poets, as well as the group of artists
writing in what David Hayman calls the
wake of the Wake.
Joyce’s work in this regard is paradig¬
matic. To his fictional protagonists, words
first have an objective and empirical identity.
The boy in the story “Sisters” is fascinated
by the words “paralysis,” “gnomon,” and
“simony,” which “had always sounded
strangely in” his ears (D 9). Stephen De-
dalus, whom Joyce called a “gentleman
wordsharper,” also makes various lexical
discoveries, including as a child the word
“suck” whose “sound was ugly” (P 11).
When we come to Finnegans Wake, how¬
ever, like Stephen and the boy in the story,
we, the readers, are the protagonists and dis¬
coverers of linguistic artifacts in the rubble
heap of the book. When, for example, in
the beginning we are confronted by a thun-
derword, we cannot help but marvel at the
ridiculous thing snaking across the page as
if it were alive, having a separate, unlikely
existence of its own:
The fall (bababadalgharaghtakamminarron-
nkonnbronntonnerronntuonnthunntrovarrho-
unawnskawntoohoohoordenenthurnuk!) of a
once wallstrait oldparr is retaled early in bed
and later on life down through all Christian
minstrelsy ( FW 3). 2
It is a word gone beserk, an impossible word
which insists on its individuality as an aural
and visual entity and on its right to exist as
a thing, a sound-image which has meaning.
In Finnegans Wake the thunderword is
the primordial sound of the Fall of God into
his creation, of the fall of Finnegan, the hod
carrier, off his ladder, and of humpty dumpty
off the wall, events which initiate new cosmic
and historical cycles. It is also the primal
linguistic stuff of prelapsarian Babel, the di¬
vine first substance, Logos. Not only does its
strange sound as a word draw attention to its
substance and essence, but its visual, printed
form is a necessary part of its being. Indeed,
Finnegans Wake and many other “verbi-
vocovisual” modern works need to be read
with the eyes as well as with the ears.
The tendency in modern literature to treat
words as objects is probably grounded as
much in the technology of printing as it is
in the scientific method of philology; in fact,
taking a cue from Marshal McLuhan, it
could be argued that the phonetic alphabet
and the printing press necessarily had to be
invented before the linguistic renaissance
could develop. Print makes language an ob-
42
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
ject, giving it a visual presence which the
artist can exploit. To appreciate much of
modern literature, particularly poetry, we as
readers must be “abcedminded” ( FW 18.17)
without being absent minded. We must be
attuned to the visual puns and to the physi¬
cal appearance of the word on the page, as
well as to the music of the text. The “alphy-
bettyform” of each thunderword, for exam¬
ple, consists of 100 letters except for the
tenth thunderword which has 101 letters,
making 1001 letters in all. Letters are the
building blocks, the atoms of this linguistic
universe, and the total number of them in
the thunderwords is symbolic of birth and
renewal, for the one thousand and first let¬
ter is the beginning of a new millenium, of
a new cosmic cycle.
Philology, in addition to enhancing the
modern writer’s ontological awareness of
words, gave him an awareness of the history
and interrelatedness of languages. Compara¬
tive and historical linguistics discovered that
the genealogy of a word or family of words
could frequently be traced to a single source
or an a-priori root-word. Through meta¬
phorical process and ordered phonetic
change which could be stated in terms of
laws, the root metamorphosed into various
forms at various times in its descent to the
present. Language, as Hugh Kenner has ob¬
served, was discovered to be
a complex coherent organism that is no more
the sum of its constituent words than a
rhinoceros is the sum of its constituent cells,
an organism that can maintain its identity as
it grows and evolves in time, that can re¬
member, that can anticipate, that can mu¬
tate. Latin is not a dead language; everyone
in Paris speaks it, everyone in Rome, every¬
one in Madrid. The poetic of our time grows
from this discovery.3
Or as the Wake puts it: “the sibspeeches
of all mankind have foliated . . . from the
root of some funner’s stotter” (FW 96).
Though such a discovery seems rather
commonplace today, when Joyce was a
young man studying Skeat’s Etymological
Dictionary, it was a vision which had many
implications for literature. Because language
could be seen as something organic rooted
in and growing out of the past, it was testi¬
mony to the continuity of human experience.
At a time when science and Darwinism
seemed to be cutting man away from God
and meaningful existence, language was re¬
connecting him with his past, creating order
and meaning for the present.
The language of Finnegans Wake, which
Shaun calls “root language,” is the artistic
embodiment of this second philological in¬
sight. It is constructed (though that is too
static an image) out of the bricks of etymo¬
logical root-words. With the Greek word
“Bronton” (see note 2) embedded in the
thunderword, for example, Joyce is connect¬
ing with the ancient world where the Thun¬
derer, Zeus, ruled myth and religion.
Moreover, some of the techniques which
Joyce uses to derive the Wake's “root lan¬
guage” or “ur sprogue” are analogous to
many of the theoretical processes which oc¬
cur in the evolution of language. To give
one example, Joyce plays with the phonetic
law that describes one of the developments
of the Celtic languages from proto-Indo-
European, namely, the shift from /p/ to
/k/, as seen, for example, in the cognate
forms for “foot” which are in Latin pes,
Greek pous, and Gaelic cosy Hence, the
Wake word, “quotatoes.” A more involved
example is Shaun’s attempt to convert Ro¬
man Catholics into proper Irish Catholics
by calling them “roman pathoricks” (FW
27.02). Shaun’s word also demonstrates
Joyce’s use of the linguistic phenomenon of
L/R interchange. That is, he takes “Roman
Catholics,” applies the P/K shift to derive
“Roman Patholics,” to which he then ap¬
plies the L/R interchange rule to arrive at
“roman pathoricks.”
Finally, if the word is a thread extending
into the past, binding the past to the present,
it is also a part of a fabric woven and inter-
1980]
Carver — Finnegans Wake and the Linguistic Renaissance
43
woven with the threads of many other words
or many other languages. That is, the phi¬
lologist’s comparative method revealed that
all Indo-European languages are interre¬
lated. No language is an island. This aware¬
ness recovered for the modern artist some
of the lost social and metaphysical coherence
he was desperately seeking. Men are united
by virtue of their language. In part for this
reason, many 20th century writers, particu¬
larly Pound, Joyce and Eliot, freely use for¬
eign words and phrases. Pound in the Can¬
tos, for example, borrowed freely from
Greek, Latin, French, Provencal, Spanish,
Italian, as well as Arabic, Chinese and
Egyptian Hieroglyphic languages. One
shrinks from making an inventory for Fin¬
negans Wake where such languages as Swa¬
hili and Polynesian have been identified. The
thunderword, for example, is made up of
many foreign words, as well as roots which
mean noise and thunder (see note 2). It is
an attempt at universality, at connecting all
men and nations in a timeless moment.
I have tried here to sketch some of the
ideas of the linguistic renaissance which af¬
fected one of the more obvious works of
linguistic experimentation, a work whose
major theme, as Hugh Kenner noted, is lan¬
guage itself. In this sense, Finnegans Wake
can provide a key to the further linguistic
study of modern literature, as well as to the
concept of modernism in literature.
Notations
1 References to Joyce’s works will be cited par¬
enthetically using the editions and abbreviations
noted below:
James Joyce, Dubliners (New York: Viking
Press, 1967). Abbreviated as D.
— — - , Finnegans Wake (New York: Viking
Press, 1939). Abbreviated as FW.
— - - , A Portrait of the Artist as a Young
Wan (New York: Viking Press, 1964). Abbrevi¬
ated as P.
2 A partial gloss of the thunderword:
-gharaghtak- Gaelic: gaireachtach =
boisterous
-bronnto- Greek: to thunder
-bronnton- Greek: Thunderer, epithet for
Zeus
-ton- Latin: tono = to thunder
-tonner- French: tonner = to thunder
German: Donner = thunder
-skawn- Gaelic: scan = crack
-thurnuk- Gaelic: tornach = thunder
3 Hugh Kenner, The Pound Era (Berkeley: Uni¬
versity of California Press, 1971), p. 96.
4 See Brenden O’Heir, A Gaelic Lexicon of “ Fin¬
negans Wake” (London: Oxford University Press,
1970), pp. 198-208, for a discussion of the P/K
shift.
SNOW CRYSTALLOGRAPHY AND STRENGTH
An Index of the Effectiveness of Roof Insulation
Charles C. Bradley
Director of Research
Leopold Memorial Reserve
Abstract
Crystallographic and strength profiles taken in the mid-winter snowpack on a
residence-laboratory roof in south central Wisconsin show a close correlation with
the internal thermal regimen and ceiling architecture of the building. These rela¬
tionships suggest the feasability of using these two snowpack parameters as a field
index of the effectiveness of insulation.
Introduction
On a cold winter day, melting snow on
the roof of a heated building is an obvious
indication of poor insulation and excessive
heat loss. More subtly, a roof supporting a
snowpack with a basal ice layer indicates
greater heat loss than one with no basal ice.
In this case the capillarity and low tempera¬
ture of the snow was capable of “blotting-
up” and refreezing the small amount of melt
water which had been released.
Today, with increased emphasis on home
insulation there is a corresponding increase
in survival of snow on the roof, often with¬
out formation of basal ice. However, even
with roof temperatures less than 0°C the heat
flow seems to be sufficient to metamorphose
the snow, modifying both its crystal structure
and its mechanical properties. The degree of
metamorphosis is proportional to the heat
flow.
This paper describes how, with the use
of simple equipment, the crystallinity and
strength of snow on a roof can be examined
to quickly give an index of relative heat loss.
Swiss avalanche researchers were the first
to describe the relationship of the thermal
regimen to the crystallography and strength
of snow on the ground (Bader et al, 1939).
La Chapelle (1969) noted that two kinds of
recrystallization take place in snow on the
ground at temperatures less than 0°C. Equi-
temperature metamorphism produces fine
granular snow which becomes well bonded
(sintered) and stronger as time passes.
Temperature gradient metamorphism inter¬
feres with the sintering process and over
time produces beautiful, coarse, euhedral
crystals called depth hoar. Thus there is the
general association of weakness with depth
hoar development.
A temperature gradient in the snowpack
implies the flow of heat through the pack.
The normal source for this heat is energy
stored in the ground during the summer and
gradually released in winter. At any given
moment, the thermal gradient in snow is a
function of the temperature difference be¬
tween the ground-snow interface and the
snow-air interface distributed over the depth
of the snowpack. The steeper the gradient,
the greater the heat flow, the more complete
the metamorphism, and the more perfect
the euhedral development of depth hoar
crystals.
Since the ground is the heat source and
the oldest snow is nearest the ground, the
crystal development of the basal snow pro¬
vides the clearest index of heat flow.
Regarding snow strength, Bradley et al.
(1978) showed that while gradient meta¬
morphism causes snow to lose strength with
time, the weakest snow is actually associated
with partially developed (subhedral) depth
44
1980]
Bradley — Snow Crystallography and Strength
45
hoar a few centimeters above the base, and
that in the last phase of crystal perfection
there is a slight gain in strength. This study
demonstrates that the same holds true for
snow on the roof and hence snow strength
again can be used as an index of heat flow.
The winter of 1978-79 in southern Wis¬
consin produced heavy snow loads. Roof
collapse was common. This winter was also
a time of protracted cold. From December
30 until mid-February the temperature never
rose above freezing on the Leopold Me¬
morial Reserve near Baraboo, Wisconsin.
The diurnal temperature typically ranged
from about —25° to — 15°C. By February,
the bottom half of the 50 cm. of accumu¬
lated snow on the ground was composed
largely of depth hoar, so weak that the pack
tended to collapse under the load imposed
by a skier.
On January 19, we decided to unload
snow from the roof of the Reserve Study
Center. Spontaneous collapse of a small area
of the roof snowpack occurred as the first
shovel was inserted. The Center is well in¬
sulated even by modern standards but this
evidence of extreme fragility indicated sig¬
nificant heat flow from the roof. In addition,
as the roof snow seemed even weaker than
the snow on the ground, a different thermal
regimen was indicated although the nature of
the difference was not immediately clear.
A search for heat loss indices was conducted
over the next two days as 23 metric tons of
snow were shoveled from the roof.
Methods
The degree of gradient metamorphism in
the snowpack was determined using two
kinds of vertical profiles: 1. crystal perfec¬
tion of the depth hoar; 2. snow strength (See
Fig- 1).
Crystal perfection was observed with a
hand lens (10X) on samples taken at 5 cm-
intervals from a vertical cut face of the pack.
Special attention was given to weak zones
near the base. Three categories were se¬
lected: Anhedral, irregular grains but no
crystal faces visible. Subhedral, scattered
crystal faces visible. Euhedral, crystal facets
clearly dominant in the entire sample.
Snow strength was observed in two ways.
The first is qualitative. Immediately after
cutting the vertical face the surface of the
cut was brushed lightly with a whisk broom
which etches the weaker layers leaving the
stronger layers as ridges. By giving approxi¬
mately equal treatment to the entire face the
relief produced by the whisk broom is a
fairly reliable measure of the relative strength
of the various layers.
A snow resistometer was used to obtain
a more quantitative measure of strength.
The instrument consists of a metal probe
with a conical point. The probe is pushed
vertically into the snowpack. A sensitive dis¬
placement dial mounted in the spring handle
records the force per unit area of the cone
(N/m2) necessary to achieve penetration.
The instrument has an accuracy in excess of
0.5 N/m2.
Using preliminary vertical measurements
from the whisk broom profile as a guide for
the resistometer I obtained spot strength
measurements of preselected zones in the
snowpack. The mean of four probes repre¬
sent each point plotted. The points were
then connected on a line sketched from the
whisk broom profile. The plotted profiles
also show those particular layers that were
seen to collapse on the pit face when dis¬
turbed by the shovel or by pressure deliber¬
ately applied to the upper snow surface.
The decision to study the roof snowpack
was made too late for a proper investigation
of the actual thermal history of the pack.
Still, the imprint of that history was suffici¬
ently clear for a qualitative comparison of
four roof areas each of which had had a
different thermal regimen. For additional
comparisons profiles of snow on the lawn
and one from snow on the unheated wood¬
shed where gradient metamorphism should
have been minimal were included.
SNOW DEPTH CCQ.
46
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
1 2
TWO CEILING STYLES
A - VAULTED, NO ATTIC
(PROFILES 1 AND L\ )
B - WITH ATTIC SPACE
(PROFILES 2 AND 3)
CRYSTALLINITY PROFILE
NEW SNOW
ANHEDRAL GRANULAR SNOW
SUBHEDRAL DEPTH HOAR
EUHEDRAL DEPTH HOAR
CRUST LAYER
ICE LAYER
© o c
e> o
o a o
AAA
A A
AAA
V
10 20 30 40
SNOW STRENGTH Nin"2 x 1q3
© SNOW STRENGTH MEASURED WITH
SNOW RESISTOMETER
The curve integrates the
MEASURED POINTS WITH VISUAL
EVALUATION OF A WISK BROOM
ABRASION PROFILE.
Fig. 1. Crystallinity and strength profiles of snow on the roof of the study center,
Leopold Memorial Reserve, obtained January 19-20, 1979.
SNOW DEPTH Cm.
1980]
Bradley — Snow Crystallography and Strength
47
3
5
4
6
50
40
30
20
10
50
40
30
20
10
48
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Temperature readings reported in the
study were obtained mainly during the pe¬
riod of shovelling and hence only suggest
the thermal regimens influencing the snow
metamorphism.
The living room roof, alone of the four
areas, faces south. The others face north.
But, since outside air temperatures had not
approached melting point all winter and
since light penetration into snow is low, it
seems safe to assume that this difference
was unimportant. The profiles tend to con¬
firm that assumption (Fig. 1).
Observations .
Six pairs of profiles were prepared, one
pair each for the four roof areas of the Cen¬
ter, and one pair each for the woodshed and
lawn (Fig. 1). Except for the lawn profile
the profiles are arranged in order of decreas¬
ing thermal gradient.
Profile 1 was taken over the living room
where internal temperatures at shoulder
height were held between 12°C and 18°C.
Temperatures measured at the peak of the
high (3.5 m) vaulted ceiling were 4 or 5 de¬
grees higher. The ceiling-roof consists of 5
cm. styrofoam insulation sandwiched be¬
tween wood with a total thickness of about
15 cm.
Profile 2 was taken over the hallway which
has the same internal temperature as the
living room (12° to 18°) but has a low ceil¬
ing and is separated from the roof by an
attic space. Both the ceiling and the roof are
well insulated but the attic area has a re¬
stricted opening into the unheated garage
and remains cold in winter. Attic tempera¬
tures were not taken.
Profile 3 taken in the snow over the shop,
represents an area architectually similar to
the hallway #2 but unheated. Temperature
readings in the shop remained near 10°C
during the cold weather, a result of leakage
from the heated area.
Profile 4 was obtained over the unheated
garage where the architecture is similar to
the living room. Near the vaulted ceiling
the temperature was 0°C when the outside
temperature was — 15°C.
Profile 5 represents snow conditions on
the woodshed. Metamorphism of this pack
must have been about as close to equitem-
perature as one would find in nature. The
snow was subjected mainly to the diurnal
flux of air temperature. Probably, heat flow
from the ground through the wood-pile to
the roof was negligible.
Profile 6 represents the lawn conditions.
This profile provides a basis for estimating
the prevailing thermal gradient. The fact
that the ground beneath the snow was un¬
frozen but the basal snow was unmelted sug¬
gests a steady ground-snow interface tem¬
perature approximating 0°C. Most of the
metamorphism would have occurred during
periods of low air temperature. The mean
nightly temperature during the winter ap¬
proximated — 25°C. Assuming a 50 cm.
snow pack, this temperature gives a mean
gradient of 0.5°C/cm. But even this value
probably represents the minimum because
much of the metamorphism of the basal
snow would have taken place when the pack
was thinner and the gradient steeper.
Comparison of profiles 1 through 4 show
a progressive change in crystallinity and
strength to match the progressive drop in
temperature gradient. In Profile 1 the roof
temperature was high enough to melt the
basal snow preventing the development of
euhedral depth hoar and producing basal
ice. In Profile 2 a lower roof temperature re¬
sulted in a thick layer of euhedral depth
hoar; Profile 2 shows a closely similarity
to Profile 6 and hence probably had a very
similar thermal history including a roof tem¬
perature close to 0°C.
Profiles 3 and 4 developed under still
lower roof temperatures and had little eu¬
hedral development. Both show a broad zone
of subhedral crystals and such fragility that
under the overlying snow load it was vir¬
tually impossible to insert the shovel without
1980]
Bradley— Snow Crystallography and Strength
49
initiating snowpack collapse. As expected
Profile 5, with minor perturbations, shows
increasing strength with depth-— the expected
equitemperature profile.
Conclusions
It seems clear that a correlation exists
between the strength and crystallinity of
snow on the roof and the heat loss from the
house under study.
A thoroughly quantitative study of heat
loss through a roof and its effect on snow
would require an imposing array of instru¬
ments to measure the pertinent variables
involving roof, snow and weather throughout
the course of the winter. However it is evi¬
dent that an observer with handlens, whisk-
broom and shovel could tell, with a brief
examination of the basal snow, which areas
of a roof were losing the most heat and
which the least.
Literature Cited
Bader, H. et al . (1939) “Der Schnee und seine
Metamorphose” Beitrage zur Geologic der
Schweiz. Geotechnishe Serie, Hydrologie 3.
Bradley, C. C, Brown, R. L., Williams, T.
(1978) “Gradient metamorphism, zonal
weakening of the snowpack and avalanche
initiation.” in Symposium on Applied Glaci¬
ology 19 no. 81 pp. 411-417.
LaChapelle, E. (1969) “Field guide to snow
crystals” University of Washington Press
pp. 15-21.
DOUGHBOYS AND HOME FOLKS
Observations from Rusk County, Wisconsin, at the
Opening of World War I
Paul F. Meszaros
Mount Senario College
Ladysmith, Wisconsin
A verse from a marching song found in
the papers of a Rusk County, Wisconsin,
soldier read:
Goodbye maw, goodbye paw,
Goodbye mule with your old he-haw.
I don’t know what this war’s about,
But you bet by gosh I’ll soon find out.
And Oh! my sweetheart don’t you fear
I’ll bring you a king for a souvenir.
I’ll get you a Turk and the Kaiser too,
And that’s about all one fellow can do.1
More than six decades have passed since
the United States plunged into the Great
War in 1917. But perhaps no conflict of
this century has had a greater impact on the
American people. This article examines the
initial effects of World War I on a portion
of northern Wisconsin — Rusk County and
vicinity — and upon its young men who shoul¬
dered arms in defense of their country.
Both those who left and those who re¬
mained at home found that their cultural
isolation, security, and attendant parochial¬
ism came under attack; rural values and
beliefs were subjected to severe stress. Indi¬
vidualism was subordinated to uniformity,
while the presumed moral superiority of the
countryside was confronted with the reality
of twentieth-century American urban life.
A location in upper Wisconsin was se¬
lected because most of what has been written
about Wisconsin in the Great War concen¬
trates upon the activities of the more ur¬
banized and politically active southern part
of the state. In addition, if tensions existed
between the two halves of the state because
of political and economic disparities, as they
apparently did, it would be interesting to
know how they manifested themselves in the
general war effort.
The Rusk County area, with Ladysmith
as the county seat, was typical of northern
Wisconsin in the period. It was sparsely
populated, and depended upon marginal
agriculture, the railroad, light industry and
wood products for its survival. When war
broke out, the county threw itself energeti¬
cally into the war effort, contributing more
than her share of men to the military.2
As part of the research for this article,
thirty-eight local veterans cooperated by
completing questionnaires and/or granting
personal interviews. The questions were de¬
signed to elicit information regarding family
background, educational attainment, social
position of the individual, occupations both
before and after the war, military experiences,
and personal prejudices and attitudes. This
sampling is not large enough to render pre¬
cise measurements of attitudes, but suggests
their general magnitude. Also, secondary
sources have been utilized, as have local
newspapers and hitherto untapped personal
correspondence from the period.
The news which had electrified Europe in
June of 1914, that the heir to the Austro-
Hungarian throne had been assassinated,
initially registered only a tingle in the north¬
ern Wisconsin papers. But within weeks,
foreign affairs had become a ubiquitous
topic of conversation. As great armies swung
into action, northern Wisconsinites settled
down to enjoy the spectacle. “A new history
of Europe is being written,” observed one
editor; “We will publish a thrilling chapter
50
1980]
Meszaros — Doughboys and Home Folks
51
every week.”3 Movie theaters capitalized on
the moment; for example, in Ladysmith the
theater screened on consecutive weekends
in September 1914 “War is Hell,” “Na¬
poleon,” “Faithful unto Death,” and “The
Last Volunteer.”
Inevitably, some Rusk County area resi¬
dents identified with one or another of the
belligerents. Many inhabitants of the region
were foreign-born, some of German extrac¬
tion. The concentration of German-Ameri-
cans in this area was lower than in the south¬
ern part of the state, but there were some
Teutonic communities with strong feelings
about the war.4 More than balancing these,
however, were settlements of French, Ital¬
ians, and Belgians, which, in the opinion of
one veteran, gave the area a pro-Allied bias.
Veteran E. A. Preston of Ladysmith recalled
that pacifism was the most prominent senti¬
ment in this hometown, while another vet¬
eran, Private Allen Cooper, remembered the
district around the village of Dallas in neigh¬
boring Barron County as isolationist, albeit
“certain folks wanted to get us involved in
the fracas.” A similar view was expressed by
Private Henry Plagge from adjacent Chip¬
pewa County.5
Although public sentiment might have
been gauged somewhat differently by the
interviewees, a common belief seems to have
existed until the eleventh hour that our in¬
volvement in Europe was unlikely.6 How¬
ever, by February 1917, Washington and
Berlin were clearly on a collision course, and
the Rusk County Journal, among others,
now dismissed those who said war was im¬
possible, adding:
While the American people should pray that
war may be averted, they should get busy
at once and prepare for the emergency that
looms up close.7
By 12 March 1917, President Wilson had
ordered the arming of U.S. ships. On April
2, the President delivered a stirring message
to Congress requesting a declaration of war
against Germany, which Congress granted
on April 6.
The citizens of the Badger State found
themselves in a rather uncomfortable posi¬
tion. Wisconsin had a large (42%) and
vocal minority of German-Americans, which
led to the nickname “the 58% State.”8 Be¬
cause of this, neighboring states and even
the War Department feared that Wisconsin
might have to be subdued in case of hostili¬
ties.9
Then, too, there were the anti-war activi¬
ties of Wisconsin’s Senator Robert M. La-
Follette, or “Von LaFollette,” as he was
labeled by the Cincinnati Post.10 His actions
outraged many in the Rusk County area, for,
as one local weekly editorialized,
On account of the attitude of the senior U.S.
Senator from this State, Robert M. LaFol¬
lette, on the armed neutrality bill, which
measure he led to destruction by his filibus¬
tering methods, . . . Wisconsin is in the lime¬
light, scorned and humiliated by every Amer¬
ican newspaper and citizen. . . . He . . . sets
an example that will be quickly taken up by
the belligerents who will not be slow to sow
the seeds of discord among American citi¬
zens.11
When the President’s war message came
to the floor of the House of Representatives,
nine of Wisconsin’s eleven members voted
nay, the exceptions being Irvine Lenroot and
David Classon, both representing northern
Wisconsin.12
To dispel suspicion of its patriotism Wis¬
consin quickly swung into action. On April
12, the first State Council of Defense in the
nation was established, soon followed by
branches in every county; a thousand Four
Minute Men toured the state, rallying sup¬
port, and funds were solicited for the Red
Cross, YMCA, and Liberty Loans.13 Victory
gardens sprang up in vacant lots and school
children were organized to tend them. The
capstone was Wisconsin’s gift to the nation
of statewide “wheatless” and “meatless”
days.
52
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Madison’s war mobilization efforts met
with mounting approbation in Rusk County
and its environs. Patriotic meetings were
held monthly in rural schoolhouses; all boys
ages twelve to twenty in Sawyer County were
mobilized for farm labor; loyalty was taught
in the schools, when necessary to the exclu¬
sion of normal courses of study; and “go to
work or go to jail” was becoming the motto
of the area. Conservation and rationing were
accepted as necessary. The mood of the peo¬
ple was expressed in the following verse, en¬
titled “Hooverizing” :
My Tuesdays are meatless, my Wednesdays
are wheatless,
I’m getting more eatless each day.
My home it is heatless, my bed it is sheetless,
They’re all sent to the YMCA.
The barrooms are treatless; my coffee is
sweetless,
Each day I get poorer and wiser.
My stockings are feetless, my trousers are
seatless,
My God, I do hate the Kaiser!14
The economic and financial contributions
demanded of the area were hotly debated.
What was needed was not an exodus, but an
inflow, of capital if this raw new country
were going to be able to clear land and in¬
crease food production for the war effort.15
Instead, the Liberty Loan drives, among
others, drained liquid assets from the region.
The total subscription for Liberty Loans in
Wisconsin was $333,633,800; Rusk County
contributed $510,300, a sum which repre¬
sented less than half the average per capita
contribution in the state. Yet the sacrifice
was heavy, and, when the newspapers were
asked to publish the statement, “No man is
too poor to do his bit by subscribing,” the
editor of the Rusk County Journal expostu¬
lated:
We object ... to publishing] stuff that con¬
tains such a damnable lie as the foregoing.
It is safe to say that more than half the men
of the country are too poor to buy a Liberty
Bond.16
Nevertheless, Rusk County did its best by
contributing not only to the Liberty Loans,
but also the Red Cross ($4,922), and to
savings stamps ($101, 000). 17
The dark side of the war effort throughout
the nation and in the Rusk County area was
the mounting hysteria, more violent than in
the Civil War or in World War II.18 The
situation was exacerbated by the Espionage
Act of October 1917 and the Sedition Act
of May 1918 (under which, for example,
refusal to purchase a Liberty Bond or the
use of imprudent language could lead to a
maximum sentence of twenty years in prison
and a $20,000 fine).19 Vigilante groups bent
on patriotic missions were organized, and
the word “slacker” reverberated in civilian
and army life. Sauerkraut and German mea¬
sles were rechristened, respectively, liberty
cabbage and liberty measles. A final indignity
proffered by the American Defense Society
was their suggestion that all Germans not
well known locally be considered potential
spies.
Those German-Americans and aliens liv¬
ing in the Rusk County area found them¬
selves uncomfortably conspicuous. In the
best of times, provincial people have diffi¬
culty understanding dual loyalty.20 It was
no accident, therefore, that with the arrival
of hostilities, xenophobic tendencies in¬
creased. Even before the President’s war
message, concern about the presence of
foreigners was voiced in the local press. On
9 March 1917, the editor of the Ladysmith
News-Budget reviewed a film entitled “Fall
of a Nation,” in which a European army in¬
vaded the U.S. with the assistance of foreign
immigrants. “This,” declared the editor,
“provides an awful warning.” On 12 April,
the Rice Lake Chronotype advised the alien
to “obey the laws and keep your mouth
shut.” And within months he was further
1980]
Meszaros- — Doughboys and Home Folks
53
told that “the day will come when foreign
[language] newspapers will not be toler¬
ated.”21 All things alien obviously were sus¬
pect, but not even naturalization could sat¬
isfy the zealots, as this editorial suggests:
On reading over the list of applications [for
citizenship] one cannot escape the thought
there ought to be some legal way to Ameri¬
canize some of the names to some extent
while Americanizing their citizenship.22
The plight of the aliens worsened in June
when their true numbers became known
through the registration of all men eligible
for the draft.
The situation for German-Americans was
particularly sensitive. A portion of a song
which one Ladysmith soldier kept among
his papers illustrates the dilemma of many:
I am a Deutscher man
But I’ll fight for Uncle Sam
And I want you to know
Where ever I go
I’ll do the best I can.23
Recruits with Teutonic names were given
pamphlets with titles such as “American
Loyalty” which argued that Prussianism, not
the German people, was the foe, and that
the nation was on a crusade to rescue Ger¬
many.24 However, treason stalked the North-
woods, often appearing in isolated German
communities whose inhabitants, deemed in¬
sufficiently patriotic, might be labeled Kaiser-
ites or worse.25 Several area residents were
arrested for sedition, while the Phillips Bee
reported that a “nest of disloyal Americans”
infested their town.26 An organization calling
itself “The Loyalty Legion” was soon estab¬
lished in the Rusk County area, welcomed
as an ally in the unmasking of treason. The
editor of the Rusk County Journal approved,
arguing
. . . that patriotic societies with or without
name be organized where there may not be
any today, to oppose treason and line up
traitors where ever they may be found. Be¬
fore the year 1918 is closed there ought to be
thousands of disloyal or semi disloyal men
put into stockades until the war is over.27
Against this general background, it might
be well to turn to the Northwoodsmen who
took up arms in their country’s behalf.
The first in Wisconsin to be summoned
to the colors in April 1917 were the Na¬
tional Guard, veterans of the Mexican im¬
broglio of 1916, who were dispatched to
protect ore docks, railroad bridges and other
strategic points. A second brigade of three
regiments was immediately planned, with
Camp Douglas selected as its rallying point.
Men ages eighteen to thirty-five were en¬
couraged to enlist, and to fire th^ blood
frequent allusions were made to the State’s
glorious heritage from the Civil War. For
example, Lieutenant Maloney of Rusk
County wrote, “Recovery of the American
spirit, the aggressive liberty loving and self
sacrificing spirit of . . . the Boys of ’61 have
been the source of our greatest national
pride.”28
Initially, volunteers had been few, and as
one recruitment officer observed later:
Like the generality of Americans, the people
of Rusk County were slow to realize the
possibility of war. No great war having been
experienced during this generation, they
could not bring themselves to believe that
war was a possibility. The young men felt
that joining the troop would tie them down
to useless drill.29
Recruitment techniques in the Rusk County
area included speeches, public meetings and
automobile cavalcades.
After the commencement of hostilities,
many men had left the area to join the Al¬
lied armies, and their letters home, published
in local papers, were filled with war experi¬
ences that evidently stimulated enlistment.
Positions in the cavalry and aviation corps
offered high drama and consequently were
54
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
most alluring.30 “Some unthinking recruits,”
editorialized the Ladysmith News-Budget,
considered the plan for national defense “as
only a means of recreation and excite¬
ment.”31 Romantic illusion was maintained
through provocative war movies and litera¬
ture. Today the novels and poetry of the
period seem maudlin, but their effects should
not be ignored.
A powerful attraction for volunteers in
Ladysmith was the opportunity to enlist in
a cavalry troop, with all its attendant dash
and excitement. War arrived at an auspicious
season for enlistment in the Northwoods,
for, as one veteran recalled, the “river pigs”
and “cruisers” were at slack time, allowing
logging crews to volunteer en masse. That
veteran also reported that some men of Ger¬
man descent even volunteered with the un¬
derstanding, which was honored, that they
would not have to fire at the enemy, as did
also an army cook who said he had “ein fod¬
der ‘n’ two bridders” in the ranks of the
Kaiser.32
Nationwide volunteerism proved inade¬
quate for the country’s needs. It was obvious,
therefore, that conscription was the only
solution. On 18 May 1917 the Selective
Service Act was passed; and 5 June 1917,
designated “Duty Day,” saw the uneventful
registration of eligible men ages twenty-one
to thirty-one. Overall, enlistment in Rusk
County was excellent, with the result that
the impact of the Selective Service Act was
minimized, since volunteers were counted as
substitutes for draftees.33
Eventually the northern twenty-nine coun¬
ties of Wisconsin contributed approximately
thirty-four percent of the State’s total draft,
although they held only a quarter of the
State’s population. Thus, some northern
communities found themselves short of man¬
power. In Cumberland (Barron County),
for example, 78 of the 120 registered men
were taken on the first round.34 One young
lady writing in the summer of 1917 com¬
plained, “How about the Ladysmith Girls —
they can’t find a fellow here if they wanted
to for they’re like hen’s teeth — scarce.”35
Her lamenting finally prompted this rejoinder
from her doughboy fiance:
I suppose the girls are organizing a football
team to take the place of men that would
play if they weren’t in the army. You know
that all over the country the women are
learning to do things that were formerly
proformed [sic] by men and Ladysmith
don’t want to be behind the times.36
Some men, much to their dismay, were re¬
jected as volunteers but were later drafted.37
Rivalries among Wisconsin recruits di¬
vided them in several ways. First, the cavalry
troops had the conviction that they were
unquestionably superior to the infantrymen.
This resulted in clashes such as the general
melee reported by a Ladysmith trooper in
August 1917 at Camp Douglas, after which
some commanding officers were punished
along with their men for their reluctance in
quelling the disturbance.38
Another cleavage separated the volunteer
and the draftee. The motto of the Wisconsin
National Guard was “Come in out of the
draft,” showing disdain toward conscription.
The enlisted men at camp might be curious
to know who back home had been drafted,
but, as Private William Bretag of Ladysmith
wrote, “We’re not proud of them.”39 A poem
which was circulated among the northern
Wisconsin men, evidently describing their
feelings, read in part:
Why didn’t I wait to be drafted,
And led to the train by a band,
And put in a claim for exemption?
Oh, why did I hold up my hand?
Why didn’t I wait for the banquets,
Why didn’t I wait to be cheered?
For the drafted men got all the credit,
While I merely volunteered.40
One sympathetic editor in Ladysmith sug¬
gested that there be no fanfare when the
draftees departed.41 Often this tension was
channeled into athletic activities; as one
1980]
Meszaros — Doughboys and Home Folks
55
Rusk County man wrote after a football
game, “I knew all the time that the volun¬
teers could beat drafts any day.”42
The words “slacker” and “draftee” were
synonymous in the minds of some; as one
enlistee grumbled,
Speaking of slackers, they seem to fare pretty
well. ... All the drafted men have over¬
coats and winter clothes while we [volun¬
teers] still wear our summer issue.
In another letter he reported that
They say the officers can’t do anything with
them [the draftees]. They won’t obey orders
at all and if they are put on guard they go
to sleep.43
Obviously not all drafted men fit this descrip¬
tion, but the reality of the situation was not
as important as the perception of it.
It has been suggested that the bastions of
super-patriotism in Wisconsin lay in the
small towns.44 Communities in the isolated
northern portion of the state were naturally
more cohesive than their larger urban coun¬
terparts in the south. Troops were recruited
at the county level and local sentiment fa¬
vored having hometown men serve together.
Initially every effort was made to maintain
parochial entities, such as local cavalry
troops, within the armed forces. This senti¬
ment was extended to other units of the
armed forces as well, such as the Fourth
Wisconsin Infantry Regiment, which was
to be recruited only from the upper part of
the State.45 There were many advantages to
hometown units; parents formed permanent
organizations, auxiliaries were established to
make comforts for the boys; community¬
wide drives successfully gathered quantities
of small luxuries which were sent to their
own fighting units; and employers promised
publicly to rehire the veterans.
In Ladysmith, for example, support for
the cavalry troop was considerable. Here,
the Campfire Girls and other civic groups
raised a mess fund of $1500 for Troop K
prior to its departure for Camp Douglas.46
A large crowd, complete with band, was at
the Ladysmith depot at 5:20 a.m. on 27
July 1917 to bid farewell to Troop K. Their
trip was punctuated by a stop at Weyer¬
haeuser, where the men detrained to parade
ad hoc through the streets, and a long festive
layover at Eau Claire while that city bid fare¬
well to its recruits. Five hundred dollars had
been allocated from the Rusk County treas¬
ury to buy uniforms for the cavalry.47 These
were a luxury no other unit at Camp Douglas
possessed, which prompted the remark,
“When we first came they called us the Mil¬
lionaire Lumberjacks because we wore
leather putees and our uniforms looked
good.”48
From the start, a moral influence was
exercised over the boys from Rusk County.
The war effort was characterized as a re¬
ligious crusade and after academicians the
clergymen were the most outspoken hawks
in the country.49 “Clean Christian living”
in the camps was the desire of the home
folks, an ideal supported by the federal gov¬
ernment as well as the State of Wisconsin.50
For Northwoodsmen this meant availability
of nightly Bible classes, sending home of
signed temperance pledge cards, and manda¬
tory church attendance on Sundays.51 The
ubiquitous YMCA and like organizations
fostered rectitude and promoted such events
as a “Night to Write to Mother,” while Wis¬
consin’s Governor Philipp imposed a ‘dry
zone’ around Camp Douglas. When Troop
K was transferred to Camp McArthur, near
Waco, Texas, there was concern back home
that the innocents from the north would be
led astray, a fear not completely allayed even
when the city fathers of Waco made assur¬
ances they would keep the boys moral at the
cost of closing saloons and driving out dis¬
reputable individuals.52
For many doughboys, the gilt of army life
began to tarnish almost immediately. Home¬
sickness was rampant; one newcomer at
Camp Douglas said of the well-wishers at
the send-off, “Some of them made so much
56
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
fuss it made it pretty hard for the boys and
I was glad when we got away.”53 A couple of
the stalwarts complained bitterly about the
hardness of the beds and the absence of pil¬
lows.54 Setting the matter of discipline aside
for the moment, the raw recruit found his
illusions sorely tested by reality. The widely
applauded bravado of a Washburn County
swain, who declared upon enlistment, “Now
I don’t give a damn just so long as they bury
me on German soil,” illustrated the miscon¬
ception that the only way one could die in
the army was valiantly, at the front.55 But
there were many inglorious ways of forfeit¬
ing one’s life without ever seeing the enemy.
Accidents on the practice range were com¬
mon— -even the hospital at Camp McArthur
was shelled by novice gunners.56 More dis¬
heartening were the deaths by disease which
ravaged the camps. Many of the men were
quarantined with mumps at Camp Douglas
in the summer of 1917, but this was nothing
compared to the pneumonia, rheumatism,
and tuberculosis which struck them down in
Texas.57 Yet the following year brought an
even greater disaster, the influenza epidemic.
There were also occasional instances of mal¬
treatment by officers. A Ladysmith private
risked chastisement by writing home that he
had heard that a major at Kelly Field in
Texas had so mistreated his men that eight
had cut their throats, many had deserted,
and still others had perished by freezing.58
The sobering of one Northwoods volun¬
teer might represent the experiences of many
of his companions. After the heady days of
departure with Troop K, Private William
Bretag underwent a change of heart. In Oc¬
tober 1917, his only desire was to go to
Europe, have it out and survive. While at
Camp McArthur, Bretag and his companions
saw ruined French equipment on display at
the Cotton Palace in Waco, but instead of
eliciting sympathy the sight depressed them,
for it graphically illustrated the firepower
of the foe. In early November Bretag wrote
that it was “barbarous and against the law
of men and God” to shoot down such fine
troops and horses as those in the American
Army.59
Of course, all presentiments were as noth¬
ing compared to the reality of the trenches,
but here the censor reigned supreme and all
that the home folks received were vague
statements in letters defaced by razor blades
and ink. Within a few months after U.S.
entry into the war, the flow of information
to the media from the doughboys began to
dwindle as the recruits were warned not to
write the “inside dope” and the government
ordered that military personnel could not
act as correspondents for newspapers.60 The
results were predictable. Private Bretag wrote
from Waco:
I just read an article . . . out of a Milwaukee
paper describeing [sic] this hospital we are
in, was sure great. It stated we had the best
of cooks which is a very good joke.61
For the Northwoodsman, military life
meant a sharp circumscription of his free¬
dom. The propaganda mills had long ground
out the message that Prussian obedience and
discipline were anathema to the American
spirit, but after April 1917, as one Barron
County doughboy reported, the boys were
taught that obedience was the highest vir¬
tue.62 “Rigid discipline was required in
everything, even games,” which dazed the
newcomers; as one of them wrote after four
days at camp,
Lots of the boys would leave right now if
they had a chance but nothing doing. . . .
New rules new regulations and everything
done under a system.63
By reading the correspondence of Rusk
County veterans, one can see that they felt
enmeshed in regulations. Topics of complaint
included: drill; lack of leisure time; not be¬
ing allowed to wear homemade sweaters be¬
cause not all the men had them; being given
a week of fatigue duty for failing to request
a pass from a high enough officer; a month
of hard labor and the guardhouse for partici-
1980]
Meszaros— Doughboys and Home Folks
51
paling in a friendly scrap; and a week’s con¬
finement to troop street for staying out too
late. Where possible there was resistance,
but never victory; Private Bretag recounted
that
some of the fellows has been in the habit of
covering up there [sic] dirty clothes with
clean ones and the major looked them over
this a.m. The result is that some of them
have something coming.64
In some respects the doughboys could
breathe easier after they left Wisconsin. Be¬
neath the parental gaze of Governor Philipp
and the folks back home, Camp Douglas had
been so tightly sealed that not even the
newsboys could enter. “While we are well
fed and not over worked,” wrote a Rusk
County volunteer, “we have some idea of
what a prison camp would be.”65 This feel¬
ing of incarceration was not entirely ac¬
counted for by the three-mile cordon sani-
taire encompassing the camp, nor yet by the
discipline or the quarantines due to infec¬
tious diseases. State planning had been weak.
There was little training, no ammunition,
much boredom, and, for a short time, half
rations.66 To be fair, not all men found the
experience unpleasant, for as Private Bretag
said after cataloging some new regulations,
“It may seem very foolish . . . and it seems
very queer to us . . . yet I can’t say I don’t
like it [army life].”67
Although the country more thoroughly
understood the importance of discipline once
the nation was involved in the war, the
American Expeditionary Force never
matched European standards of military
nicety, and even the Stars and Stripes made
jests on this topic.68 Many veterans would
argue that in their youth discipline, both in
school and on the job, had been harsh, yet
the difference was that the army regimenta¬
tion was not merely a restricting, but a stan¬
dardizing process out of which the mass man
of the century would appear.
In many cases the attitude of recruits to¬
ward discipline was determined by the rela¬
tionship between the officers and their men.
With the outbreak of hostilities, the National
Guard was mobilized and expanded prepara¬
tory to being placed under federal authority.
The Adjutant General of the State recom¬
mended, and the Governor approved, the
commissioning of many new captains and
lieutenants who were then summoned to Mil¬
waukee for a few weeks of training. This
accomplished, the captains were free to ap¬
point other officers who in turn were sent
downstate for training.69
Interviews with Northwoods veterans,
most of whom came from low socio-eco¬
nomic backgrounds, suggests that there was
some discontentment over this selection
process. Officers were drawn from the
wealthier, better educated segment of society,
which in the small communities of the area
meant the “uptown people” or businessmen,
and from the larger urban centers. Un¬
doubtedly, local politics were another ingre¬
dient in selection and promotion.70 Never¬
theless, at the time, ill will was concealed,
leaving an esprit based upon their shared
background. Commanders of contingents
from small northern Wisconsin towns might
view themselves as in loco parentis ; Cap¬
tain A. H. Hadden wrote home from Camp
Douglas to his local paper in this vein: “If
the boys do not write home, let me know of
it. They do not need to tell me when home
folks do not write.”71
As units arrived at Camp Douglas, Wis¬
consin, questions arose as to whether the
new officers were qualified to fulfill their
duties. Several were demoted, but all too
often the replacement officers were from the
southern part of the state. This caused some
irritation. As one veteran recalled, “It is true
that we suffered some from being an ‘Up¬
state Troop’ — -our officers replaced by Mil¬
waukee men.”72
This situation altered again when the Wis¬
consinites passed into the jurisdiction of the
regular army. Once again, locally-appointed
58
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
officers were scrutinized for fitness, and some
enlisted men who were successful in passing
written examinations were raised to the rank
of second lieutenant by the division com¬
mander. These officers were trained in the
evening after drill and were called “ninety
day wonders” by the men.
Transfers and demotions were to continue.
“Some of these new sergeants,” wrote Pri¬
vate Bretag, “just can’t find a hat big
enough for their heads and they try to show
their authority like young roosters learning
to crow.”73 Higher officers were not immune
from dismissal, as this letter showed:
We are going to loose [sic] our captian [sic]
again. Every captian [sic] in our three artil¬
lery regiments are going to be changed. They
say its because the old captians are to [sic]
well acquainted with the men and are apt
to show partiality. I guess there is a good
deal in that.74
To the folks back in Rusk County the tidings
of demotion, forced retirement, and even
court-martial of their heroes caused cries of
indignation. Widespread dissatisfaction was
expressed in the press:
This is being done by regular officers, to
whom a man from Hicks Corners, Milwau¬
kee or Frisco looks all the same. The idea of
local patriotism is a foreign subject — he
only wishes to create a fighting machine and
men are only so much blood and iron.75
In general, the uprooting of the average
recruit from the Rusk County area and his
arrival at training camp was a memorable
experience. Of those veterans interviewed,
over one-third left Wisconsin for the first
time when they joined the Army, while ten
percent left their counties for the first time.
Most Rusk County doughboys had traveled
by train before their enlistment, which was
not true for many recruits.76 Railways were
very important in the north and had been
used in immigration; among the veterans
questioned in this study, the average year
for a first train trip was 1907, when most of
them were still children.
Automobile travel, on the other hand, was
another matter. Maintainance of both vehi¬
cles and roads in the north was a major
expense, a problem which hindered the state
in meeting its quota of experienced drivers
for the military.77 In the Rusk County area,
1921 was the average year of purchase of
the first car among those veterans questioned.
America in these years revealed a growing
disdain for rural society, for the drabness of
village and small town life, and for the ‘hick,’
clumsy and stupid, who was equated with
the farmer. “Much of the contempt of rural
life,” suggested one writer, “represented a
larger revolution against . . . Puritan moral-
ism.”78
One out of four veterans questioned re¬
called some incident of anti-rural prejudice
in the army, and in turn one discerns a cer¬
tain deference by Northwoodsmen toward
urban society. The highest ranking officer of
Rusk County, a captain and successful law¬
yer, reported that he was
over-awed when he considere[ed] that he
[was] superior in rank to some of Chicago’s
finest lawyers, bankers, and preachers. At
first ... he almost hesitated at commanding
a bank president or preacher to clear up
cigarette or cigar butts.
Or again, when Troop K from Ladysmith
arrived at Camp Douglas in their new uni¬
forms which the County had purchased, one
man wrote, “We looked so good in our nice
clothes that we were mistaken for the Mil¬
waukee (‘A’).”79
To loggers, farmers, and semi- and un¬
skilled workers in Rusk County, school at¬
tendance was far less important than earning
a livelihood. An eighth grade education was
the norm, and a high school diploma was a
rarity. One sergeant from Bruce, Wisconsin,
recalled that only five out of a company of
150 were high school graduates. It was be¬
lieved that the urban environment held more
1980]
Meszaros — Doughboys and Home Folks
59
educational possibilities; thus one North-
woodsman, after acting as scribe for a
stranger, wrote home, “It certainly is a
shame that a young fellow coming right
from the city . . . hasn’t any better educa¬
tion than he has.” At camp the recruits were
given written examinations, and Wednesdays,
Saturdays and Sundays were partially set
aside for the “training of backward indi¬
viduals.”80 Book drives back home helped
in establishing libraries at the camp YMCAs;
however, one soldier observed that they were
definitely underutilized. While on duty, some
men were given an opportunity for self-
improvement. For example, a company of
National Guard from Barron County, sta¬
tioned in Superior to protect the ore docks,
could take courses in such subjects as hip-
pology, military cartography, shorthand, and
typing, though fewer than half of them ever
did so.81
To be at a disadvantage vis-a-vis the city
dwellers was one thing, but to be considered
unpatriotic by them was an outrage. A state¬
ment by Mr. E. D. Hurlbert, president of
the Merchant’s Loan and Trust Company of
Chicago, which was circulated in the Rusk
County area, said, “Farmers will not buy
Liberty Loans, pay taxes, sell their produce
or fight.”82 Thus, when a Four Minute Man
arrived to preach patriotism in Ladysmith,
the response was quite peppery, as in this
editorial from the Rusk County Journal :
The small caliber flunky, Julian S. Nolan, of
Chicago, was sent to tell us lumberjacks what
patriotism is. . . . Now, we don’t care a darn
for Nolan — a nobody coming from a town
that is full of them.83
Local pride rested not only on patriotic
efforts, past and present, but also upon the
virtues of Northwoods fighting men. Chief
among these were strength and physical en¬
durance. Although labor shortages were
acute, rural editors chuckled over the pro¬
posal that soft city kids should be organized
as farm workers, and crowed when the at¬
tempt failed. And compared to agricultural
work, a doughboy’s life was a perpetual va¬
cation, at least Stateside. “Drill five hours
and up at 7:00,” wrote Private Bretag, “we
are sure having it easy now and I sure hope
it continues.” Ten days later he declared,
“Oh yes, I am getting heavier then [sic] I
was. I always do when I quit hard work.”84
Another private, Orville Shannon, spelled
out his contentment in this manner:
Well army life is sure easy. All we have to
do is drill every day and eat three times a
day and sleep all night; now if you can[,]
find an easier job than this for $30 per month
and no chance to get fired.85
Over all, the most important impact upon
the Rusk County area doughboy was the so¬
cialization and acculturation he experienced.
With the exception of the veterans who had
been wounded, most interviewees in this
study declared that the war had not changed
their lives greatly. However, after further
investigation, it was evident that their un¬
derstanding of the world had indeed changed.
From their first stop at Camp Douglas,
Wisconsin, and from the federal training fa¬
cilities across the nation, the recruits sent
home a torrent of memorabilia and photo¬
graphs, mostly of the men themselves in their
new woolen uniforms, and of such exotica as
skylines of Hoboken and Abilene. They also
penned tales of army cookery to weaken the
stomach and stories to illustrate that every¬
thing Uncle Sam bought was the cheapest.
But above all, there was a shock from the
new turn life had taken; as Private Allen
Cooper of Barron County wrote, “I can’t
make myself believe I am away down in
Georgia in the Army with U.S.A. on my
collar.”86
The men of the Rusk County area were
thrown into contact with a broader spectrum
of society than existed back home. For the
first time, many of them had contact with
large numbers of Blacks. Five draft calls in
Wisconsin had produced only twenty-five
60
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Negroes; thus they were at first photo¬
graphed along with other sights of interest.87
But social intercourse was impossible, as the
military instructed soldiers to steer clear of
Negro neighborhoods in the light of potential
racial conflicts. There was, however, some
opportunity to become better acquainted
with Wisconsin Indians who had volunteered
and at many camps a Continental flavor was
supplied by the presence of numerous Allied
officers.
A high mark in the peripatetic lives of the
men — dwelt upon in letters to the home
folks — was the arrival at one of the major
training facilities. These camps, compared
to Camp Douglas, were well constructed and
had electric lights, an item considered to be
“real class” by Rusk County men.88 But
after the novelty of their new surroundings
had worn thin, homesickness revealed itself.
For example, a Barron County man said he
“would not trade the west end of Cedar
Lake for Texas and Arizona, sagebrush,
coyotes and sand 6 inches deep.”89 From
Private Cooper at Camp Greenleaf, Georgia,
came the similar comment, “If I had ten
acres of Wisconsin I wouldn’t trade it for the
whole d— n state [of Georgia],” while Private
Bretag wrote from Texas, “Im getting tired
of the sameness of the landscape and long
for the big timber. We don’t have grand re¬
freshing days as you have in Wisconsin.”90
A natural reaction of the country boys
was to appraise the agricultural potential of
other states; some states given high marks
were Oregon and Missouri, but Mississippi
and Texas soil were rated poor.91 They were
delighted with their first views of cotton
fields and outraged at scorpions, and dis¬
covered the discomforts of adjusting to dif¬
ferent climatic conditions.
Southern ways were both pleasing and
exasperating to the Wisconsinites. “They talk
as lazy as they act,” wrote one man, and as
for the languid southern belles, his verdict
was that they had “no get up and dust.”92
A Rusk County editor who visited the local
volunteers at Waco, Texas, sent back a simi¬
lar appraisal:
Here was another characteristic feature of
the South. ‘Do It Now’ signs would have lit¬
tle sale here. Southerners are forward look¬
ing, always ready to chance on tomorrow.93
But a different view was stated by one engi¬
neer: “After making this trip of the entire
South, I have an altogether different view of
it. . . . They sure are great on hospitality.”94
In general, the men of the Rusk County
area had experienced an exciting cultural
awakening. Discoveries of all sorts were
made, as Private Orville Shannon, stationed
in Oregon, indicated:
When you speak about the nice garden I
get the rambles. ... I sure do like fresh
garden truck but we have something out
here that almost holds it level and that is
fresh salmon.95
A popular song in the post-war era was
“How Ya Gonna Keep ’Em Down on the
Farm after They’ve Seen Paree?” There is
no doubt that the flight from rural America
was a reality, but was it stimulated by the
sight of Paris or by the stateside equivalents?
Some men of Troop K were impressed with
the size of New Orleans, the beauty of At¬
lanta and Washington, D.C., and the histori¬
cal qualities of Nashville, and there were
even a few who resettled abroad or in some
newly-discovered community in America af¬
ter the war. Twenty percent of the veterans
questioned for this study stated they were
favorably impressed by the cities they visited,
while thirty-six percent felt they had not had
enough opportunity to judge, since many of
the troop trains bypassed the big cities and
the officers at camps kept the men on a short
lead. About seventy-five percent of these
veterans reported they had intended to return
home to stay after the war, as opposed to
ten percent who had not. In fact, over fifty
percent returned to their home communities
to remain for stays averaging sixteen years.96
1980]
Meszaros — Doughboys and Home Folks
61
Those who left their hometowns after a short
stay cited economic conditions as the pri¬
mary motive for departure. Perhaps one
laconic Rusk County man spoke for most
when he wrote, “Me for the farm when I’m
thru here.”97
In conclusion, what emerges is the picture
of an area which initially remained aloof
from the problems of war, but which mo¬
bilized energetically when hostilities were
declared. This potent spirit of patriotism
with its admixture of parochialism often
manifested itself in animosity toward the
State’s capitol, and in strong community
support for the local doughboys, even in¬
cluding attempts to exert moral influence
over them at camp.
Of interest, too, are the antagonisms
which developed under pressure of the times,
such as those of volunteers against draftees,
‘100% patriots’ against things foreign, and
rural versus urban society. Finally, although
the training period for the average individual
may have been relatively brief, and in retro¬
spect seemed of less consequence than battle¬
field experience, it was of great importance
in the cultural shaping of the raw recruits
from the Northwoods.
The experience of Rusk County illustrates
how the discipline resulting from the na¬
tional crisis touched both the doughboys and
the homefolks, and contributed to the shap¬
ing of the new mass man of the twentieth
century.
Notes
1 Marching song included in a letter from Pri¬
vate William Bretag, Camp McArthur, Waco,
Texas, 2 November 1917, to Miss Eva Ross of
Ladysmith, Wisconsin. In personal correspondence
collection of Mrs. Eva Ross Bretag, Ladysmith,
Wisconsin (hereafter shown as Bretag Correspon¬
dence).
2 Lieutenant Gerald C. Maloney, Rusk County
in the World War (Ladysmith, Wisconsin: The
Rusk County Journal, 1920), p. 19. Maloney
pointed out that 1 out of 25 Americans, as a
national average, were in the armed forces, while
in Wisconsin the ratio was 1 in 22, and in Rusk
County it was 1 in 20.
3 Ladysmith News-Budget, 28 August 1914, p. 1.
4 Edward Fitzpatrick, Wisconsin (Milwaukee:
Bruce Publishing Co., 1928), p. 253. For example,
in neighboring Barron County the Barron County
Shield ran a weekly column entitled “In the
Fatherland: Interesting Bits of News from the
Great German Empire,” which was discontinued
when the U.S. became involved.
5 Questionnaire from Clarence E. Soderberg, of
Barron, Wisconsin, December 1978; questionnaire
and correspondence from E. A. Preston, of White
Bear Lake, Minnesota, 7 and 15 December 1978;
questionnaire and correspondence from Allen W.
Cooper of Hillsdale, Wisconsin, 1978; question¬
naire from Henry A. Plagge, of Holcombe, Wis¬
consin, 15 October 1978.
6 George Kolar recalled that, on the other hand,
some National Guardsmen who were called up in
June 1916 for service on the Mexican border pri¬
vately believed that they were actually being
trained for European duty, a very unpopular idea.
From conversations and tape recordings of George
Kolar, of Ladysmith, Wisconsin, 12 November
1978.
'Rusk County Journal, 9 February 1917, p. 4.
The Barron County Shield concurred (8 February
1917, p. 8).
8 Karen Falk, “Public Opinion in Wisconsin
During World War I,” Wisconsin Magazine of
History 25 (June 1942): 390.
9 Russel Austin, The Wisconsin Story (Milwau¬
kee: Milwaukee Journal Co., 1964), p. 298.
10 David Thelen, Robert M. LaFollette (Boston:
Little, Brown, 1976), p. 134.
11 Sawyer County Record, 15 March 1917, p. 2.
12 Richard N. Current, Wisconsin: A History
(New York: W. W. Norton, 1977), pp. 211-12.
13 Falk, “Public Opinion,” p. 399; Wisconsin
Blue Book for 1919 (Democrat Printing Co.,
1919), p. 417.
14 Rusk County Journal, 11 January 1918, p. L
13 This point of view was stated by the man¬
ager of the Wisconsin Development Association
(. Ladysmith News-Budget, 17 April 1917, p. 5).
16 Rusk County Journal, 8 June 1917, p. 4.
17 Drawn from tables in Wisconsin Blue Book
for 1919, pp. 420, 431-32.
18 Henry May, End of American Innocence (Chi¬
cago: Quadrangle Books, 1967), pp. 387-88.
19 Oscar Barck and Nelson Blake, Since 1900:
A History of the U.S. in Our Time (New York:
Macmillan, 1965), pp. 231-32. Most of those con¬
victed under these laws were Socialists and IWW
members. About ninety-two persons were arrested
62
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
in northern Wisconsin on slight provocation in¬
deed [Robert Nesbit, Wisconsin (Madison: Univer¬
sity of Wisconsin Press, 1973), p. 447].
20 H. C. Peterson, Propaganda for War (Nor¬
man: University of Oklahoma, 1939), p. 173.
21 Ladysmith News-Budget, 2 March 1917, p. 2,
and also 9 March 1917, p. 1; Rice Lake Chrono-
type, 12 April 1917, p. 4; Ladysmith News-Budget,
26 October 1917, p. 2.
22 Ladysmith News-Budget, 16 February 1917,
p.2.
23 Bretag Correspondence.
24 Citizens of German Descent, “American Loy¬
alty” (Washington, D.C.: War Information Service,
1917), pp. 5-8. Preserved among the papers of
Henry Plagge.
25 The Germans of Tony, Wisconsin, received
this appellation, according to one interviewee, Mrs.
Alice Reimert, of Ladysmith, Wisconsin, 30 De¬
cember 1978. Elsewhere people were allegedly
arrested because they persisted in speaking their
native tongue (questionnaire from Henry Plagge,
Holcombe, Wisconsin, 15 October 1978). This
phenomenon recurred throughout the United States
[Robert Billigmeier, Americans from Germany
(Belmont, Cal.: Wadsworth Press, 1974), p. 143].
26 Barron County Shield, 12 April 1917, p. 4;
Phillips Bee, quoted in the Rusk County Journal,
25 January 1918, p. 4.
27 Rusk County Journal, 25 January 1918, p. 4.
28 Maloney, Rusk County, p. 3.
29 Ibid., p. 5.
30 May (End of American Innocence, p. 371)
suggests that the middle class felt an instinctive
dislike for kings and aristocrats, thus their enlist¬
ment.
31 Ladysmith News-Budget, 17 April 1917, p. 5.
32 Questionnaire from E. A. Preston. The North-
woods was a prime recruiting ground for engineer¬
ing and forestry regiments.
33 In all, seven of the twenty-nine northern
counties of Wisconsin were passed over in the first
draft since their quotas had been filled by volun¬
teers; Ladysmith News-Budget, 27 July 1917, p. 2.
Price County was conspicuous with 200 volunteers
[R. B. Pixley, Wisconsin in the World War (Mil¬
waukee: S. E. Tate, 1919), p. 106].
34 Ladysmith News-Budget, 27 July 1917, p. 3.
35 Miss Eva Ross to William Bretag, 16 August
1917, in Bretag Correspondence.
36 William Bretag to Miss Eva Ross, 21 Novem¬
ber 1917, in Bretag Correspondence.
37 Maloney, Rusk County, p. 19.
38 William Bretag to Miss Eva Ross, 18 August
1917, in Bretag Correspondence.
39 Ibid., 25 September 1917.
40 “Only a Volunteer,” in Bretag Correspondence.
41 Ladysmith News-Budget, 5 October 1917, p. 2.
42 William Bretag to Miss Eva Ross, 12 Novem¬
ber 1917, in Bretag Correspondence.
43 Ibid., 19 November 1917 and 2 November
1917.
44 Nesbit, Wisconsin, p. 447.
45 In fact, not enough men could be found, so
that companies from the south had to be included
(Pixley, Wisconsin, pp. 21-22).
46 William Bretag to Miss Eva Ross, 23 Novem¬
ber 1917.
47 Maloney, Rusk County, p. 6.
48 William Bretag to Miss Eva Ross, 1 August
1917. Unhappily, the County had purchased
shoddy merchandise and in short order they were
rechristened “the Sears and Roebuck troop.”
49 Charles Genthe, American War Narratives
1917-1918 (New York: David Lewis, 1969), p. 30.
50 Frank Friedel, Over There (Toronto: Little,
Brown and Co., 1964), p. 27 .
51 William Bretag to Miss Eva Ross, 7 November
1917, in Bretag Correspondence.
52 Ladysmith News-Budget, 28 September 1917,
p. 4.
53 William Bretag to Miss Eva Ross, 29 July
1917, in Bretag Correspondence.
54 Ibid., 1 August 1917.
55 Sawyer County Record, 7 June 1917, p. 3.
36 William Bretag to Miss Eva Ross, 23 Novem¬
ber 1917, in Bretag Correspondence.
57 Ibid., 15 August 1917, 19 October 1917, and
10 January 1918.
38 Ibid., 24 January 1918.
59 Ibid., 17 October 1917 and 7 November 1917.
60 Ibid., 14 September 1917; Ladysmith News-
Budget, 1 September 1917, p. 2.
01 William Bretag to Miss Eva Ross, 12 October
1917. Some interesting anecdotes on the science
of military medicine of the period can be found in
these letters.
62 Genthe, Narratives, p. 36; Private Allen
Cooper to his parents, 27 October 1918, in Cooper
Correspondence in Mr. Cooper’s possession.
“Joint War Historical Commissions of Michi¬
gan and Wisconsin, The 32nd Division in the
World War: 1917 to 1919 (Madison, 1920), p. 31;
William Bretag to Miss Eva Ross, 1 August 1917,
in Bretag Correspondence.
GiIbid., 19 October 1917; 23 October 1917; 19
November 1917; 18 August 1917, 1 December
1917.
65 Maloney, Rusk County, p. 119, letter of E. W.
Richardson.
“William Bretag to Miss Eva Ross, 1 August
1917, in Bretag Correspondence.
1980]
Meszaros- — Doughboys and Home Folks
63
67 William Bretag to Miss Eva Ross, 1 August
1917, in Bretag Correspondence.
68Genthe, Narratives, p. 87; Preston Slossen,
The Great Crusade and After (New York: Mac¬
millan, 1930), p. 47.
69 Ladysmith News-Budget, 22 June 1917, p. 1.
70 Questionnaires from Albert A. Johnson (Cam¬
eron, Wisconsin), George Kolar, and Allen Cooper.
Approximately one in four of those questioned
could be said to have harbored some resentment
over the process of officer selection. The impact of
local politics was asserted, for example, by Jim
Carlson, of Cumberland, Wisconsin, in his ques¬
tionnaire in December 1978.
71 Ladysmith News-Budget, 17 August 1917, p. 1.
72 From correspondence with E. A. Preston, De¬
cember 1978. Also, William Bretag to Miss Eva
Ross, 28 September 1917, in Bretag Correspon¬
dence, relates the arrival of Milwaukee officers in
their unit.
73 William Bretag to Miss Eva Ross, 31 Decem¬
ber 1917, in Bretag Correspondence.
74 Ibid.
75 Ladysmith News-Budget, 5 October 1917,
pp. 1-2.
76 Slossen, Great Crusade, p. 36.
77 Rusk County Journal, 25 January 1918, p. 1.
In 1917 there were 160,000 registered vehicles in
Wisconsin ( Ladysmith News-Budget, 5 October
1917, p. 2).
78 Howard P. Chudacoff, The Evolution of Amer¬
ican Urban Society (Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-
Hall, 1975), p. 180.
79 Ladysmith News-Budget, 5 October 1917, p.
4; 5 August 1917, p. 1.
80 Conversation with Sergeant Ralph D. Jenkins,
of Bruce, Wisconsin, in November 1978; William
Bretag to Miss Eva Ross, 25 September 1917, in
Bretag Correspondence; ibid., 10 September 1917
and 28 September 1917.
81 Rice Lake Chronotype, 26 April 1917, p. 7.
82 Ladysmith News-Budget, 26 October 1917, p.
2.
83 Rusk County Journal, 7 December 1917, p. 4.
84 William Bretag to Miss Eva Ross, 25 October
1917 and 4 November 1917, in Bretag Correspon¬
dence.
85 Orville Shannon at Fort Stevens, Oregon, to
his sister Mrs. Joyce Matthews, 11 April 1918, in
correspondence collection of Mrs. Joyce Matthews
of Ladysmith, Wisconsin.
86 Allen Cooper to parents, 18 September 1918,
in Cooper Correspondence.
87 Wisconsin Blue Book for 1919, p. 340.
88 William Bretag to Miss Eva Ross, 14 Septem¬
ber 1917, in Bretag Correspondence.
89 Barron County Shield, 16 August 1917, p. 1.
"Allen Cooper to parents, 24 September 1918,
in Cooper Correspondence; William Bretag to Miss
Eva Ross, 5 November 1917, in Bretag Correspon¬
dence.
91 Eldon Shannon at Camp Shelby, Mississippi,
to his sister Mrs. Joyce Matthews, 16 November
1918, in Matthews Correspondence; William Bre¬
tag to Miss Eva Ross, 31 October 1917, in Bretag
Correspondence.
92 Ibid., 31 October 1917 and 19 November
1917.
93 Rusk County Journal, 8 February 1918, p. 3.
94 Ladysmith News-Budget, 27 August 1917, p. 6.
95 Orville Shannon at Fort Stevens, Oregon, to
his sister Mrs. Joyce Matthews, 15 July 1918, in
Matthews Correspondence.
96 A fuller study which included American vet¬
erans of both World Wars indicated that only
twenty-five percent of returning veterans moved
away from their home counties [Peter Karsten,
Soldiers and Society (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood
Press, 1978), p. 32].
97 Maloney, Rusk County, p. 120.
ARTS SUPPORT GOES PUBLIC IN WISCONSIN
Fannie Taylor
University of Wisconsin-Madison
The State of Wisconsin holds the distinc¬
tion of being the last state in the Union to
achieve a statutory agency for the arts. Yet,
it was one of the earliest states to explore
the concept of a state council. Why the de¬
lay?
Is this a classic case of “the first shall be
last”? Was it due to ineptitude, mismanage¬
ment, apathy? Is the delay an example of the
ability of Wisconsin citizens to discuss every¬
thing into a comatose condition? Was it lack
of political acumen?
Some of these and none of them. We shall
leave the finger pointing for future historians
and attempt in this paper only to chronicle
briefly the long, tortuous and often heart¬
breaking efforts of many dedicated men and
women who worked for nearly two decades
to make recognition of the arts a legitimate
concern of the state.
From papers of the period and recollec¬
tions of those involved, come the patterns of
interest in developing an organized citizen
support for the arts.1 In 1953, Extension
Arts Professor Robert E. Gard was in En¬
gland examining the activities of the British
Arts Council. He returned to discuss the
idea with Extension Dean Lorenz H. Adolf-
son, who appointed a committee chaired by
Extension English Professor George B. Rod-
man to explore the concept.
Origin of the Wisconsin Arts
Foundation and Council
On December 3, 1956, representatives of
a variety of cultural organizations met in
Madison to review the need for a statewide
council for the arts, to determine what pur¬
poses it could serve beyond those of the Ex¬
tension Division, to decide how best to or¬
ganize, and who should be invited to mem¬
bership. As a result, the Wisconsin Arts
Foundation and Council was incorporated
on May 2, 1957. The word “foundation”
was included in the hope that a capital fund
might eventually be established on behalf of
the arts.
People instrumental in these early devel¬
opments included Robert Gard, who was
elected president in January 1958, Robert
Schacht, S. Janice Kee, Helen Lyman, Wil¬
liam W. Cary, LaVahn Maesch, David H.
Stevens (newly retired head of the Rocke¬
feller Foundation arts and humanities di¬
vision), Mrs. B. C. Ziegler, Eli Tash, James
Schwalbach, Walter Meives, George Foster,
Elmer Winter, A1 P. Nelson, Edward H.
Dwight, William Feldstein, Mrs. Mary John,
Mrs. Lela Smith and G. Ellis Burcaw.2
Other groups in the state, beyond the
original organizers, became interested.
Movements to create state arts councils were
gaining momentum throughout the country
as a result of the successful community coun¬
cils that had been functioning for 25 years
or more. In New York, the state legislature
was in the process of discussing a state arts
council. Canada had already passed the Can¬
ada Council Act.
In 1959, Gard took a year’s leave of ab¬
sence and Mrs. Bernard Ziegler, vice presi¬
dent, headed the organization until the mem¬
bership meeting in November 1959 at which
William W. Cary, public relations director
of the Northwestern Mutual Insurance Com¬
pany, was chosen president. Mrs. Ziegler
obtained the services of counsel for drafting
by-laws and obtaining tax exempt status un¬
der Internal Revenue rulings. Cary began a
Quarterly Arts Calendar which for more
than a decade faithfully listed cultural activi¬
ties over the entire state.
64
1980]
Taylor — Arts Support in Wisconsin
65
The group established a pattern of arts
seminar meetings around Wisconsin. For
example, in 1959, the annual meeting was
held in Appleton where contralto Maureen
Forrester was appearing in a concert at Law¬
rence College. The membership also heard
an address by University of Wisconsin gradu¬
ate Charles C. Mark, then executive secre¬
tary of the Winston-Salem, North Carolina,
Arts Council.
The annual meeting in November 1962
was held at the Johnson Foundation head¬
quarters at Wingspread in conjunction with
a conference entitled “Common Threads in
Contemporary Art.” This national assembly
on the arts was initiated by the Extension
Division with Professor Edward L. Kamarck
chairing the faculty planning committee, and
was one of the first such interdisciplinary
meetings in the country.
By 1963, the idea that the federal govern¬
ment should become involved in support of
the arts was encouraged by the report of
August Heckscher to President John F. Ken¬
nedy, entitled “The Arts and the National
Government.”
A month after the Heckscher report the
New York Times published a national study
about arts development around the nation.
Sometimes when the New York Times looks
beyond the Hudson, it becomes nearsighted.
Wisconsin, it claimed, was “a cultural dust
bowl” because the state had been laggard in
developing a state-wide planning effort for
the arts.3
Of course the judgment entirely over¬
looked the pioneering impact on national
cultural patterns from the University of Wis¬
consin’s long and innovative support of ac¬
tivities such as the artist-in-residence and
radio station WHA, the “oldest station in
the nation,” which had filled the air waves
for years with “Music of the Masters” and
“Chapter A Day.” It took no account of the
rich cultural growth from ethnic roots which
has never been allowed to wither in Wiscon¬
sin.
Not having a Rockefeller up the Hudson
to help develop our cultural potential, Wis¬
consin had no official state arts council — but
neither did many other states. Wisconsin was
not a cultural desert; it just needed watering.
Governor’s Council on the Arts
Governor John Reynolds may have been
somewhat annoyed by the New York Times
statement which was widely quoted. Per¬
haps, and more probably, given the nature
of political pressures, someone influential in
the arts reached the governor, and said loud¬
ly, “Do something!”
Reynolds acted. In the fall of 1963 ap¬
parently without reference to the existence
of the Wisconsin Arts Foundation and Coun¬
cil, he created a Governor’s Council on the
Arts to “call attention to public events and
exhibitions in the performing arts, issue a bi¬
monthly digest of current cultural events and
displays, to serve as liaison for public and
private organizations concerned with the arts
and to issue awards to citizens who have
attained distinction in the arts.”4
Dean Adolph A. Suppan of the University
of Wisconsin-Milwaukee was appointed
chairman by the Governor. Suddenly, there
were two organizations in Wisconsin strug¬
gling to further the cause of the arts, state¬
wide.
Without funding the Governor’s Council
had difficulty being effective but at the May
meeting at Wingspread it established several
committees, including one on awards, as
directed by the Governor. Dr. Abraham
Melamed of Milwaukee chaired the com¬
mittee. The Governor’s Council also urged
support for the bill to establish a National
Council on the Arts which had just passed
the United States Senate and was pending in
the House.
Governor’s Awards
By September 9, 1964, the Governor’s
Awards Committee reported nominations for
recognition in six categories: the arts in gen-
66
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
eral, the visual arts, music, drama, literary
arts, dance, and, in addition, a special cita¬
tion and award. Governor Reynolds agreed
to host a dinner at the Governor’s Mansion
on October 8 when the announcement of the
arts awards to citizens was to be made. The
dinner was given as scheduled, although the
Governor was unable to attend. The citations
represent the first major notice by the State
of the contributions of the arts to Wisconsin
society.
All of this activity and public notice was
not well received by the Wisconsin Arts
Foundation and Council. On September 28,
1963, meeting at Janesville, the Board in¬
structed George Richard, Secretary, to write
to Governor Reynolds. He said “since it
seemed clear your advice on planning the
Governor’s Council did not provide you with
a thorough background on the related devel¬
opments in the arts area, our board of direc¬
tors and arts committee thought it advisable
to let you know something about ... the
Wisconsin Arts Council”5
Bewildered by the Governor’s Arts Coun¬
cil, the WAFC discussed the possibility of
formal liaison with the “political group.”
They agreed, however that nothing should be
done until the Governor’s Council had
longer experience and had formulated its
goals and objectives more explicitly.
Mrs. Carl T. Wilson, director of the Door
County Festival, was a member of both the
WAFC and the Governor’s Council. In
March 1964, at Mount Mary College, Mil¬
waukee, she told the WAFC board that her
first impression was that the Governor’s
Council was to concentrate on promotion
of Wisconsin arts activities outside the state.
WAFC members foresaw conflicts between
the two groups with confusion inevitable in
the public mind.
The WAFC also had internal problems.
At another Wingspread meeting in Novem¬
ber 1964, persistent absenteeism on the part
of Board members and continuing resigna¬
tions prompted a resolution that directors
would be expected to attend at least fifty
percent of the Board meetings.
Times changed. A new election brought
Warren P. Knowles to the Governor’s post.
He abandoned the idea of an appointed Gov¬
ernor’s Council on the Arts and instead re¬
quested the WAFC Board to recommend
nominees for eight governor-appointed board
members to their organization. The WAFC
changed its by-laws making the Governor an
ex-officio director of the corporation with
power to appoint eight directors.
WAFC Designated Federal Agency
On April 2, 1965, Governor Knowles des¬
ignated the Wisconsin Arts Foundation and
Council as the official state coordinating
group for the arts.6 This was a tremendous
step forward, but there was still no tax money
to implement the challenge.
Once again the Johnson Foundation
stepped in with help and offered $5,000 for
support of a “summit conference” at Wing-
spread to be attended by art delegates from
seven regions of the state. The conference
was in part a response to the passage of fed¬
eral legislation which had created the Na¬
tional Endowment for the Arts. It was also
conceived as an effort to involve the whole
state in determining goals for long-term art
growth. The University Extension assumed
responsibility for organization and promo¬
tion of the effort. William Cary and Edward
Kamarck chaired the program and eight
regional meetings were held before the cul¬
minating conference at Wingspread, entitled
“Project: Wisconsin and The Arts” on No¬
vember 20, 1965. The session in Madison
was recorded by Lee Sherman Dreyfus.
At the Wingspread meeting, nearly 80
state and national leaders assembled. Among
the speakers were Julius Bloom, Executive
Director of Carnegie Hall, who gave the
keynote address on “Our Cultural Econ¬
omy,” and Ralph Burgard, Executive Secre-
1980]
Taylor — Arts Support in Wisconsin
67
tary of the Arts Councils of America. The
proceedings were published in a handsome
booklet.
Throughout 1965 the WAFC was busy.
It decided to continue the Governor’s
Awards and developed a “Festival Planning
Booklet.” In cooperation with the State Free
Library Commission a bibliography was pre¬
pared called “The Arts Are For All,” which
recommended basic art study materials for
every public library. The Wisconsin Federa¬
tion of Women’s Clubs undertook to see that
all state public libraries would receive them.
In February 1966, President Cary at¬
tended meetings in Chicago, sponsored by
the National Endowment for the Arts, and
reported “WAFC is doing about as much as
any state council, excluding four or live
which have state appropriations.” He also
found that a $25,000 “study grant” from the
Arts Endowment would be available to
Wisconsin.7 The Johnson Foundation again
helped with “seed money” to implement the
use of the federal funds.
In July 1966, WAFC Vice President
George Richard became executive director
with responsibility for directing the study.
The funds were to support a staff and office
for nine to twelve months. The state study
group was divided into three task forces as
follows: Task Force I — to explore the ad¬
visability of forming a state arts agency, Task
Force II — to explore creation of a statewide
cultural inventory; Task Force III — to ex¬
plore the Wingspread conference recommen¬
dations pertaining to the arts in education.
Eleven statewide meetings were arranged
between September 17 and October 15. By
the November annual meeting a plan was
outlined with legislative as well as guber¬
natorial blessing to support the formation of
a state arts agency.
Program suggestions arising from the study
included forming pilot touring companies
in the performing arts, encouraging greater
communication in the arts, establishing more
local arts councils and local arts festival
workshops, and continuing the work of Task
Force III on educational needs in the arts.
An appropriate budget was proposed: office
— $50,000, calendar and information ser¬
vices — $30,000, regional assistance —
$30,000, pilot touring projects — $100,000.
Task Force I reviewed three possible op¬
tions for the WAFC organization: To con¬
tinue WAFC with legislative support; To
reorganize WAFC into a state agency; To
form a new agency. On November 5, 1966,
Charles McCallum reported that the task
force he chaired recommended the third
option, formation of a new non-membership
organization with a board appointed by the
Governor. Presumably, legislators would not
support a membership organization and the
chance of obtaining legislative approval was
better for a standard state agency than for a
hybrid.
Meantime, there was some progress on
the state level.
Senate Bill 30 was introduced in the 1967
Wisconsin Legislature, at the request of Gov¬
ernor Knowles, by Senators Jerris Leonard
of Milwaukee and Fred Risser of Madison,
and Assemblywoman Esther Doughty of
Horicon. The bill called for the establish¬
ment of a fifteen member state arts commis¬
sion to be called the Wisconsin State Arts
Council. The Council was to establish pub¬
lic policy on encouragement of the arts in
Wisconsin and the bill provided specific
safeguards for freedom of artistic expres¬
sion.
The measure provided for a state appro¬
priation of $25,000 for each year of the
1967-69 biennium — the minimum necessary
to establish an administrative office to:
1. Act as an information exchange agency for
state arts groups and individual artists. 2.
Make available for arts activities (sponsored
by organizations and institutions in Wiscon¬
sin) up to $50,000 a year in grants from the
National Endowment for the Arts. 3. Help
68
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
arts organizations in Wisconsin to obtain
private contributions and other federal aid.
4. Work with federal, state and local agen¬
cies and private organizations and institu¬
tions in strengthening the arts, and educa¬
tion in the arts, in Wisconsin.
Senate Bill 30 was referred to the Legis¬
lature’s Joint Committee on Finance, chaired
by Republican Senator Walter G. Hollander
of Rosendale and Republican Assemblyman
Byron Wackett of Watertown.
Hope for passage of the bill ran high, not
only because of the intrinsic value of the
legislation but because broadly based sup¬
port for the concept of state involvement in
the arts had been expressed in the 1965 and
1966 regional meetings. There was also the
implicit understanding that if state action
were not taken to establish an adequately
financed administrative framework, the state
might lose opportunities for obtaining fed¬
eral funds.
There were still problems. In March 1967
the WAFC Board passed a motion to ap¬
prove all actions taken during the preceed-
ing 12 months at meetings at which a
quorum was not present. The need for this
action suggests why, despite all the meetings
and the effort expended in the sixties, the
WAFC was never quite able to succeed in
its mission.
By August 1967, the Johnson Foundation
grant was running out and money to support
the necessary administration and WAFC
funds were gone. The Board decided to write
the membership for emergency assistance.
Also, at the August meeting, a new need for
arts development support appeared. Re¬
quests for help came from some several
“inner city” groups — perhaps a reflection of
the turmoil in the American cities which had
erupted during the hot summer of 1967.
There was considerable gloom at the No¬
vember annual meeting. The year which had
begun so well was ending in disappointment.
About $1,800 remained in the treasury. The
Legislature had recessed without taking ac¬
tion to establish a statutory arts agency. The
WAFC Board faced the need to raise ad¬
ministrative funds to allocate the federal
grants; this need put WAFC in direct com¬
petition with the very groups it was trying
to help. The newsletter headline was “Gray
Day for the Arts in Wisconsin” and the text
stated that only Mississippi, Delaware and
American Samoa were as “behindhand” as
Wisconsin in setting up state-supported arts
programs. Nevertheless, continuing efforts by
the WAFC to provide service were docu¬
mented in a series of printed reports from
the Wisconsin Arts Resources Study com¬
mittee.
In 1968, the agency continued to function,
receiving and dispensing federal funds and
attempting to raise private money for ad¬
ministrative needs. Funding became so acute
for the office that at the July 1968 meeting
at Spring Green, the position of the Execu¬
tive Director George Richard was reduced
to half time. Young Audiences of Wisconsin
utilized the other half of his time for their
administrative needs and agreed to share
their Milwaukee Headquarters with WAFC.
Nine months later William Boyd, repre¬
senting attorney Harry Franke, reported
that the financially conservative attitude in
the State Assembly would now make the
establishment of a state agency very difficult.
George Richard resigned as director.
Summer was dismal. The Board had a
balance of $4,100 and on the federal level
the National Endowment for the Arts was
also without funds, because Congressional
action for the current fiscal year was delayed,
The Arts Endowment was able to allocate
only $20,000, of a potential $39,000, avail¬
able to Wisconsin for project grants.
At this point, Oscar Louik, the WAFC
Treasurer, volunteered to serve as Executive
Director for the coming year for a salary of
$6,000, half of which he would raise him¬
self. On the recommendation of a special
committee, he developed a state-wide arts
resources and information service to coordi-
1980]
Taylor — Arts Support in Wisconsin
69
nate and publish information and give ad¬
ministrative counseling to arts groups.
At the November annual meeting, Louik
brought good news. A legislative measure
establishing a statutory arts council, without
state funding, had been introduced in the
Senate. Within a month, there was gloom
again. The Milwaukee Journal reported:
The Joint Finance committee added new
luster to its negative reputation Thursday
when it tabled a bill that would have perma¬
nently designated the Wisconsin Arts Foun¬
dation and Council the official state body to
coordinate the use of federal funds to sup¬
port a variety of fine arts programs. The rea¬
son given for the committee’s tabling action
was that the bill might open the doors to the
use of state funds to support the arts. And
what’s wrong with that? The nation has ex¬
perienced a growing awareness in the last
decade that fine arts should be officially sup¬
ported. President Nixon has just called on
Congress to double — to $40,000,000 — fed¬
eral support of the arts through the National
Foundation on the Arts and Humanities. It
is this body that has distributed money to
the Wisconsin council.
Legislative action is needed to give some
fine arts body permanent designation as the
state’s representative. The bill now tabled
is the minimum that should be done in this
area. The Joint Finance committee should
reconsider its moves.8
On February 21, 1970, because of con¬
tinuing confusion, Louik recommended that
the word “foundation” be dropped from the
organization’s name. Audrey Baird of Mil¬
waukee moved that the name be officially
changed to Wisconsin Arts Council. At a
July meeting the change was approved. A
quarterly publication, “Wisconsin Arts
Fare,” was established to provide visibility
for the arts around the state.
At the 1970 annual meeting President
William Cary announced his wish to retire,
and a search committee was established
under Charles McCallum of Milwaukee.
Cary continued for some months, assisted
by Vice President Donovan Riley of Mil¬
waukee. The search committee recommended
adding a Chairman of The Board and a
Second Vice President to the list of officers.
WAC Again Becomes an
Official Agency
At the March 1971 meeting the history
of the on-going Governor’s Awards in the
Arts was clarified; the by-laws of the WAC
were amended, and Oscar Louik reported
that the incoming Democratic governor,
Patrick W. Lucey, had on January 25, 1971,
once again designated the WAC as the
official arts body for the state.
At the annual meeting on November 13,
1971, Donovan Riley of Milwaukee was
elected president and Gerald A. Bartell of
Madison Chairman of the Board. Bartell at
once put his years of media experience to
work to create broader public recognition for
the WAC through use of television spot an¬
nouncements. Subsequently these short 15
and 30 second spots were seen throughout
the state. They emphasized that “The Arts
Are For Everyone. Support. Enjoy.” There
were other activities: Lee Sherman Dreyfus
became chairman of the Arts Committee;
the Wisconsin Graphics project with port¬
folios of ten prints by state artists was made
available for sale;9 the by-laws were again
revised. A new category of members was
established for long-time board members,
and Robert Gard, Lloyd Schultz, Fannie
Taylor, Mrs. Edward Weiler, and Mrs. Carl
T. Wilson were named emeritus board mem¬
bers.
Once again the Governor appointed a
committee — this time a Governor’s Study
Committee on the Arts with Dean Adolph
A. Suppan, University of Wisconsin-Milwau-
kee, as chairman, to review the role of the
State Arts Council.10
A special conference at Wingspread on
September 29, 1972, brought Governor
Lucey to make the Governor’s Arts Awards
in person. One of these awards was made,
70
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
appropriately, to William W. Cary for his
long and dedicated support. Keynote speaker
for the conference was Frank Stanton, vice-
chairman of the Columbia Broadcasting Sys¬
tem. Notables from the state and from the
National Endowment for the Arts attended.
At the November annual meeting the
Board authorized a formal request from
Chairman of the Board Bartell, and William
C. Kidd, State Secretary for Business De¬
velopment, to Governor Lucey as follows
in “considering your 1973-75 budget for
the State of Wisconsin or special legislation
for the 1973 Legislature you include and en¬
dorse the following: Creation of a statutory
state arts council. Appropriation of state
funds to such a council, the amount of
money not to exceed $150,000 the first year
of the biennium and $200,000 the second
year.” The money thus requested was in¬
tended to match federal support to Wiscon¬
sin from the Arts Endowment, and the mes¬
sage to the Governor again emphasized that
Wisconsin, alone among the fifty states of
the Union, had no statutory arts agency.
In 1973, the efforts to garner support
continued briskly. Executive Director Oscar
Louik resigned, however,11 blasting the Gov¬
ernor’s Study Committee on the Arts for:
recommending a combined arts and humani¬
ties commission, its incomplete records of
what were intended to be public hearings
around the state, its lack of understanding
of the relationship between the state arts
agencies and the National Endowment for
the Arts, and its injecting the arts council
staff into the political arena.
Throughout the summer of 1973 there was
considerable activity back and forth between
the council offices and the Governor’s office
by the Wisconsin Arts Council executives,
and ultimately the suggestion of the Gover¬
nor’s study committee did not prevail. The
arts and humanities were allowed to retain
their separate status.
The next crisis arose from the possibility
that the Governor might make a line-item
veto because modifications were made dur¬
ing the legislative process. A letter was sent
to “Friends of the Arts in Wisconsin”
alerting them to the possibility and sug¬
gesting that the “Friends” inform Gerald
Bartell and Donovan Riley of their support
for positive action by the Governor,
Wisconsin Arts Board
Then suddenly, the long years of effort
were rewarded. On August 2, 1973 the Gov¬
ernor signed the budget bill. The “endless
haggling” over the budget stopped, and with
that signature, Section 20 15.53 of the Stat¬
utes of Chapter 90, Laws of 1973, became
law. “There is created an arts board to con¬
sist of 12 members appointed for staggered
Fig. 1. Three individuals were cited for support
of the arts at 1980 Governor’s Award dinner. Left
to right they are, Ralph Goldsmith, publisher of
the Boscobel Dial; Mrs. Betty Foster, advocate of
cultural projects at the Wausau Hospital Center,
and (center) Mrs. William D. Hoard, Jr., chairman
and benefactor of the Hoard Museum and its an¬
nual art show in Fort Atkinson. They are shown
here with Gerald A. Bartell, chairman of the Wis¬
consin Foundation for the Arts, sponsor of the
ceremony for Governor Lee Sherman Dreyfus.
1980]
Taylor — Arts Support in Wisconsin
71
3-year terms from among the citizens of the
state who are known for their concern for
the arts.”
The budget bill provided administrative
support in the amount of $94,000 for the
biennium, divided $45,200 the first year and
$49,100 the second. No state funding was
provided for gifts or grants, but specific
authorization was given to receive federal
grant monies. Provision was made for an
executive secretary, and all authority previ¬
ously given to the Wisconsin Arts Council
and Foundation was transferred to the new
Wisconsin Arts Board.
Finally, the Wisconsin Arts Board was
provided with state funds for gifts and grants
as well as for administrative support; the
1979-80 biennium budget for WAB was
$1,471,650. Jerrold B. Rouby headed the
agency as Executive Director.
The Wisconsin Arts Council, whose vari¬
ous board members struggled for so many
years to achieve a statutory agency in our
state, reassumed a portion of its original
name on December 2, 1977. As the Wiscon¬
sin Foundation for the Arts it now continues
to act as a citizen membership organization
and arts advocate and its most recent ac¬
tivity was to sponsor a new version of the
former “Governor’s Awards.”
In the fall of 1980, the WFA with the
help of Governor Lee Sherman Dreyfus re¬
instituted the Governor’s Awards. Recogni¬
tion of the need for business support of the
arts was incorporated in the “Governor’s
Awards in Support of the Arts,” which were
given to seven corporate executives and three
individuals at a gala dinner at the Gover¬
nor’s mansion on October 9, hosted by Gov¬
ernor and Mrs. Dreyfus (Figs. 1 and 2). 12
Fig. 2. Recipients of the Governor’s Awards in Support of the Arts are cited for corporate
support at the Governor’s awards dinner, October 9, 1980 (left to right): Herbert V. Kohler,
Jr., Robert Hartwig, Donald J. Schuenke, Hal C. Kuehl, Gerald A. Bartell, chairman of the
Wisconsin Foundation for the Arts, John S. Sensenbrenner, Jr., Oscar G. Mayer, and James R.
Schweiger.
72
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
The new version of the Governor’s
Awards points up the strong support for
creative activity that exists throughout the
state, much of it fostered by citizen endeav¬
ors to form a state agency. Throughout Wis¬
consin there are flourishing arts groups,
many of which did not exist fifteen years ago.
The requirement for matching money to ob¬
tain support from the public sector, a con¬
cept now routinely required on both the
federal and state level, has become an im¬
portant force in opening new opportunities
for artists and their organizations. But the
most important support for public funding
has come from the artists, the arts organiza¬
tions, the audiences, and the public, all of
whom have insisted that the arts must be an
integral part of our everyday lives.
Notes
1 Gard, R. E., Unpublished letter to the author,
April 1979.
2 “A Brief History of the Wisconsin Arts Foun¬
dation and Council,” as provided by U.W. Exten¬
sion, n.d.; and WAFC Minutes of April 12, 1957.
3Esterow, Milton, New York Times, June 15,
1963.
4 Wisconsin Blue Book 1964, p. 303. “Governor’s
Council on the Arts.”
Also appointed: Gordon Berchardt, Richard
Gregg, Mrs. Harold Groves, Tom Holter, Roland
A. Johnson, Sister M. Laudesia, Mrs. John Mar¬
shall, Dr. Abraham Melamed, Rudolph Morris,
Leslie Paffrath, Jack Rudolph, Sister Mary Remy,
Fannie Taylor (Secretary), Sister Thomasita, Mrs.
Carl T. Wilson, Elmer Winter, Mrs. Webster
Woodmansee, Robert Zigman (Leonard Zubrensky,
legal counsel for the Governor, attended ex officio).
5 By-laws and Minutes, Governor’s Council on
the Arts, F. Taylor Collection, Wisconsin State
Historical Library Archives.
6 Wisconsin Blue Book 1973, p. 346. “The
Governor’s Council on the Arts, created as a spe¬
cial committee in 1963, and the Wisconsin Arts
Foundation and Council, a private statewide or¬
ganization representing all of the arts, were merged
in April 1965. Among its 200 members, the Wis¬
consin Arts Council includes some 50 organiza¬
tions — art centers, colleges, merged organizations —
to effectively explore and develop ways of increas¬
ing cultural opportunities and resources in Wiscon¬
sin. In 1971 the council was designated as the of¬
ficial state body through which the public interest
in the arts and culture should be maintained, en¬
couraged, and disseminated in Wisconsin” (Senate
Joint Resolution 22).
The governor appoints 8 public directors. There
are also 15 elected directors.
7 “A Review of Art Activities in Wisconsin,”
National Endowment for the Arts Fact Sheet, April
1966.
8 The Milwaukee Journal Dec. 19, 1969.
9 A “pre -publication” offer for $500 was made
to museums on March 12, 1971. Artists repre¬
sented in the portfolio were: Robert Burkert, War¬
rington Colescott, Jack Darner, Raymond Gloeck-
ler, Victor Kord, Dean Meeker, Frances Meyers,
Marko Spalatin, Arthur Thrall and William Weege.
10 Wisconsin Blue Book 1973, p. 347. Study
Committee on the Arts in the State of Wisconsin
and the Wisconsin Arts Council. Members Adolph
A. Suppan, chairman, Mrs. Marion Baumann, Mrs.
Ralph Brandon, Tom Evans, John Gauthier, Tom
Harris, Edward Kamarck, Michael Kazar, Charles
Krause, Mrs. Mary Lewis, Roger Mitchell, Don
Reitz, Don Rintz, O. Vernon Schaffer, Ray Taylor,
Mrs. Mary Alice Wimmer. Committee created
February 1972 “to review the state of the arts in
Wisconsin and the role of the Wisconsin Arts
Council . . . what programs can the arts council
undertake to increase the number of citizen par¬
ticipants in all of the creative arts? How can it
best recognize and encourage promising individual
artists in Wisconsin? How can minority projects
be best assisted by the Arts council? The final
report of the study committee was issued in Jan¬
uary 1973.”
11 The Milwaukee Journal, February 23, 1973.
12 Wisconsin State Journal, October 12, 1980.
13 GOVERNOR S AWARDS IN THE ARTS
1964
Mrs. H. L. Bradley, River Hills
Edna Ferber, New York
Lynn Fontanne and Alfred Lunt, Genesee Depot
Margaret H’Doubler, Sister Bay
Robert Osborn, Conn.
Peninsula Music Festival, Door County
Edward Steichen, Conn.
University of Wisconsin-Madison
University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee
Robert von Neumann, Milwaukee
Father John Walsh, Milwaukee
Thornton Wilder, Conn.
Wisconsin Painters and Sculptors
Frank Lloyd Wright (posthumous)
1980]
Taylor — Arts Support in Wisconsin
73
1965
August Derleth, Sauk City
Georgia O’Keefe, Taos, N.M.
Ralph Votapek, N.Y.
Johnson Foundation, Racine
Elsa Ulbricht, Milwaukee
Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra
Marine National Exchange Bank, Milwaukee
Wisconsin Federation of Music Clubs
1967
Robert E. Gard, Madison
Thor Johnston, Evanston, Ill.
Charlotte Partridge, Mequon
Wm. P. Wenzler & Assoc. Milwaukee
Milwaukee Repertory Theater
Milwaukee Art Center
Schlitz Brewing Co., Milwaukee
1968
Fine Arts Quartet, Milwaukee
Roland Johnson, Madison
Pabst Brewing Co., Milwaukee
Sr. Thomasita, Milwaukee
Sr. Mary Remy, Milwaukee
John Anello, Milwaukee
Aldo Leopold (posthumous)
1969
Warrington Colescott, Madison
Aaron Bohrod, Madison
James S. Watrous, Madison
Mrs. Ronald A. Dougan, Beloit
Phillip Sealy, Appleton
Peninsula Arts Association, Door County
Wisconsin Ballet Company, Madison
1970
Emmett Sarig, Madison
Edna Meudt, Dodgeville
Donald Reitz, Spring Green
Edward A. Boerner, Milwaukee
Mrs. Carl T. Wilson, Milwaukee
Marie A. Endres, Madison
Gunnar Johansen, Madison
1971
Madison Art Center
James R. Schwalbach, Madison
Richard W. E. Perrin, Milwaukee
O. V. Shaffer
Milwaukee Inner City Arts Council
1972
G. Lloyd Schultz, Lake Mills
Clair Richardson, Milwaukee
Mrs. Elmer J. Einum, Rice Lake
William W. Cary, Milwaukee
Frank Italiano, La Crosse
Ruth Mary Fox, Madison
Ruth Milofsky, Milwaukee
GOVERNOR’S AWARDS IN SUPPORT OF
THE ARTS
1980
(Corporate citations)
John S. Sensenbrenner, Jr., president of Kimberly-
Clark Foundation, Neenah
Donald J. Schuenke, president of Northwestern
Mutual Life Insurance Co., Milwaukee
Oscar G. Mayer, Oscar Mayer & Co., Madison
Hal C. Kuehl, president of First Wisconsin Corp.,
Milwaukee
James R. Schweiger, president of Schweiger Indus¬
tries, Jefferson
Herbert V. Kohler, Jr., chairman of the board of
Kohler Co., Kohler
Robert Hartwig, president of Hartwig Manufactur¬
ing Co., Wausau
(Individual citations)
Robert Goldsmith, Boscobel
Mrs. Betty Foster, Wausau
Mrs. William D. Hoard, Jr., Fort Atkinson
VEGETATION CHANGE ON THE GOGEBIC IRON RANGE
(IRON COUNTY, WISCONSIN) FROM THE 1860s TO THE PRESENT
David J. Mladenoff and Evelyn A. Howell
Department of Landscape Architecture
University of Wisconsin-Madison
A bstract
This study documents the impact of iron mining activity and associated settle¬
ment on the vegetation of a portion of the Gogebic Iron Range in Wisconsin.
Land cover was determined and vegetation maps prepared for three different peri¬
ods: 1) The 1860s representing pre-mining conditions, 2) The 1930s representing
peak development, and 3) The 1970s representing declining human activity. Im¬
portance Values and size class distributions were calculated for the major tree
species of the 1860s and 1970s based on Feberal Land Office Survey data and field
sampling.
At the time of initial settlement the dominant upland vegetation was mesic
forest with sugar maple ( Acer saccharum ), hemlock ( Tsuga canadensis ), and
yellow birch ( Betula lutea ) as major components. Much of this forest was cleared
for mining timber and to create farmland around the mining communities. With
the cessation of mining, the area is gradually returning to mesic forest. The forest
of the 1970s appears younger and more diverse than that of the 1860s with greater
dominance of sugar maple and lower importance of hemlock and yellow birch.
Human activities have altered both the present condition and future composition of
the forest to an extent that evidence of this disturbance will not disappear in the
near future.
Introduction
Iron County is located in north-central
Wisconsin, where it borders Lake Superior
and the western end of the upper peninsula
of Michigan (Fig. 1). The Gogebic Range
extends across the northern portion of Iron
County, from Ashland County on the south¬
west into Michigan on the northeast.
The Gogebic Range is best known for its
iron deposits which were mined heavily from
the mid 1880s until operations ceased in the
mid 1960s. Permanent settlement began with
the development of the first mines. By 1920,
the mines on the Range were shipping ap¬
proximately 6 million tons of ore per year
(Mladenoff 1979). The population of Iron
County reached over 10,000 persons in the
1930s, but by the 1970s had declined to
6500 inhabitants, fewer than in 1900.
Our purpose was to document the impact
of the characteristic “boom and bust” cycle
of mining activity on the vegetation of the
Gogebic Range. To do this the land cover
was analyzed during three periods which
represent different parts of the cycle: the
1860s, 1934, and the 1970s. By comparing
the plant communities of these three eras,
the extent and duration of the impact of
mining and its associated activities were
traced.
Geology, Soils and Climate
Two parallel ridge systems comprise the
Gogebic Range (Fig. 1 ) . The southern Iron
Range is composed of resistant quartzite,
granite and the iron formation. The northern
Gabbro-Trap Range is composed of highly
faulted and eroded Keweenawan lava flows
of basalt and gabbro. Between them lies a
lower central valley of less resistant slate
74
STUDY AREA
1980]
Mladenoff and Howell — Vegetation on the Gogebic Iron Range
75
CONTOUR INTERVAL 50
76
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Fig. 2. Presettlement (1860) vegetation communities.
1980]
Mladenoff and Howell — Vegetation on the Gogebic Iron Range
77
rock. All formations dip sharply to the north¬
west. The ridges reach an elevation of 520
to 580 meters (1700 to 1900 feet) above
sea level, or approximately 365 meters (1200
feet) above Lake Superior. The low points,
approximately 335 meters (1100 feet) in
elevation, occur in the central valley and to
the north of the Range, and give a local
relief of about 245 meters (800 feet) (Mar¬
tin 1965).
Soils in the study area are derived from
glacial materials, primarily ground moraine
with reddish-brown till. Soil types vary from
Orthods (Podzols) to Inceptisols (Low
Humic Gley and Brown Forest Soils) (Hole
1976).
In general, the climate of the Gogebic
Range study area is typical of northern Wis¬
consin and is characterized as temperate hu¬
mid continental, with cool, short summers
and cold winters. Locally, however, the
mesoclimate is influenced by the proximity
of Lake Superior, and more distinctively,
the steep elevational gradient from the Lake
to the Range. The prevailing movement of
weather systems over Lake Superior results
in a narrow band of slightly moderated tem¬
perature and significantly increased precipi¬
tation along the Gogebic Range, when com¬
pared with more interior locations. The av¬
erage annual precipitation of 91 cm. (36 in.)
and, in particular, the mean annual snowfall
of 391 cm. (154 in.) are substantially
greater than in other portions of the state.
Adjacent Wisconsin stations report average
annual precipitation of 76 to 81 cm. (30 to
32 in.). Ashland, Wisconsin, 56 kilometers
(35 miles) west, has an average annual
snowfall of 152 cm. (60 in.). The average
annual temperature in the study area is 5°C
(41.5°F) (Waite 1960, Strommen 1974).
The Vegetation of the 1860s
The presettlement vegetation of the study
area was reconstructed and mapped using
the field notes of the Federal Government
Land Survey. The purpose of the Survey was
to delineate township and section lines and
to note the general condition of the land in
terms of agricultural and timber production
potential (Bourdo 1956). Different portions
of the study area were surveyed at various
times from 1856 to 1867 by using two dif¬
ferent procedures. On the exterior township
lines, the section and quarter section corners
were marked by recording the distance from
each corner to the closest tree in each com¬
pass quadrant. To identify these “witness”
trees, the species and trunk diameters were
noted. At corners on the interior lines only
two witness trees were used.
These survey data were used to generate
a plant community map following techniques
similar to those employed by Kline and Cot-
tam (1979). The township and section lines
on the study site were mapped at a scale of
1:24,000. On this map species-keyed letter
codes and colored symbols were placed in
the appropriate location for each witness
tree. The map was overlayed onto a topo¬
graphic map for interpolation.
Areas on the map determined by visual in¬
spection to be reasonably homogeneous for
species were delineated and designated as
communities. Two major vegetation groups
were so delineated: the Lowland Complex
and the Upland Communities. Three upland
communities were identified and named for
their dominants: Yellow Birch ( Betula
lutea) Forest, Sugar Maple ( Acer sac-
charum ) Forest, and Hemlock-Sugar Ma¬
ple (Tsuga canadensis- A, saccharum ) For¬
est (Fig. 2, Table 1 ).
Table 1. Area of presettlement (1860) vegetation
communities of Gogebic Iron Range
Percentage Hectares
Community of area (Acres)
78
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Lowland Complex
The Lowland Complex made up 31 per¬
cent of the study area and occurred pri¬
marily along the streams of the central val¬
ley and in the area south of the Iron Range,
and in scattered locations among the ridges
of the Gabbro-Trap Range. The largest sin¬
gle expanse was south of the Iron Range at
the eastern end of the study area. Conifer
swamps of white cedar ( Thuja occidentalis ),
spruce ( Picea spp.), tamarack ( Larix lari-
cina ), and yellow birch predominated.
Based on historical records and the scale
of the surveys used in this study, the Low¬
land Complex received less impact than the
Upland Communities (Mladenoff 1979).
Nor did the Lowland Complex change as
significantly in composition. Consequently,
the Lowland Complex will not be considered
further here.
Upland Communities
The three upland communities were mesic
forests (Curtis 1959), and were dominated
by sugar maple, hemlock, and yellow birch
in different proportions. The development of
much of the Lakes States forest, of which
this was a part, has been postulated to result
from climatic shifts in the mid-sixteenth
century (Graham 1941, Potzger 1946).
Judging by growth tables for northern hard¬
wood species (Gates and Nichols 1930), the
largest hemlocks recorded in the Land Sur¬
vey notes may date to that period.
To describe the structure of each com¬
munity, an Importance Value (I.V.) (Curtis
1959) based on relative density, frequency,
and dominance was calculated for each spe¬
cies of witness tree located within it (Cot-
tam 1949, Ward 1956), and a species-size
distribution graph was prepared.
Yellow Birch Forest: The Yellow Birch
Forest occupied approximately 6 percent of
the study area (Table 1), and occurred pri¬
marily in the uplands south of the Iron Range
(Fig. 2). In general this area is lower than
its surroundings (Fig. 1), and thus is a cold
air sink subject to advection frost at any time
of year. The southwestern exposure also
makes it subject to periodic disturbance
from windthrow and also from fire, especi¬
ally during extremely dry years.
Yellow birch was by far the leading domi¬
nant in the community with an Importance
Value of 34.1 (Table 2). The largest indi¬
viduals in the forest were yellow birch and
this species also had the highest density.
Although common in many northern Wis¬
consin stands, yellow birch does not often
reach such a position of dominance (Brown
and Curtis 1952, Winget et al. 1965). The
reported heavier precipitation for this por¬
tion of the state may partially explain this
anomaly. Hemlock and sugar maple were
second in importance with I.V.’s of 18.8 and
17.2 respectively. In addition, balsam fir
( Abies balsamea), white cedar ( Thuja oc¬
cidentalis), and white spruce ( Picea glauca)
were prominent members of this community.
The size class distribution (Fig. 3) indi-
Table 2. Importance values for species in the presettlement forest communities. Values > 1.0.
1980]
Mladenoff and Howell — Vegetation on the Gogebic Iron Range
79
Fig. 3. Size class distribution of major tree spe¬
cies in the presettlement Yellow Birch Forest.
cates that yellow birch and hemlock were
evenly represented across the range of di¬
ameter classes, evidence that these species
were reproducing in the area. However, the
distributional patterns of these species were
different from that which might normally be
assumed — i.e., having many individuals in
smaller size classes and progressively fewer
in the larger sizes. The skewed distribution
curves found here could have been the re¬
sult of size bias by the surveyors, or it could
be hypothesized that it was a composite pic¬
ture of an area which had experienced a
history of periodic disturbance (Loucks
1970). If this hypothesis were correct, the
Yellow Birch Forest would have been a mo¬
saic of even-aged stands of trees with each
“pocket” dating from a small-scale perturba¬
tion. Yellow birch tends to reproduce well
under conditions following fire as do balsam
fir, white cedar, and white spruce (Fowells
1965). It is also possible that the mosaic
was one of diverse micro-climates as well as
of disturbance. The scale of the land survey
vis-a-vis that of the units of the mosaic
makes it difficult to investigate these theories.
Sugar Maple Forest: The sugar maple
community was centered along the Iron
Range and made up approximately 27 per¬
cent of the study area (Table 1). A small
area also occurred in the center of the Gab-
D/AMETER CLASS in.
Fig. 4. Size class distribution of major tree spe¬
cies in the presettlement Sugar Maple Forest.
bro-Trap Range. Sugar maple was by far
the leading dominant with an Importance
Value of 52.9, twice as high as that of the
second leading dominant, yellow birch
(19.9), and four times that of hemlock
(11.8) (Table 2).
The dominance of sugar maple resulted
from its extreme abundance in the lower size
classes (Fig. 4), although it also was repre¬
sented in larger size classes. Yellow birch
followed a similar pattern, but individuals
were much less numerous (43 vs. 152).
Hemlock was represented in small numbers
across all size classes, being greatly exceeded
in the smaller sizes ( < 16") by sugar maple;
neither yellow birch nor sugar maple ap¬
proached its presence in larger sizes (>20").
The high ridges of the Iron Range pro¬
vided an environment which was not as cold
as that of the Yellow Birch community. In
addition, the area was protected somewhat
from fire by the surrounding wetlands and
the steep topography. These conditions were
excellent for sugar maple and hemlock, and
also for the basswood (Tilia americana ) and
and red oak ( Quercus rubra ) which were
scattered throughout this area; the environ¬
ment was less favorable for yellow birch
(Fowells 1965).
Hemlock-Sugar Maple Forest: This com¬
munity occupied the largest portion of the
80
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
study site (35 percent) (Table 1) and was
centered along the Gabbro-Trap Range
(Fig. 2). Hemlock (I.V. 33.5) and sugar
maple (I.V. 30.4) were codominant (Table
2). Yellow birch (I.V. 18.6) played a lesser
role; also present were basswood, iron wood
( Ostrya virginiana) , red maple ( Acer rub-
rum ), balsam fir, and white cedar. Sugar
maple, hemlock, and yellow birch all had
similar size class distributions, with many
stems in the smaller size classes and few in
the larger sizes (Fig. 5) — an indication that
all three species were reproducing in the
area. Hemlock present were as large as 142
cm. (48 in.) in diameter; there were no
maples or birch larger than 71 cm. (28 in.).
Because of its rugged topography the Gab¬
bro-Trap Range provided a wide variety of
habitats. The system of small ridges and
intervening small valleys allowed maple,
birch and hemlock to reach a more equal de¬
velopment than in either of the other two
communities; the warmer slopes favored the
sugar maple, and the cooler, more moist
coves provided optimal conditions for hem¬
lock and yellow birch (Stearns 1949,
Fowells 1965).
The Vegetation in 1934
The vegetation of the study area as it ap¬
peared during the period of peak develop-
DIAMETER CLASS in.
Fig. 5. Size class distribution of major tree spe¬
cies in the presettlement Hemlock-Sugar Maple
Forest.
ment was reconstructed by using the Land
Economic Inventory for Iron County (Bord-
ner 1934). The Inventory was compiled by
field workers who traversed each quarter
mile of land and noted vegetation communi¬
ties and the current human land usage. From
this detailed survey, a map was constructed
(Fig. 6).
Lowland communities, here identified as
Woody Lowland and Marsh and Lakes, still
occupied approximately the same proportion
of the study area as they did in the 1860s
(Tables 1 and 3). The upland forests, how¬
ever, had been reduced to about 75 percent
of their former extent by clearing for farm¬
land and dwellings; those areas which re¬
mained forested had been greatly changed in
composition.
Because the categories used in the Bord-
ner Survey were different from those used
to interpret the Federal Land Survey, it is
difficult to make exact comparisons between
the eras; nevertheless several trends are evi¬
dent. The Mixed Hardwoods and Conifers
of the Bordner Survey were equivalent to
the upland mesic forest types of the 1860s.
In 1934, these communities made up only
20 percent of the area. In addition, their
structure had changed significantly because
of logging for timber for building and for
extensive use in the mines (Mladenoff
1979). Whereas the presettlement forests
had an average tree diameter of 30 cm. (12
in.), most of the trees recorded in 1934 were
between 2.5 and 15 cm. (1 and 6 in.).
Another type of upland forest, Hardwoods
and Conifers with Aspen ( Populus spp.),
occupied 21.5 percent of the 1934 land
cover. This type occurred along the Iron
Range and across the western portions of
the Gabbro-Trap Range. Aspen was not re¬
corded as a witness tree in the 1860s sur¬
vey of the area and its importance in 1934
was probably a result of recent logging and
fire. Aspen as a community type also oc¬
curred in 1934 in the most recently logged
areas.
1980]
Mladenoff and Howell — Vegetation on the Gogebic Iron Range
81
Fig. 6. Vegetation and land cover types, 1934.
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Fig. 7. Vegetation and land cover types, 1973.
1980]
Mladenoff and Howell — Vegetation on the Gogebic Iron Range
83
Table 3. Land cover in the Gogebic Iron Range,
The Vegetation of the 1970s
The vegetation of the 1970s was docu¬
mented by constructing a map of land cover
types using U.S. Agricultural Stabilization
and Conservation Service (ASCS) black and
white infrared aerial photographs at a scale
of 1:15,460, and by field sampling 15 up¬
land forest stands. The map was based on
visual inspection of changes in the pattern
shown on the photographs supplemented by
ground inspection to verify the classification
of the patterns. Sites for the field sampling
were chosen by locating random points on
U.S. Geological Survey (USGS) topographic
maps (scale 1:24,000) and sampling the
upland forested area closest to the point.
The point-quarter method was used to sam¬
ple trees in each stand (Cottam and Curtis
1956). This method evolved from the tech¬
nique used in the Federal Land Survey in
recording witness trees at section corners.
The sample sites were divided into two
groups: those which occurred in the location
of presettlement Sugar Maple Forests and
those which were located in areas of pre¬
settlement Hemlock-Sugar Maple Forests.
The data were tabulated for each community
in the same manner as that described for
the presettlement data.
In 1973 the lowland communities still
appear remarkably consistent, occupying ap¬
proximately 31 percent of the study area
(Fig. 7, Table 4). Farmland has decreased
greatly since 1934 and wooded areas have
increased. The most notable change in the
composition of the upland forests is the re¬
duction in the area of aspen and the increase
in sugar maple-dominated hardwood. The
Mixed Hardwoods community increased
from 20 percent in 1934 to 52 percent —
seemingly at the expense of aspen dominated
communities. The actual presence of aspen
(primarily P. tremuloides, but including P.
grandidentata ) however, is underestimated
to some extent under this classification. In
some of the areas where it was listed in 1934
in mixture with hardwoods, by 1973 it had
been selectively cut or was dying. In other
locations it is present in the stand as scat¬
tered large individuals; sugar maple is gen¬
erally replacing it on the upland sites. A
considerable area of the aspen community
surrounding the mining towns occupies areas
that were pastured in 1934. Areas listed as
Old Field in the 1970s are recently aban¬
doned farmlands being invaded by shrubs
and aspen.
Comparison of Upland Forests of the
1860s and 1970s
The vegetation map for the 1970s, an era
of declining development, is more similar to
that of the 1860s than it is to the 1934 map
representing peak development. This is pri¬
marily because the upland communities of
the presettlement era are still, or are once
84
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Table 5. Density, mean basal area, and domi¬
nance for presettlement communities and corre¬
sponding sample stand averages for 1978.
again, hardwood dominated by sugar maple.
The field data were used to determine the
extent of changes in structure which may
have occurred in these communities and
which are not evident in the mapped classi¬
fications.
Tree densities and mean tree sizes for the
presettlement Sugar Maple and Hemlock-
Sugar Maple communities of the 1860s were
compared with those in the 1970s (Table 5).
In this time span there have been dramatic
increases in density. The size of the average
tree (basal area measured at breast height)
has changed from 10 to 4 dm2 in the Hem¬
lock-Sugar Maple type, and from 8.6 to 5.9
dm2 in the Sugar Maple type. These size
and density changes are, as noted by Rogers
(1959), an expected change in mesic forests
which have experienced heavy cutting. The
size difference between the two present com¬
munities may have resulted in part because
the sugar maple type, which is largely along
the Iron Range, was cut 20 to 40 years
earlier and is thus an older forest. As ex¬
pected, dominance (dm2/ha) has also de¬
creased in both areas, with the greatest dif¬
ference being noted in the Hemlock-Sugar
Maple community.
Importance Values of the dominant spe¬
cies were calculated for both periods (Table
6). In both vegetation types the most dra¬
matic change has been the greatly increased
value for sugar maple in particular; this in¬
crease has apparently been at the expense
of hemlock and yellow birch. In the Hem¬
lock-Sugar Maple type, the relative impor¬
tance of sugar maple has increased from 30.4
to 50.8 (>65%). Hemlock has decreased
from an I.V. of 33.5 as a leading dominant
to an insignificant 1.5. Yellow birch, which
had been the third leading dominant (I.V.
of 18.6) has been reduced by 62% (I.V.
7.1). The major increases in I.V.s in this
community are in basswood, which has more
than tripled, and in red oak, white ash
( Fraxinus americana ) and aspen.
Similar changes have taken place in the
Sugar Maple community where sugar maple
has increased in I.V. from 52.9 to 68.4. The
former second dominant, yellow birch, has
Table 6. Importance values for dominants in presettlement communities
and corresponding sample stand averages, 1978.
1980]
Mladenoff and Howell — Vegetation on the Gogebic Iron Range
85
decreased in I.V. from 19.9 to 3.1; and
hemlock again is reduced to insignificance.
Major increases again are in basswood, a
quadrupling in value, the appearance of
American elm ( Ulmus americana) as the
third dominant, and increase in red maple
and white ash.
The similarity of change in the two com¬
munities is striking. It seems likely that the
minor differences result from compositional
differences in the original communities
rather than the results of differing histories
since that time. Sugar maple shows vigorous
reproduction with no other species compet¬
ing closely in the smaller size classes (Figs.
8 and 9). The other important species have
increased in the moderately small sizes, but
then again drop off. The greater irregularity
of the curves representing the Hemlock-
Sugar Maple community may be another in¬
dication of more recent cutting and disturb¬
ance.
In both of these types, the pattern shows
near elimination of the codominants of the
sugar maple— -hemlock and yellow birch-—
and an increase in a group of less mesic spe¬
cies. Although these species differ somewhat
between the two communities, they are gen¬
erally those species present in the original
forest, which would have benefited from and
responded to the increased light following
Fig. 8. Size class distribution of major tree spe¬
cies in 1978 in the former Hemlock-Sugar Maple
Forest.
cutting of the more sought after dominants
(Kline and Cottam 1979). In particular,
the marked increase in I.V. of basswood is
probably associated with its sprouting abil¬
ity (Stearns 1951).
During the mining era the mixed hard¬
wood forests were generally selectively cut,
to varying degrees, depending largely on the
market conditions as well as the age and
condition of the various species present in
a stand (Frothingham 1915). This was true
in particular along the Trap Range where
many areas were cut during the erratic and
depressed market conditions of the early
1930s (Corrigan 1976).
Hemlock and yellow birch were in great¬
est demand for lumber (Corrigan 1976) and
were both present in the desirable larger
size classes. Sugar maple, which was present
in smaller sizes, would have been cut less
severely. Conditions resulting after large-
scale cutting would have been unfavorable
to the survival of the remaining hemlock
and yellow birch, because of their greater
sensitivity to exposure, fire, and drought
and their inability to sprout in comparison
to sugar maple (Fowells 1965, Godman
and Krefting 1960).
The structural and compositional changes
from the presettlement condition to the pres¬
ent, particularly the large reduction in mean
Fig. 9. Size class distribution of major tree spe¬
cies in 1978 in the former Sugar Maple Forest.
86
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
basal area, can be attributed to several fac¬
tors, the massive disturbance which ap¬
parently took place in the study area and the
ensuing response of the vegetation. Elimina¬
tion of the trees in the larger size classes is
evident from the data (Figs. 8 and 9). This
is particularly true of hemlock and yellow
birch, which as dominants in the presettle¬
ment communities also constituted the larg¬
est individuals. Consistent with removal of
the large trees is the reduction in dominance
in the present forests. Goff and Zedler
(1968), in a structural analysis of a large
number of stands in the western Great Lakes
area, found a high positive correlation be¬
tween basal area per unit area and mean
diameter, particularly in the northern for¬
ests. This may explain the reduction noted
in mean basal area in the two types of 61%
and 27%, respectively, and the correspond¬
ing reductions in dominance of 37% and
6.5% (TableS).
However, the most significant factor in
the reduction in mean basal area appears
to be the dramatic increase in the smaller
size classes. Tree sizes in the presettlement
communities suggest relatively mature, mesic
forests with stem distribution in all size
classes indicating no severe, recent disturb¬
ance. Removal of large trees would be
necessary for any increase in density and
reduction in basal area to occur in this for¬
est. However, the magnitude of change in
mean basal area, in particular in the Hem¬
lock-Sugar Maple community, does not ap¬
pear to be accounted for directly by the
elimination of the larger trees. Goff and
Zedler (1968) also found a significant nega¬
tive correlation between density and mean
diameter. Correspondingly, the increases in
density for the two forest types in the study
area are 69% and 39%, respectively; both
are of a significantly greater magnitude than
the change in dominance, and much more
closely in proportion to reductions in mean
basal area. A higher peak is also evident
in the small size classes in the present for¬
ests, and that peak occurs at sizes which are
even smaller than those for the presettlement
forests. Several less mesic species occur
with significant importance values; these
species were not present in the presettle¬
ment communities. Auclair and Goff
(1971), in another study of the western
Great Lakes area, found that tree species
diversity is greatest for young, successional
forests at the midpoint along time and en¬
vironmental gradients (mesic). They also
found that a greater diversity of successional
tree species indicates a high density, suc¬
cessional forest. Our data and the assumed
site history point to a similar conclusion;
that the pronounced structural changes, par¬
ticularly the large reduction in mean basal
area, cannot be attributed primarily to the
mere removal of a portion of the larger di¬
ameter trees, per se, but rather to the severe
disturbance and opening of the canopy of
the original mesic forest to an extent that
resulted in the wide-spread, rapid reproduc¬
tion with a greater variety of species
(Loucks 1970). This resulted in the high
diversity forest of today, and more fully
accounts for the changes in mean basal area
and other structural changes.
Several workers in Wisconsin have cited
damage by browsing deer as being the pri¬
mary cause in the reduction of hemlock
reproduction in particular (Beals et al. 1960,
Swift 1948). Evidence that browsing was an
important factor does not seem to be present.
Northern Iron County, because of its heavy
winter snows and extensive mesic forests,
affords less food and traditionally has had
a lower deer population than adjacent coun¬
ties. This can be illustrated by comparing
the ratio of deer kill per square mile for
Iron County and several adjacent counties
(Fig. 10). The yearly data were taken from
Bersing (1966). For the entire period from
1912 to the present, Iron County has the
lowest ratio, varying from 0.22 to a high,
in post logging years, of only 0.96. Adjacent
counties have varied over the same period
1980]
Mladenoff and Howell — Vegetation on the Gogebic Iron Range
87
YEAR
Fig. 10. Average annual deer harvest per square
mile for Iron County and adjacent Counties 1912-
1976. Data from: Bersing (1966), Wisconsin DNR
(1966-76).
from 0.26 to 5.6 and a mean of 2.3 deer
taken per square mile. Hunter pressure and
weather may also influence the ratio. Hunter
pressure, however, does not account for the
consistent ratio noted, an opinion shared
with Department of Natural Resources for¬
esters in Iron County (Hanson 1979).
If deer are not a major factor, climate
and site history must account for a greater
part of the vegetation pattern as it appears
today and for the direction in which it ap¬
pears to be moving.
Conclusions
At the time of initial settlement of Iron
County, the dominant upland cover was
mesic forest with sugar maple, hemlock,
and yellow birch as major components. Rela¬
tive importance of the species varied with
local topography, soils, and site history.
From the 1860s to the 1930s, the re¬
gion underwent rapid development with in¬
tensive exploitation of iron ore and forest
resources. Development produced mainly
secondary regional impacts, i.e., extensive
timber cutting and land clearing resulting
in the spread of farms around the mining
communities. There were of course, inten¬
sive site-specific impacts from the mining,
such as subsidence and lack of reclamation
in and around populated areas, and, not least,
the social problems that resulted from this
boom and bust economy. However, despite
the once dramatic changes in the landscape,
the area is generally reverting to mesic for¬
est. This is consistent with the findings of
Kline and Cottam (1979) in southwestern
Wisconsin where, despite significant impacts,
the overriding climatic influence has resulted
in re-establishment of vegetation similar to
the original forest.
Compositionally, the mesic forests along
the Gogebic Range are considerably different
today from those in 1860. In terms of tree
species with significant importance values,
the forests appear to be considerably more
diverse. This is, in part, because the forest
is now younger; many of the species present
today are pioneer species which could not
survive and reproduce under the dense shade
of the mature maple-hemlock presettlement
forest.
The forests along the Gogebic Range
have in fact been affected by human activity
in such a manner that despite reversion to a
mesic forest type, the regional vegetation
will not have the same composition which
characterized its presettlement condition,
even if undisturbed for a considerable time.
Climate appears to remain the dominant
factor determining vegetation of a region.
The compositional changes described in
this paper are not unusual for the mesic for¬
ests of northern Wisconsin. However, the
timing of disturbance and the driving forces
behind it form a unique relationship between
the forest and the mining economy. These
human activities have altered the present
condition and future composition of the for¬
est to an extent that will not be erased on a
regional scale in the foreseeable future.
Acknowledgments
We are grateful to Professor Francis D.
Hole, Departments of Soils and Geography,
for assistance in interpreting the influence of
soil and topography on the vegetation pat-
88
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
tern. Professor Orie L. Loucks posed helpful
questions early in the study. An anonymous
reviewer provided helpful comments. Funds
for this study were provided, in part, by a
grant from the Research Committee, Gradu¬
ate School, University of Wisconsin with
funds supplied by the Wisconsin Alumni
Research Foundation and by the Hatch
Program, College of Agricultural and Life
Sciences, University of Wisconsin.
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relations of upland forests in the western
Great Lakes Area. Am. Midi. Nat. 105:
497-528.
Beals, E. W., Grant Cottam, and R. J. Vogl.
1960. Influence of deer on vegetation of
the Apostle Islands, Wisconsin. J. Wildlife
Mgmt. 24:68-80.
Bersing, O. S. 1966. A century of Wisconsin
deer. 2nd edition. Wisconsin Conservation
Dept. Publ. 353. Madison, Wisconsin.
Bordner, J. S. 1934. Wisconsin land economic
inventory: Iron County. State of Wisconsin.
Madison, Wisconsin.
Bourdo, E. A. 1956. A view of the General
Land Office survey and of its use in quanti¬
tative studies of former forests. Ecology 37:
754-68.
Brown, R. T. and J. T. Curtis. 1952. The up¬
land conifer-hardwood forests of northern
Wisconsin. Ecol. Monographs. 22:217-34.
Corrigan, G. A. 1976. Calked boots and cant
hooks. McGregor Litho., Park Falls, Wis¬
consin.
Cottam, Grant. 1949. The phytosociology of an
oak woods in southwestern Wisconsin. Ecol¬
ogy 30:271-87.
Cottam, Grant and J. T. Curtis. 1956. The use
of distance measures in phytosociological
sampling. Ecology 37:451-460.
Curtis, J. T. 1959. The vegetation of Wiscon¬
sin. University of Wisconsin Press. Madison,
Wisconsin.
Fowells, A. 1965. Silvics of forest trees of the
United States. Agric. Handbook No. 271.
USDA, Washington, D.C.
Frothingham, E. H. 1915. The northern hard¬
wood forest: Its composition, growth, and
management. U.S. Dept, of Ag. Bull. No.
285. USDA, Washington, D.C.
Gates, F. C. and G. E. Nichols. 1930. Rela¬
tion between age and diameter of trees of
the primeval northern hardwood forest. J.
Forestry 28:395-398.
Goff, F. G., and P. H. Zedler. 1968. Structural
gradient analysis of upland forests in the
western Great Lakes area. Ecol. Mono¬
graphs 28:65-86.
Godman, R. M. and L. W. Krefting. 1960.
Factors important to yellow birch establish¬
ment in Upper Michigan. Ecology 41:18-28.
Graham, S. A. 1941. Climax forests of the
upper peninsula of Michigan. Ecology 15:
343-57.
Hanson, M., Forester, Department of Natural
Resources, Iron County, Wisconsin. 1978,
1979. Personal communications.
Hole, F. D. 1976. Soils of Wisconsin. Univer¬
sity of Wisconsin Press. Madison, Wisconsin.
Kline, V. M. and G. Cottam. 1979. Vegetation
response to climate and fire in the Driftless
Area of Wisconsin. Ecology 60:861-868.
Loucks, O. L. 1970. Evolution of diversity,
efficiency, and community stability. Am.
Zoologist 10:17-25.
Martin, L. 1965. The physical geography
of Wisconsin, 3rd edition. University of Wis¬
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Mladenoff, D. J. 1979. Vegetation change in
relation to land use and ownership on the
Gogebic Iron Range, Wisconsin. M.S. Thesis.
University of Wisconsin, Madison, Wiscon¬
sin.
Potzger, J. E. 1946. Phytosociology of the
primeval forest in central northern Wiscon¬
sin and Upper Michigan, and a brief post¬
glacial history of the lake forest formation.
Ecol. Monographs. 16:211-50.
Rogers, D. J. 1959. Ecological effects of cutting
in southern Wisconsin woods. Ph.D. Thesis.
University of Wisconsin. Madison, Wiscon¬
sin.
Stearns, F. W. 1949. Ninety years of change
in a northern hardwood forest in Wisconsin.
Ecology 30:350-358.
- . 1951. The composition of the sugar
maple — hemlock — yellow birch association
in northern Wisconsin. Ecology 32:245-265.
Strommen, N. D. 1974. The climate of Michi-
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gan. In: The Climates of the States. Vol. 2:
192-214. USDC, Washington, D.C.
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to forest reproduction survey — final report.
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452. USDC, Washington, D.C.
Ward, R. T. 1956. The beech forests of Wis¬
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the nature of the beech border. Ecology 37:
407-419.
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THERMAL STRATIFICATION OF WISCONSIN LAKES
Richard C. Lathrop and Richard A. Lillie
Bureau of Research
Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources
Abstract
A model predicting summer temperature stratification in lakes utilizing lake
surface area and maximum depth information was developed from vertical profile
temperature and dissolved oxygen data collected on approximately 500 Wisconsin
lakes. From the model, the number of stratified versus non-stratified lakes (natural
and impoundments) was estimated for the 3,000 plus Wisconsin lakes with surface
areas 25 acres (10 hectares) or greater. Statewide, about one-half of the lakes
are predicted to be non-stratified. Impoundments, which represent about 16 per¬
cent of the state’s lakes, are about 86 percent non-stratified. Potential uses for the
lake stratification model are noted.
Introduction
Thermal stratification in moderately deep
temperate latitude lakes is a well docu¬
mented phenomenon. Hutchinson (1957)
provides a thorough discussion of the con¬
tributions of earlier researchers. Thermal
stratification results from density differences
in lake water of varying temperatures (Birge,
1916). After the winter ice melts, water
temperatures increase above the point of
maximum density of 4°C until maximum
Wisconsin lake surface temperatures, gen¬
erally between 21°-27°C (Wisconsin DNR,
Bureau of Research lake data files), are
reached by mid-summer. The wind provides
energy during the spring to circulate the
warming surface waters throughout the entire
water column (spring overturn) maintaining
homoiothermal (uniform) lake tempera¬
tures. As water temperatures increase above
4°C, water density decreases, with each suc¬
cessive degree of rising water temperature
resulting in a greater decrease in water den¬
sity. Consequently, more wind energy is re¬
quired to completely circulate the warmer
lake surface waters with the cooler, more
dense bottom waters.
In deeper lakes, as surface temperatures
increase on calm, warm spring days, the den¬
sity differences between surface and bottom
waters become too great for the wind to
maintain complete homoiothermy. Thermal
stratification results with the establishment
of an epilimnion (upper warm water, freely
circulating), hypolimnion (deep, cold, rela¬
tively undisturbed water), and a zone of
steep thermal gradient called the metalim-
nion (or thermocline) . These regions exist
throughout the summer months until fall,
when the lake surface water cools sufficiently
to again equalize water density differences
between top and bottom, thereby initiating
fall overturn.
Shallow lakes exhibit complete mixing
regularly throughout the summer as the wind
provides enough energy to destabilize the
minor density differences that develop be¬
tween the surface and bottom as a result of
surface warming on hot, calm summer days.
Certain lakes have sufficient depth to allow
for temporary thermal stratification, which
persists until major weather systems with
high winds again cause complete mixing.
These weather systems occur frequently
enough during the summer months in Wis¬
consin (Stauffer, 1974) that these weakly
stratified lakes can be considered as non-
stratified. Stratified lakes do not exhibit
90
1980]
Thermal Stratification of Wisconsin Lakes
91
complete mixing during the summer, al¬
though metalimnetic deepening, as a result
of these strong weather fronts, does occur
(Stauffer, 1974).
Rigorous mathematical expressions have
been developed to describe the heat flux pro¬
cesses of lakes that ultimately result in ther¬
mal stratification (see Hutchinson, 1957).
Calculations based on various physical lake
characteristics can describe the stability of
a lake, or the amount of work needed to
cause a lake to destratify to a uniform tem¬
perature. Lake depth is an important vari¬
able in the calculation. However, the lake
depth required before thermal stratification
develops varies greatly between individual
lakes as a function of lake surface area, ba¬
sin orientation relative to prevailing winds,
lake depth-volume relations, protection by
surrounding topography and vegetation, and
other factors (Wetzel, 1975).
Few generalizations about stratification
have been attempted for diverse groups of
lakes. Hutchinson (1957) noted that the
eddy diffusivity (related to the process of
turbulent mixing) is greatest in the wind¬
swept epilimnion of large, exposed lakes.
Consequently, lakes of similar maximum
depths may be either stratified or non-strati-
fied, depending on their surface area.
Ragotzkie (1978), using data from Wis¬
consin and central Canadian lakes, developed
one of the first simple lake stratification
models. Lake fetch (F) was used to predict
the depth of the summer thermocline (Dth)
for lakes having fetches from 0.1 to over 20
km:
Du = 4VF
Summer stratification of a lake has a tre¬
mendous impact on the chemical constituent
concentrations of each lake and a great in¬
fluence on the lake’s biological community
structure. Although Wisconsin lakes are very
diverse in their geochemical characteristics
(Poff, 1961) and watershed nutrient load¬
ings, particularly between northern and
southern Wisconsin, they are also greatly
affected by thermal stratification (Lillie and
Mason, in press). In general, southern
Wisconsin lakes are more fertile, and those
that stratify usually exhibit dissolved oxygen
depletion throughout the hypolimnion as a
result of respiration and bacterial decompo¬
sition of organic matter. The lack of oxygen
in the colder hypolimnion precludes the sur¬
vival of cold-water-adapted fish such as trout
since surface water temperatures are high
where dissolved oxygen concentrations are
adequate. Other aquatic life such as bottom
feeding insects and zooplankton are re¬
stricted from the anoxic hypolimnion except
for brief periods when certain species mi¬
grate into the hypolimnion. Northern Wis¬
consin lakes are generally less fertile and
therefore in many cases do not undergo com¬
plete hypolimnetic oxygen depletion. Cold-
water-adapted fish do well in the hypolim¬
nion of these lakes during the summer
months when surface waters are too warm.
The lack of oxygen in the hypolimnion of
fertile lakes causes the hypolimnetic lake
sediments to release such dissolved constitu¬
ents as inorganic phosphorus, ammonia, and
hydrogen sulfide into the overlying water
throughout the summer stratification period
(Mortimer, 1941-1942). In shallow, fertile
lakes a significant amount of dissolved nu¬
trients released from the lake sediments dur¬
ing periods of brief stratification can be
transported by subsequent mixing to the sur¬
face waters where high levels of algal pro¬
duction are maintained.
Resuspension of sediments is another im¬
portant effect of lake mixing. Shallow lakes
continually resuspend nutrient rich sediments
that contribute to increased nutrient concen¬
trations for algal growth.
The combined result of sediment resus¬
pension and frequent stratification followed
by lake mixing in shallow lakes results in
potentially high rates of internal nutrient
recycling during the summer months. As a
result, surface waters of non-stratified lakes
92
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
in Wisconsin generally show a net increase
in total phosphorus concentration from
spring to summer, while deep stratified lakes
usually exhibit a net decrease in total phos¬
phorus concentration (Lillie and Mason, in
press . Thermal stratification effectively
creates a temporary nutrient barrier between
the epilimnion and the hypolimnion, while
nutrients are being removed from the epilim-
nion by sedimenting algae. The importance
of this barrier varies between lakes as a func¬
tion of lake basin morphometry.
The classification and inventory of lakes
in relation to their trophic status has been
emphasized increasingly in recent years by
state and federal agencies. Since thermal
stratification can significantly affect lake
water quality and concomitant recreational
potential of a lake, a model capable of pre¬
dicting stratification in Wisconsin lakes from
limited data could provide useful informa¬
tion for the classification process.
Methods
Data used in this report came from two
sources: (1) vertical profile temperature
and dissolved oxygen data on approximately
500 lakes 25 acres (10 hectares) or greater
in surface area, collected by the Wisconsin
DNR, Bureau of Research; and (2) lake
surface area and maximum depth informa¬
tion on Wisconsin lakes 25 acres or greater
(data compiled by DNR Bureau of Fish
Management). The lake inventory data was
subdivided into natural lakes and impound¬
ments.
Decisions about the establishment of
thermal stratification are based on inspection
of the temperature and dissolved oxygen
vertical profiles. Three main types of tem-
Fig. 1. Temperature stratification patterns found in Wisconsin lakes. (Stratified = Lake
Monona, Dane Co., Aug. 1, 1978; Weakly Stratified — Lake Waubesa, Dane Co., July 7 and
Aug. 3, 1976; Non-stratified = Round Lake, Chippewa Co., July 15, 1975).
1980]
Thermal Stratification of Wisconsin Lakes
93
perature profiles are found in Wisconsin
lakes (Fig. 1). The stratified lake has a dis¬
tinct epilimnion, metalimnion, and hypolim-
nion. The hypolimnion in the example is
completely anoxic, indicating the absence
of mixing with the epilimnion. The non-stra-
tified lake is homoiothermal; dissolved oxy¬
gen concentrations demonstrate well-mixed
conditions.
The weakly-stratified lake (Fig. 1) dem¬
onstrates the difficulty in deciding whether or
not the lake is capable of developing perma¬
nent stratification throughout the summer
season (late June, July, and August). On
July 7, the lake appears to be stratified and
dissolved oxygen depleted near the lake bot¬
tom. However, on August 3, the temperature
gradient is not as steep (with bottom tem¬
peratures being more than 2°C higher) and
dissolved oxygen concentrations are higher
in deeper waters, indicating that some recent
mixing has occurred. The July 7 data pro¬
vides a clue to the lake’s ability to destratify;
bottom water temperatures are almost 22°C.
Any cooling and/or mixing of the lake’s sur¬
face waters as a result of a weather front
would reduce the density differences between
the top and bottom waters sufficiently to al¬
low complete vertical mixing.
Consequently, any lakes with mid-summer
bottom water temperatures above 20°C were
generally considered to be weakly stratified
and were combined with the more obvious
non-stratified lakes for the purposes of this
study. For the few lakes where stratification
or lack of it was even more difficult to de¬
termine, the authors assigned lakes to the
appropriate category based on, their judg¬
ment about the influence of other factors af¬
fecting stratification, such as lake shape and
surrounding topography.
Results and Discussion
Lake surface area and maximum depth
information were plotted for all natural lakes
that could be classified as either stratified or
non-stratified based on interpretation of the
temperature and dissolved oxygen vertical
profile information (Fig. 2). A generally
linear separation between the stratified and
non-stratified lakes resulted from a logarith¬
mic presentation of lake area. Those lakes
Fig. 2. Lake stratification model for Wisconsin lakes.
94
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
lying close to the stratification/non-stratifi¬
cation interface (Fig. 2) represented border¬
line cases, with stratified lakes having less
stability when in close proximity to the inter¬
face. Many of the non-stratified lakes near
the interface were weakly stratified.
Impoundments plotted in this same man¬
ner showed somewhat similar results, how¬
ever a few anomalies were noted. In some
cases stable temperature stratification oc-
cured in small, relatively shallow depressions
near the spillways of dams where there was
no circulation and warmer surface waters
were passing over the spillway. A number of
impoundments (and a few natural lakes) re¬
ceive large river discharges in relation to
their volume and thereby experience a physi¬
cal flushing which precludes the establish¬
ment of thermal stratification. Lack of strati¬
fication in Wisconsin impoundments with
high flushing rates was found in depths up to
22 meters. Because of these abnormal strati¬
fication characteristics impoundments were
excluded from the development of the final
stratification model (Fig. 2). However, the
model should be applicable to most im¬
poundments.
Color, caused by dissolved humic sub¬
stances, is one important variable affecting
the depth of thermocline development in all
lakes. The increased absorptive capacity of
colored water restricts penetration of radi¬
ant energy. Consequently, colored lakes fre¬
quently have shallower epilimnions and nar¬
rower thermoclines than clear-water lakes
(Wisconsin DNR, Bureau of Research lake
data files).
Because of the linear separation between
stratified and non-stratified lakes, a simple
mathematical model was developed to pre¬
dict lake stratification based on maximum
depth and lake area:
Maximum Depth (meters) — 0.1
Log10 Lake Area (hectares)
> 3.8 — Lake should be stratified
This model allowed for the prediction of the
number of stratified versus non-stratified
lakes for Wisconsin from surface water in¬
ventory data. As the model was based only
on lakes with surface areas 25 acres (10
hectares) or greater and because smaller
lakes may be heavily influenced by surround¬
ing topography, the model was only applied
to the 3,000 plus Wisconsin lakes in this size
range. Impoundments and also lakes with
high color were included in the data set. The
number of poor predictions was relatively
small.
Since the mathematical expression was de¬
veloped using a data set from Wisconsin
lakes, application of the model to other
areas of the country may result in inaccurate
stratification predictions because of differ¬
ences in basin configuration, climate, or
other factors. However, lakes in the upper
Midwest should be reliably predicted by the
model.
The lake stratification model, when com¬
pared to the model developed by Ragotzkie
(1978), produced corresponding results.
NON- STRATIFIED STRATI FI ED
REGION CENTRAL
REGION
Fig. 3. Regional stratification characteristics of
Wisconsin natural lakes and impoundments. (Num¬
ber of lakes proportional to area of circle; Strati¬
fied lakes = solid area, Non-stratified lakes = open
area).
1980]
Thermal Stratification of Wisconsin Lakes
95
His equation predicted the top of the thermo-
cline, whereas the line drawn in Figure 2
would correspond approximately to the bot¬
tom of the thermocline. Consequently, Ra-
gotzkie’s equation for lakes between 10 and
20,000 hectares (after fetch was converted
to circular lake area) when plotted was
somewhat parallel to our line in Figure 2,
but at shallower depths for corresponding
lake areas. As lake area increased, the two
models predicted a more extensive thermo¬
cline; this is consistent with observational
data on Wisconsin lakes (Wisconsin DNR,
Bureau of Research lake data files).
For identification of lake stratification
characteristics Wisconsin is divided into
three regions (Fig. 3). The southwest region
generally coincides with the Western Upland
Geographical Province of Martin (1965),
part of which includes the Driftless or un¬
glaciated area. The topography is highly dis¬
sected with few natural lakes present. The
northern region includes a majority of the
state’s lakes; these are characterized by low
alkalinity (Lillie and Mason, in press) as
a result of the igneous bedrock geology (Han¬
son, 1971;Poff, 1961). The southeast central
area of the state generally has lakes of higher
alkalinity and poorer water quality than
northern lakes; this is particularly true in the
southern part of the southeast central region
(Lillie and Mason, in press). Separation
of the state into distinct regions based on
county lines is arbitrary, but lake inventory
information was available on a county basis.
The bedrock and surficial geology each indi¬
cate much more complex regional distinc¬
tions.
Natural lakes and impoundments are un¬
evenly distributed throughout the three state
regions (Fig. 3). Approximately 75 percent
of Wisconsin’s 3,000 plus lakes of 25 acres
(10 hectares) or greater surface area are lo¬
cated in the northern region of the state. The
southeast central region has roughly 20 per¬
cent of Wisconsin lakes in this size range,
and the remaining 5 percent are located in
the southwest region. Impoundments com¬
prise less than 16 percent of the total num¬
ber of Wisconsin lakes 25 acres or greater.
The number of impoundments is similar in
all three regions. Most lakes in the northern
region are natural; impoundments represent
only about 8 percent of the total number.
Impoundments constitute about 75 percent
of all lakes found in the southwest region.
There are few natural lakes in southwestern
Wisconsin since that area was not covered
by the Wisconsonian ice (Martin, 1965).
Slightly more than one-half of Wisconsin’s
lakes with surface areas of 25 acres or
greater are predicted by the lake stratifica¬
tion model to be non-stratified throughout
the summer (Fig. 3). About 26 percent of
the impoundments are predicted to be non-
stratified, compared to only 45 percent of
the natural lakes.
Impoundments are 80, 93, and 84 percent
non-stratified in the northern, southeast cen¬
tral and southwest regions, respectively. The
high percentage of non-stratified impound¬
ments is not surprising since they represent
shallow lakes on dammed rivers. Natural
lakes are predicted to be 55 and 58 percent
stratified in the northern and southeast cen¬
tral regions, but only 22 percent stratified
in the unglaciated southwestern region.
Striking water quality differences have
been noted between stratified and non-strati¬
fied lakes. From data collected on approxi¬
mately 500 lakes throughout the state, aver¬
age summer secchi disc (water transparency)
readings were 2.8 and 1.5 meters for strati¬
fied and non-stratified lakes, respectively
(Wisconsin DNR, Bureau of Research, un¬
published data). Differences in water trans¬
parency were related to greater concentra¬
tions of chlorophyll (algal biomass) and
higher turbidity in nonstratified lakes.
The lake stratification model has poten¬
tially important applications for the classifi¬
cation of Wisconsin lakes. The combined
effect of generally poorer water quality in
non-stratified lakes resulting from greater
96
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
efficiencies in internal nutrient recycling,
coupled with the large number of non-strati-
fied lakes in Wisconsin, necessitates careful
selection of lakes as candidates for limited
non-point pollution control efforts. Lakes
that are chosen for programs designed to
restrict nutrient inputs, which are often ex¬
pensive, should possess characteristics that
would indicate a high probability of water
quality response (improvement or long-term
protection), thereby ensuring a high benefit
to cost ratio. Temperature stratification
would seem to be a very important charac¬
teristic in lake selection.
The thermal stratification model has other
potential uses in water resource management
activities. The model may be useful for the
initial selection of lakes capable of support¬
ing cold water fisheries, particularly in north¬
ern regions where hypolimnetic dissolved
oxygen concentrations are likely to be ade¬
quate. The model can also serve as a guide
to lake managers conducting dredging proj¬
ects. By predicting lake depths needed for
the development of thermal stratification,
dredging can be planned to reduce internal
nutrient recycling in fertile lakes. The strati¬
fication model could also be used in the de¬
sign of impoundments for the above reasons
or to maximize sediment trap efficiency.
Other more theoretical uses of the tem¬
perature stratification model may have man¬
agement implications. The sediments contain
a history of the lake’s development, and lakes
of certain depths may have accumulated suf¬
ficient bottom sediments over time to con¬
vert the lake from stratified to non-strati-
fied. Probable trophic changes in the lake
may be deduced by interpretation of differ¬
ences in the physical and chemical sediment
characteristics. Differences in the biological
remains present, above and below the sedi¬
ment depth where the lake should no longer
be stratified, also provide clues. Such inter¬
pretation might allow the prediction of pro¬
jected water quality changes in stratified
lakes that are currently experiencing a high
rate of in-filling and sediment deposition.
Finally, a stratification model similar to
the one presented here may be developed to
predict the depth of the epilimnetic/metalim-
netic boundary. This depth could be used to
calculate the lake bottom area exposed to
wind mixing, thus providing an index of po¬
tential internal nutrient recycling, as well as
information useful for calculating total lake
sedimentation rates. This model, coupled
with other lake morphometric data, may al¬
so help to refine existing lake eutrophication
models that relate external phosphorus load¬
ings to in-lake water quality.
Literature Cited
Birge, E. A. 1916. The work of the wind in
warming a lake. Trans. Wis. Acad., Sci.,
Arts, Lett. 18, Part II: 341-391.
Hanson, G. F. 1971. Geologic map of Wiscon¬
sin. Wis. Geol. and Nat. Hist. Survey, Madi¬
son, 1 p.
Hutchinson, G. E. 1957. A Treatise on Lim¬
nology. I. Geography, Physics, and Chem¬
istry. John Wiley & Sons, Inc., New York,
1015 pp.
Lille, R. A. and J. W. Mason (in press). Lim¬
nological characteristics of Wisconsin lakes.
Wis. Dept. Nat. Resources Tech. Bull.
Martin, L. 1965. The Physical Geography of
Wisconsin. University Wisconsin Press, Mad¬
ison, 608 pp.
Mortimer, C. H. 1941-1942. The exchange of
dissolved substances between mud and water
in lakes. J. Ecology 29:280-329; 147-201.
Poff, R. J. 1961. Ionic composition of Wiscon¬
sin lake waters. Wis. Dept. Nat. Resources,
Fish Mgmt. Misc. Rept. No. 4, 20 pp.
Ragotzkie, R. A. 1978. Heat budgets of lakes.
Ch. 1 in Lerman, A. (ed.) Lakes : Chemistry,
Geology, Physics. Springer-Verlag, New
York. 363 pp.
Stauffer, R. E. 1974. Thermocline migration-
algal bloom relationships in stratified lakes.
Ph.D. Thesis. Water Chemistry Program,
Univ. Wisconsin, Madison, 526 pp. + App.
Wetzel, R. G. 1975. Limnology. W. B. Saun¬
ders Co., Philadelphia, 743 pp.
ECOLOGICAL RELATIONSHIPS OF RUFFED GROUSE
IN SOUTHWESTERN WISCONSIN1
Randy D. Rodgers2
Department of Wildlife Ecology
University of Wisconsin-Madison
A bstract
Ruffed grouse ( Bonasa umbellus) were studied in southwestern Wisconsin
from 1976 through 1978. Eighty-six of 87 activity centers were situated on slopes
of less than 25 degrees. Spring densities of territorial males were 8.8 and 11.4 birds
per 100 wooded ha in 1976 and 1977, respectively. Unusually warm springs al¬
lowed most females to nest prior to the peak of drumming. Brood break-up began
in mid-August and dispersal reached maximum intensity in late September. Mean
and maximum dispersal distances were 2.2 and 7.4 km respectively. Females had
red tails proportionally more often than did males. Less than five percent of the
216 reward bands were returned indicating light hunting pressure. Territorial males
had an annual survival rate of 53 percent.
The ruffed grouse is one of the most in¬
tensively studied upland game birds in North
America. However, there remain large areas
within this species’ broad range from which
there is little information. The unglaciated
region of southwestern Wisconsin is such an
area. This study was designed to provide
greater insight into the ecology and harvest
of ruffed grouse in southwestern Wisconsin.
The Driftless Area, as this region is
known, also extends into northeastern Iowa
and southwestern Minnesota and is typified
by dendritic drainage patterns and steep
slopes. Nearly all of the land is in small,
privately owned farms. The creek bottoms
and many ridgetops have been cleared for
crops or pasture.
Five areas located in northeastern Iowa
County, approximately 50 km west of the
city of Madison, were studied. These areas
totaled 889 ha of which 589 ha were for¬
1 Research supported by the College of Agricul¬
tural and Life Sciences, University of Wisconsin,
Madison, the Wisconsin Department of Natural
Resources, and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.
2 Present address: Kansas Fish and Game Com¬
mission, Hays, KS 67601.
ested. The woodlands are dominated by
oak ( Quercus spp.) and closely resemble
the southern xeric forests described by Curtis
(1959). Porath and Vohs (1972) reported
on ruffed grouse research from forests of a
similar nature in northeastern Iowa. Maxi¬
mum relief on the study areas is 105 m.
Methods
Field work began on 25 March, 1976 and
continued through 15 May 1978. Observa¬
tions were discontinued between 15 October
and 20 March each year.
Drumming sites were located by systemati¬
cally searching the wooded portions of the
study areas. One or more drumming logs
within 100 m of each other used by an indi¬
vidual territorial male were considered to
delineate an activity center (Gullion 1967).
I did not rely on hearing drumming to locate
display sites, but looked for accumulations
of droppings on logs or rocks. Other clues
such as dense shrub-layer vegetation, leaf-
free spots adjacent to logs, and worn areas
on logs aided in location of potential drum¬
ming sites. The presence of droppings was
considered the only conclusive proof of re-
97
98
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
cent activity. This method minimized the
possibility of missing silent, but territorial
cocks as identified by Dorney et al. (1958).
Single logs showing only slight use (less than
five droppings) that were greater than 100
m from other drumming logs were not con¬
sidered activity centers, but were classified
as light-use logs. The designation of activity
centers and light-use logs was substantiated
through trapping and banding.
Ocular estimates were made of the species
composition of thickets that could make
drumming logs essentially “predator proof”
(Gullion and Marshall 1968:132). Data
were taken only at the primary log (most
used) of any given activity center. All woody
vegetation within approximately 5 m of the
stage (the point of drumming) was classed
by occurrence and composition (percentage
of stems present). These values were com¬
bined to obtain an index to the relative im¬
portance of various species in providing pro¬
tection from predation.
Mirror traps (Tanner and Bowers 1948)
were used to capture territorial males on
drumming logs during the spring. For this
purpose, single-door National live traps were
fitted with mirrors and covered so that the
interior was completely darkened once the
trap was sprung. Two nesting females were
caught with a lift net of sufficiently large
mesh to allow the eggs to slip through and
remain in the nest bowl. Between 5 August
and 15 October of 1976 and 1977, grouse
were captured in lily-pad traps (Dorney and
Mattison 1956) with 37 m leads and small
funnel traps at each end. All birds were
marked with color-coded combinations of
aluminum leg bands (Gullion et al. 1962),
one of which was inscribed with a $5 reward
notice and the return address.
Sex and age were determined for all grouse
using plumage characteristics. Techniques
reported by Bump et al. (1947:84-90, 98)
and Hale et al. (1954) were used for sex
and age discrimination. Feather measure¬
ments were helpful, but apparently vary geo¬
graphically (Dorney and Holzer 1957, Davis
1969). However, the ratio of the calamus
diameter of primaries 8 and 9 (Rodgers
1979) provided excellent age separation. A
sexing criterion based on the number of
whitish dots on the rump feathers (Roussel
and Ouellet 1975) was also used and has the
added advantage of being applicable to ju¬
veniles that had not completed growth of
adult tail feathers. Juveniles were further
examined for progression of the primary
molt. The use of several techniques assured
reliable sex and age determination.
Color phase was determined by examining
all rectrices during the handling of each bird.
Each grouse was categorized as being red,
gray, or intermediate.
Timing of hatch was approximated prin¬
cipally by using the primary molt progres¬
sion to backdate juveniles trapped in late
summer (Bump et al. 1947). Estimates of
nest initiation were calculated by assuming
17 days for a hen to lay an average clutch
of 11 eggs and a 24 day incubation period
(Bump et al. 1947). This information was
supplemented with known dates from three
nests.
Results and Discussion
Eighty-seven activity centers and 24 light-
use logs were located during the springs of
1976 and 1977. Nine of these activity cen¬
ters were found off the study areas. Light-
use logs probably represented trial sites of
males seeking to establish a territory. This
apparent testing of logs for suitability has
been noted by Gullion (1967:98-99). Frank
(1947:308) also made reference to such
sites, and similarly, did not consider them
to be part of an established territory. Alter¬
natively, some light-use logs may have been
challenge sites used by males to engage in
temporary drumming duals with other males
(Gullion 1967:90). Light-use logs were
typically in poorer habitat than activity
centers.
1980]
Ecological Relationships of Ruffed Grouse in Southern Wisconsin
99
Drumming Site Characteristics
Activity centers were most commonly lo¬
cated on or near ridgetops. This may indi¬
cate a preference for relatively level drum¬
ming sites. Only one activity center was
found on a slope of greater than 25 degrees.
Boag and Sumanik (1969) and Porath and
Vohs (1972) found no drumming logs on
slopes exceeding 22 degrees and 45% (24
degrees) respectively. Taylor (1976) sug¬
gested that the drumming ritual may be dif¬
ficult to perform on logs sloping more than
20 degrees. He found that, in Tennessee,
71% of the drumming logs had an incline
of less than ten degrees. The only activity
center that I found on a hillside of greater
than 25 degrees was composed of two logs
which had fallen parallel to the contour and,
consequently, were level. The tendency for
trees to fall downhill might severely limit the
potential of steep hillsides as drumming sites.
Thus, an apparent preference for ridgetops
may result since these areas constitute a
major portion of the relatively level wooded
terrain in this region. Activity centers were
found below ridgetops on slopes of less than
25 degrees. Vegetational differences may al¬
so have some bearing on selection of ridge¬
tops as drumming sites, however, this possi¬
bility was not quantified.
Male ruffed grouse might be encouraged
to increase use of steep slopes for activity
centers by providing sufficiently level drum¬
ming stages. This could be accomplished
without significant expense when logging by
leaving waste logs roughly parallel to the
contour. Such a practice probably would
not increase populations, since ruffed grouse
are promiscuous (Brander 1967). However,
it could be aesthetically valuable by distribut¬
ing drumming grouse onto tracts of land
which have little woodland other than that
on steep slopes.
Several workers have indicated that male
ruffed grouse select drumming logs which
have a relatively high density of stems sur¬
rounding them (e.g. Gullion and Marshall
1968, Boag and Sumanik 1969). Observa¬
tions made during this study appeared to
substantiate these results. Gullion and
Marshall suggested that this high stem
density provides protection from avian pred¬
ators. Subjective estimates made at the pri¬
mary logs of 51 activity centers indicate that
prickly ash ( Zanthoxylum americanum ),
hazelnut ( Corylus americana ), and grey
dogwood ( Cornus racemosa ) contribute
most to high stem densities around south¬
western Wisconsin drumming logs (Table 1 ).
Prickly ash probably furnishes the best
Table 1. Woody species that contribute to high stem density and may provide protection
from avian predation. Relative percentage of stems obtained from ocular estimates at 51
primary drumming logs in southwestern Wisconsin.
1 Proportion of stems within 5 m of stage where species is present.
100
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
MARCH s APRIL 8 MAY 8 JUNE
Fig. 1. Ruffed grouse nesting chronology for
southwestern Wisconsin, 1976 and 1977. Bars
represent 3 -day units of pooled data derived by
backdating juvenile grouse based on progression
of the primary molt. Circles indicate actual nests.
protection against predators because it grows
in dense thickets approximately 2 m in height
and is armed with sharp thorns. Further¬
more, little herbaceous vegetation grows
within these thickets, thus affording the
grouse a nearly unobstructed view of the
area around it. Such a view would facilitate
early detection of ground predators (Boag
and Sumanik 1969, Gullion 1970). Small
trees and shrubs and the riverbank grape
( Vitus riparia) provide the greatest degree
of protection around drumming logs in this
region.
Nesting Phenology
No significant difference between hatching
dates from 1976 and 1977 was detected by
a t-test, consequently, all data were pooled.
Approximately 80% of the 86 juveniles ex¬
amined were estimated to have hatched be¬
tween 12 May and 24 May (Fig. 1). Similar
nesting synchrony has previously been re¬
ported by Hale and Wendt (1951) and
Cringan (1970). Hale and Wendt suggested
that a sharp hatching peak was indicative of
high success of the first nests. They related
this to warm, dry spring weather. The springs
of 1976 and 1977 both began unusually
early and were substantially warmer, but not
drier, than normal in southern Wisconsin
(U.S. Department of Commerce 1976,
1977).
The early spring probably influenced the
onset of mating and nest initiation. Most
nests were begun in the first and second
weeks of April. This is roughly two weeks
earlier than was reported for 1966 and 1967
in northeastern Iowa, only 110 km to the
west of my study areas (Porath and Vohs
1972).
Intensive roadside drumming counts,
conducted on a transect which passes
through the study areas (Rodgers 1981),
indicated that peak drumming (approxi¬
mately 15 April) occurred after most fe¬
males had initiated nesting. The peak of cop¬
ulation is often concurrent with the peak of
drumming (Brander 1967, Porath and Vohs
1972, Archibald 1976). This, apparently,
was not the case in 1976 and 1977, particu¬
larly if copulation occurred three to seven
days prior to nest initiation (Bump et al.
1947:471). These results are not incompati¬
ble with those of other researchers, but may
represent the first time that both nesting and
drumming data could be collected under
such unusually favorable spring conditions.
Several workers have indicated that the
timing of nesting in tetraonids is flexible and
dependent on temperature (e.g. Neave and
Wright 1969, Zwickel 1977). Conversely,
there is increasing evidence which suggests
that the peak of ruffed grouse drumming is
more strongly determined by photoperiod
than by temperature (Gullion 1966, Rodgers
1981). It does not appear to be mandatory
that peak copulation coincide with the peak
of male display, but rather that the level of
display only be adequate for the females to
locate males successfully. Zwickel (1977:
191) states that, in blue grouse ( Dendraga -
pus obscurus), “the breeding period of males
has likely been selected to cover the entire
receptive period of females, including an¬
nual, geographical, and age-class variations.”
This conclusion is probably also applicable
to ruffed grouse.
Movements
Lily-pad trapping commenced too late in
the summer to yield substantial information
1980]
Ecological Relationships of Ruffed Grouse in Southern Wisconsin
101
JULY | AUG | SEPT g OCT g
Fig. 2. Lily-pad trap success as an index to move¬
ment in the juvenile cohort of a southwestern
Wisconsin ruffed grouse population. Bars represent
7-day intervals of pooled lily-pad trapping data
from 1976 and 1977. Arrows indicate general
periods of brood break-up and dispersal. Hatched
area represents the projected 2-year level.
on brood movements. However, limited data
from trapping and sporadic contacts with
broods corroborate observations on brood
movements made by Porath and Vohs
( 1972) in northeastern Iowa.
Timing of brood break-up and dispersal
was estimated by comparing success in lily-
pad traps during different periods. A trap
was considered successful if it captured one
or more ruffed grouse, thus individual and
multiple captures were weighted equally.
Consequently, a plot of total successful traps
per day (Fig. 2) illustrates the timing of
brood break-up and dispersal since these
periods are characterized by the presence of
solitary juveniles (Godfrey and Marshall
1969). Because captures in these traps de¬
pend on ground movements of the target spe¬
cies, dispersal was further emphasized by
the relatively high level of movement within
the juvenile cohort during this period.
Brood break-up apparently began in mid-
August. Recapture data appear to confirm
conclusions by Godfrey and Marshall (1969:
615) that juveniles wandered as individuals
within their previous brood ranges at that
time. I recorded 16 recaptures of solitary
juveniles within 200 m of the previous cap¬
ture between 16 August and 15 September;
only six such recaptures occurred in the fol¬
lowing month. Capture of a solitary juvenile
is not an indication of brood break-up, how¬
ever, an increase in the relative frequency of
such captures could be indicative. Dispersal
probably began the second week of Septem¬
ber and peaked near the end of that month.
Recaptures of juveniles at greater than 400
m from the original capture sites also sug¬
gested this timing. One such recapture was
recorded on 6 September and four others oc¬
curred between 24 September and 7 Octo¬
ber. These data tend to support the assertion
of Godfrey and Marshall that brood break¬
up and dispersal are distinct and temporally
separate events for any given individual, al¬
though they overlap at the population level
(Rusch and Keith 1971).
No significant differences were detected
in the sex ratio of juveniles captured in four
one-week intervals between 10 September
and 7 October (x2), indicating no differen¬
tial timing of dispersal between the sexes.
Linear distances between observations
were similar to those reported by other
workers (e.g. Chambers and Sharp 1958,
Hale and Dorney 1963) for adult males and
juveniles. No useful movement data were
obtained for adult females.
Adult males appeared to be the most sed¬
entary cohort. These birds were trapped up
to 200 m from their respective activity cen¬
ters during the fall, although one adult male
was shot 685 m from his activity center in
mid-winter. Movement by this cohort is
generally believed to be highly restricted
during the spring drumming period. One
drumming male was, however, recaptured on
a log 335 m from the original capture site
only three days after banding in April, 1976.
These captures were each in mirror traps
suggesting that this bird defended both sites.
This situation is similar to the “expanded
occupancy” noted by Gullion (1967:91)
in low density populations. Drumming
counts conducted in the spring of 1976 were
among the lowest recorded for this area in
26 years (Hale, Unpublished data; Rodgers
1981). In 1977 after an apparent popula¬
tion increase, this bird defended only one of
102
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
these sites. The other was occupied by a
first year male.
Dispersal distances were determined for
eight juveniles from which bands were re¬
turned and for two juvenile males recaptured
on drumming logs. Data obtained via re¬
captures in lily-pad traps were not considered
to represent completed dispersal movements
since these traps may have interrupted on¬
going dispersal movements. Mean dispersal
distance was 2.2 km with a maximum of 7.4
km obtained for one female. In this limited
sample, a t-test indicated no difference in dis¬
persal distances between male and female
juveniles.
In the disjunct woodlands of southwestern
Wisconsin, movements of the magnitude
noted above necessitate the traverse of rela¬
tively large open areas. Godfrey and Mar¬
shall (1969) have indicated that dispersing
juveniles tend to avoid extensive open habi¬
tats, however, recaptures and band returns
obtained in this study indicate that many ju¬
veniles crossed open areas as much as 300 m
wide. Crossing large open habitats could in¬
crease the vulnerability of dispersing juve¬
niles to predation.
Coloration
Records of adult plumage coloration
were obtained for 205 birds. Color variation
between birds was most pronounced in the
rectrices. No birds with gray contour feath¬
ers were observed. Although tail color was
categorized for convenience, I found no jus¬
tification for considering this population to
be comprised of distinct color morphs and,
therefore, prefer a continuum concept. Por-
ath and Vohs (1972) classified 71% of
their northeastern Iowa ruffed grouse as red.
If the group of birds which I classed as in¬
termediate was evenly divided into the red
or gray categories, again, 71% of the popu¬
lation would be classed as red. The domi¬
nance of oak in the woodlands of southwest¬
ern Wisconsin results in a reddish-brown leaf
Table 2. Tail color of southwestern Wisconsin
ruffed grouse by sex and age.
1 Color differs significantly (P < 0.001) between
sexes.
litter against which red coloration is probably
more cryptic than gray.
A higher proportion of females than males
possessed red tails (x2, P < 0.001, Ta¬
ble 2). This substantiates findings by Bez-
dek (1944) with central Wisconsin ruffed
grouse. In contrast, Porath and Vohs (1972)
found no differences in color between sexes,
however, they examined only 58 birds. Bez-
dek suggested that this characteristic might
be sex linked, but did not rule out other
possibilities. Differential selection between
sexes appears to be an unlikely cause since
these differences were again significant (P
<0.02) in juveniles of only four to five
months of age. Juveniles of this age were
either acquiring or had just recently ac¬
quired adult plumage, thus allowing little
time for a selective process to operate. No
differences between adult and juvenile col¬
oration were detected. The greater tendency
toward red coloration in females is, there¬
fore, either sex-linked or hormonally influ¬
enced.
Population Statistics
Spring densities of territorial males were
8.8 and 11.4 birds per 100 wooded ha in
1976 and 1977, respectively. These figures
compare favorably with densities of 5.5 to
8.7 reported by Gullion (1966) in Minne¬
sota between 1959 and 1965. They are
1980]
Ecological Relationships of Ruffed Grouse in Southern Wisconsin
103
higher than densities found on the northern
Wisconsin areas studied by Dorney et al.
(1958). While I have no direct census in¬
formation for all cohorts, drumming counts
as well as information obtained from hunters
indicated that populations were lower than
normal through the spring of 1976. On the
basis of the densities observed, I agree with
the assertion of Porath and Vohs (1972)
that the Driftless Area lies within the opti¬
mal range of ruffed grouse although it is on
the fringe of the current range of the spe¬
cies.
A sex ratio of 1.3 males per female was
obtained for 163 juveniles captured in lily-
pad traps. Deviation from the expected 1 : 1
ratio was not significant (x2), however, sig¬
nificance was approached (P < 0.08). Dor¬
ney (1963) found a similar sex ratio of 1.2
males per female in a sample of 508 juveniles
shot in southwestern Wisconsin. This was a
significant deviation (P < 0.05) from a 1:1
ratio. It is unlikely that this skewed ratio
resulted from procedural error since Dorney
(1963) found nearly even ratios in other re¬
gions of Wisconsin using identical tech¬
niques. Reports on sex ratios of juvenile
ruffed grouse from other localities are about
evenly divided between those with even sex
ratios and those skewed in favor of males
(Davis and Stoll 1973). The cause of an un¬
balanced sex ratio within juveniles of four
to five months of age remains unclear.
Since drumming ruffed grouse generally
utilize only one activity center throughout
their lives, annual survival of banded terri¬
torial males can be easily determined. In this
study, a drumming male was assumed dead
if, in a subsequent year, his activity center
was not occupied or if another bird was
captured at that activity center. These as¬
sumptions are not flawless. Gullion (1967)
has recorded instances in which established
males shifted activity centers. As a result,
the following survival estimates must be re¬
garded as minimal.
Of 36 territorial males whose fates were
determined, 19 (53%) were known to be
alive the following spring. This value com¬
pares favorably to 44% survival in northern
Wisconsin (Dorney and Kabat 1960), 47%
at Cloquet, Minnesota (Gullion and Mar¬
shall 1968), and 36% at Rochester, Alberta
(Rusch, personal comm.). My data rep¬
resent only two years compared to three,
seven, and eight for the northern Wisconsin,
Minnesota, and Alberta figures, respectively.
Study of survival over a more extended pe¬
riod may produce a somewhat different
value. Nevertheless, survival of territorial
males in Southwestern Wisconsin is, at
least, comparable to that in other regions.
Although Porath and Vohs (1972) suggested
a high turnover within this cohort, their sug¬
gestion was based on only five banded adult
males.
Hunting pressure evidently was light;
bands from only ten birds were returned in
the two years of the study. This represents
a crude return rate of under 5% and is lower
than any previously reported rate. Unre¬
ported kills should have been reduced by the
$5 reward. This apparent low harvest oc¬
curred despite close proximity to the Madi¬
son metropolitan area (population 300,000).
There are at least three factors contribut¬
ing to this low rate. As Dorney (1963)
pointed out, the rugged terrain automatically
limits hunting pressure in the Driftless Area.
Steep slopes and dense and often thorny un¬
dergrowth undoubtedly discourage many
hunters. Second, the region is not well suited
for road hunting, a practice common in
northern Wisconsin where approximately
32% of the ruffed grouse harvest was taken
along roads (Dorney 1963). The corres¬
ponding figure for southwestern Wisconsin
was only 5% ; there roads usually follow the
valley bottoms or major ridgetops, most of
which have been cleared for agriculture.
Third, almost all land in southwestern Wis¬
consin is in small privately owned farms, a
104
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
fact that probably further limits ruffed
grouse harvest. Virtually all land in the
vicinity of my study areas is posted against
hunting or trespassing. Access is limited for
hunters lacking personal contact with land-
owners.
Nine of ten band returns were from birds
shot on or after 29 December. The ruffed
grouse hunting season in the Driftless Area
counties extended through 31 January, a full
month longer than in the remainder of Wis¬
consin. The extended season appears to be
effective in increasing the harvest. Without
the additional month, the grouse harvest in
southwestern Wisconsin might drop to a
fraction of its current low level.
Management Implications
The ruffed grouse population in southwest¬
ern Wisconsin appears generally capable of
sustaining increased hunting pressure. This
conclusion contrasts with recent information
from east-central Wisconsin which suggests
a potential for over-harvest of ruffed grouse
on public wildlife lands (DeStefano and
Rusch, pers comm). Over-harvest in south¬
western Wisconsin is unlikely for several
reasons: 1) posting reduces access to private
land; 2) the rugged terrain limits hunting
pressure on both public and private lands;
and, 3) the ratio of population to public
land in southwestern Wisconsin is only about
one-fourth that of east-central Wisconsin
(Carley 1962). Individual public holdings in
southwestern Wisconsin are comparatively
small. Thus, ingress of birds would probably
compensate for losses should an unusually
heavy ruffed grouse harvest occur on a given
public area. I believe the extended season,
overall, is an excellent management practice
for the Driftless Area.
A larger ruffed grouse harvest in south¬
western Wisconsin could probably be ob¬
tained by shifting the entire season back
about two weeks. A delayed opening in the
southwest might attract many Wisconsin
hunters. The present statewide opening
brings few grouse hunters to the southwest;
many hunters travel north to better known
grouse coverts. A two week extension of the
closing would provide quality hunting at a
time when relatively few outdoor activities are
available to sportsmen. There would be no
interference with spring breeding. With this
later opening, a greater proportion of the
season would occur after leaf-fall, which is
relatively late in the southwest.
Evaluation of ruffed grouse harvest, par¬
ticularly on public lands, and of public reac¬
tion should precede and follow any regula¬
tion changes.
Acknowledgments
I thank R. A. McCabe and D. H. Rusch
for their advice and assistance throughout
the project. J. B. Hale and R. H. Nicklaus
of the Wisconsin Department of Natural
Resources provided many helpful suggestions
at the outset of the project. R. J. Blohm
provided a useful review of the manuscript.
I particularly wish to thank the many land-
owners without whose cooperation this study
would not have been possible.
Bibliography
Archibald, H. L. 1976. Spring drumming pat¬
terns of ruffed grouse. Auk 93:808-829.
Bezdek, H. 1944. Sex ratios and color phases
in two races of ruffed grouse. J. Wildl.
Manage. 8:85-88.
Boag, D. A. and K. M. Sumanik. 1969. Char¬
acteristics of drumming sites selected by
ruffed grouse in Alberta. J. Wildl. Manage.
33:621-628.
Brander, R. B. 1967. Movements of female
ruffed grouse during the mating season.
Wilson Bull. 79:28-36.
Bump, G., R. W. Darrow, F. C. Edminster,
and W. F. Crissey. 1947. The ruffed grouse :
life history, propagation, management. New
York State Conserv. Dept. 915 pp.
Carley. D. 1962. Recreation in Wisconsin.
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PP*
Chambers, R. E. and W. E. Sharp. 1958. Move¬
ment and dispersal within a population of
1980]
Ecological Relationships of Ruffed Grouse in Southern Wisconsin
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ruffed grouse. J. Wildl. Manage. 22:231-
239.
Cringan, A. T. 1970. Reproductive biology of
ruffed grouse in southern Ontario, 1964-
1969. J. Wildl. Manage. 34:756-761.
Curtis, J. T. 1959. The vegetation of Wiscon¬
sin. Univ. Wisconsin Press, Madison. 657
pp.
Davis, J. A. 1969. Aging and sexing criteria
for Ohio ruffed grouses. J. Wildl. Manage.
33:628-636.
— - - and R. J. Stoll. 1973. Ruffed grouse
age and sex ratios in Ohio. J. Wildl. Manage.
37:133-141.
Dorney, R. S. 1963. Sex and age structure of
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Wildl. Manage. 27:598-603.
— - - and H. M. Mattison. 1956. Trapping
techniques for ruffed grouse. J. Wildl.
Manage. 20:47-50.
— — — and F. V. Holzer. 1957. Spring aging
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— — — , D. R. Thompson, J. B. Hale, and R. F.
Wendt. 1958. An evaluation of ruffed grouse
drumming counts. J. Wildl. Manage. 22:35-
40.
— - and C. Kabat. 1960. Relation of
weather, parasitic disease and hunting to
Wisconsin ruffed grouse populations. Wis.
Conserv. Dept. Tech. Bull. No. 20. 64 pp.
Frank, W. J. 1947. Ruffed grouse drumming
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Brood break-up and dispersal of ruffed
grouse. J. Wildl. Manage. 33:609-620.
Gullion, G. W. 1966. The use of drumming
behavior in ruffed grouse population studies.
J. Wildl. Manage. 30:717-729.
— — — % 1967. Selection and use of drumming
sites by male ruffed grouse. Auk 84:87-112.
— — 1970. Factors influencing ruffed grouse
populations. Trans. North Am. Wildl. and
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— - , R. L. Eng, and J. J. Kupa. 1962. Three
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- -, and W. H. Marshall. 1968. Survival of
ruffed grouse in a boreal forest. Living Bird
7:117-167.
Hale, J. B. and R. F. Wendt. 1951. Ruffed
grouse hatching dates in Wisconsin. J. Wildl.
Manage. 15:195-199.
- , R. F. Wendt, and G. C. Halazon.
1954. Sex and age criteria for Wisconsin
ruffed grouse. Wis. Conserv. Dept. Tech.
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- — , and R. S. Dorney. 1963. Seasonal
movements of ruffed grouse in Wisconsin.
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Neave, D. J. and B. S. Wright. 1969. The
effects of weather and DDT spraying on a
ruffed grouse population. J. Wildl. Manage.
33:1015-1020.
Porath, W. R. and P. A. Vohs, Jr. 1972. Popu¬
lation ecology of ruffed grouse in northeast¬
ern Iowa. J. Wildl. Manage. 36:793-802.
Rodgers, R. D. 1979. Ratios of primary cala¬
mus diameters for determining age of ruffed
grouse. Wildl. Soc. Bull. 7:125-127.
- — . 1981. Factors affecting ruffed grouse
drumming counts in southwestern Wisconsin.
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criterion for sexing Quebec ruffed grouse.
J. Wildl. Manage. 39:443-445.
Rusch, D. H. and L. B. Keith. 1971. Seasonal
and annual trends in numbers of Alberta
ruffed grouse. J. Wildl. Manage. 35:803-822.
Tanner, W. D. and G. L. Bowers. 1948. A
method for trapping male ruffed grouse. J.
Wildl. Manage. 12:330-331.
Taylor, D. A. 1976. An analysis of some physi¬
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Resour. Agency Tech. Rept. No. 75-25. 72
pp.
U.S. Department of Commerce. 1976, 1977.
Climatological data, Madison, Wisconsin.
Annual Summary. 4 pp.
Zwickel, F. C. 1977. Local variations in the
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Condor 79:185-191.
HELMINTH AND ARTHROPOD PARASITES OF SOME
DOMESTIC ANIMALS IN WISCONSIN
Omar M. Amin
Science Division
University of Wisconsin-Parkside
A bstract
Nineteen species of intestinal helminths (cestodes and nematodes) and 15
species of arthropod ectoparasites (fleas, ticks, botflies, chewing lice, and mites)
are reported from six species of domestic animals (dog, Canis Familiaries; cat,
Felis catus; chicken, Gallus domesticus; turkey, Meleagris gallopavo; pig, Sus
scrofa; and horse Equus caballus ) in southeastern Wisconsin. Most are first state
records. Data on frequency and intensity of infection are discussed in relation to
results from similar surveys elsewhere.
Introduction
Surveys of parasites of domestic animals,
particularly those of dogs, are common in
the literature. Surveys of helminth parasites
of dogs are usually based on fecal examina¬
tion (Burrows and Lillis, 1960; Jaskoski,
1971; Loenbenberg and Waitz, 1977; and
Mann and Bjotvedt, 1965), and less com¬
monly on autopsy material (McGuire, 1964
and Palmieri, Thurman and Andersen,
1978). Helminths of cats from the Midwest
were surveyed by Christie, Dubey and Pap¬
pas (1976), Cross and Allen (1958), and
Power (1971). Surveys of helminths from
the other domestic animals examined in this
study are not uncommon except that those
from turkeys dealt primarily with wild tur¬
keys rather than with the domestic form,
e.g., Hon, Forrester and Williams (1978),
Jackson, Andrews and Ridgeway (1977),
and Pence and Bickel ( 1977) .
The present study was undertaken to ac¬
count for the parasites of these animals be¬
cause such published information is not
known in Wisconsin except for the arthro¬
pod ectoparasite surveys by Amin (1973,
1976a, b).
Materials and Methods
This report is based on material collected
from Racine and Kenosha counties in south¬
eastern Wisconsin, during the autumn (Sep-
tember-November) of five years for dogs,
three years for horses, two years for cats,
chickens, turkeys and one year for pigs be¬
tween 1972 and 1977. Dogs and cats were
obtained from the Racine Humane Society
and other mammals were obtained from
various Racine and Kenosha farms and sta¬
bles. Eggs of intestinal helminths of horses
were screened through fecal examination.
In other hosts, the entire alimentary tract of
freshly killed animals was examined for
helminths. All helminth and arthropod para¬
sites were routinely processed and perma¬
nently mounted for identification.
Specimens
Representative specimens are deposited in
the Milwaukee Public Museum; museum ac¬
cession members are listed in tables 1 and 2.
Additional arthropod ectoparasites from
wild mammals (Amin, 1976a, b) are de¬
posited in the same museum; numbers are
available from the author.
Results and Discussion
Survey results are summarized in Tables
1 and 2. Ectoparasitic species of dogs and
cats were previously reported from smaller
collections by Amin (1973, 1976a, b). All
other parasites appear to represent first rec¬
ords for Wisconsin. Almost all these para-
106
1980]
Helmminth and Arthroped Parasites of Some Domestic Animals
107
Table 1. Intestinal helminths from domestic animals in southeastern Wisconsin.
Host
Parasite
a C = cestodes; N = nematodes
b SI = small intestine; C — cecum; CC = colon and cecum; S = stomach; GI = gastrointestinal tract
sites are widely distributed in North America
and many must have been recovered by
other investigators elsewhere in the state.
However, a literature search failed to reveal
such published accounts.
Dog parasites. Seven helminth species
were recovered from dogs in this study. Dogs
were more frequently and heavily infected
with nematodes; 16.2% were infected with
Ancylostoma canium (Ercolani, 1859). A
mean value of 85 Trichuris vulpis (Froh-
lich, 1789) per infected dog was calculated.
This latter figure was exceptionally high due
to the infection of one dog with 339 T. vul¬
pis. Infection with cesodes was lower. The
Mesocestoides specimen belonged to either
M. latus Mueller, 1927 or M. cord Hoeppli,
1925. The highest intensity of cestQde infec¬
tion was with Taenia pisiformis Bloch, 1780,
the larvae of which were commonly found
in the body cavity of many local cottontail
rabbits, Sylvilagus foridanus.
The prevalence of helminth infections in
Racine-Kenosha dogs appears to be interme¬
diate between that of well cared for dogs
(Jaskoski, 1971) and of those examined
from the dog pound in the city of Chicago
(Cross and Allen, 1958). Prevalences are
108
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Table 2. Arthropod parasites from domestic animals in southeastern Wisconsin.
a When different for same host species indicates separate collections examined independently for para¬
sitic groups noted.
b F = fleas; T = ticks; BF = botflies; L = lice; M r= mites.
c Insects are not given accession numbers.
usually higher in the south, i.e., Vaughn and
Jordan (1960) from New Orleans, and lower
farther north, i.e., Dorman and Ostrand
(1958) from New York, presumably re¬
flecting the harsher and less favorable en¬
vironment in northern localities (Jaskoski,
1971). The frequency of at least A. caninum
and T. vulpis infections was clearly related
to certain climatic factors by Becker et al.
(1977).
The sex ratio of all dog helminths, except
Toxocara canis (Werner, 1782), and all
all arthropods obtained in significant num¬
bers was biased in favor of females rather
than males.
Ctenocephalides /. felis (Bouche, 1835)
was the most common arthropod ectopara¬
site of dogs. The prevalence of Ctenocephal¬
ides canis (Curtis, 1826) fluctuated; it was
rare in some years (Amin, 1976a) and con¬
siderably higher in others and averaged
23.4% with a higher mean per infected dog
than C. /. felis (Table 2). Infections with
ticks were scarce from dogs, as well as from
other mammals in southeastern Wisconsin
(Amin, 1976b).
Cat parasites . The prevalence of cat hel¬
minth parasites was comparable to that re¬
ported for cats from Illinois and Kentucky
(Power, 1971) but less than that in stray
cats from Ohio (Christie et al., 1976) for
Toxocara cati (Schrank, 1788) Brumpt,
1927 and Ancylostoma sp. Hydatigera taeni¬
ae formis (Batsch, 1786) and Dipylidium
sexcoronatum von Ratz, 1900 do not appear
to be widely spread elsewhere. Local cats
were most frequently and heavily infected
with T. cati (43.5%) and Dipylidium cani-
1980]
Helmminth and Arthroped Parasites of Some Domestic Animals
109
num (39 worms per infected host), respec¬
tively. Only the sex ratio of Toxocaris leo-
nina (V. Linstow, 1902), Leiper, 1907 was
biased in favor of males.
The most common flea species infesting
cats is C. /. felis. Accidental infestations with
Cediopsylla simplex (Baker, 1895), Tamio-
phila grandis (Rothschild, 1902) and Or-
chopeas h. howardii (Baker, 1895) prob¬
ably result from predatory associations with
cottontail rabbits, eastern chipmunk, Tamias
striatus ohionensis and eastern gray squirrel,
Sciurus carolinensis, respectively.
Chicken parasites. Chickens were fre¬
quently infected (>80%) with Heterakis
gallinarum (Schrank, 1788) Madsen, 1949
and Ascardia galli (Schrank, 1788) and
most heavily infected with the first species
(28.4 per infected host). These figures are
comparable to those for chickens from
Manitoba (Hodasi, 1966) and elsewhere in
Canada (Stephen, 1976). Infestation with
Menacanthus stramineus (Nitzsch, 1818)
was markedly more frequent and heavier
than with Menopon gallinae (Linne, 1758) .
Older chickens were noticeably more heavily
infested with M. stramineus than younger
ones, particularly under crowded conditions.
Only five Goniodes dissimilis Deny, 1842
nymphs were recovered. No mixed infesta¬
tion with M. stramineus and M. gallinae in
the same chicken farm was observed.
Domestic turkey parasites. Only light in¬
fections with A. galli were encountered. The
lighter and less prevalent infection of do¬
mestic turkey with A. galli (this report)
compared to the greater diversity of para-
sitifauna in wild turkey (Hon et al., 1978;
Jackson et al., 1977; Pence and Bickel,
1977) are probably related to the rearing
conditions of the domestic form in farms.
Jackson et al. (1977) speculated that the
high incidence of A. galli in wild turkeys
“may be attributed to domestic fowl con¬
taminating parts of the turkey range with ova
passed in feces.”
Pig parasites. Only one of five pigs was
infected with one A scar is suum Goeze, 1782
and another with 23 Oesophagostomum bre-
vicaudum Schwartz and Alicata, 1930. This
incidence is low compared to reports else¬
where particularly from southern locations
(Stewart and Hale, 1975, and Lindquist,
1975).
Horse parasites. Infections with Strongylus
sp. [probably S. vulgaris (Looss, 1900) Rail-
let and Henry, 1909] were more common
(100%) than with Parascaris sp. [probably
P. equorum (Goeze, 1782) (York and Ma-
plestone, 1926)] as revealed by egg counts
in fecal smears. Eggs of the horse botfly
Gastrophilus sp. [probably G. intestinalis
(de Geer, 1776)] were recovered from hairs
mostly on upper half of forelegs and shoul¬
ders. The mite Sarcoptes scabiei equi Ger-
lach, 1857 was common (55.4% ) particu¬
larly on horses held in holding pens before
shipping. The damage caused by S. vulgaris
to horse intestinal arteries and the role
played by other horse parasites were dis¬
cussed by Georgi ( 1977) .
Literature Cited
Amin, O. M. 1973. A preliminary survey of
vertebrate ectoparasites in southeastern Wis¬
consin. J. Med. Entomol. 10: 1 10-1 11.
Amin, O. M. 1976a. Host associations and
seasonal occurrence of fleas from southeast¬
ern Wisconsin mammals, with observations
on morphologic variations. J. Med. Entomol.
13:179-192.
Amin, O. M. 1976b. Lice, mites, and ticks of
southeastern Wisconsin mammals. Great
Lakes Entomol. 9: 195-198.
Becker, S. V., Selby, L. A., Hutchenson, D. P.,
and Hacker, D. V. 1977. The association of
selected climatic factors with natural ali¬
mentary parasites of dogs. Environ. Res. 14:
141-151.
Burrows, R. B. and Lillis, W. G. 1960. Hel¬
minths of dogs and cats as potential sources
of human infection. N. Y. State J. Med. 60:
3239-3242.
Christie, E., Dubey, J. P., and Pappas, P. W.
1976. Prevalence of Sarcocysts infection and
other intestinal parasitisms in cats from a
110
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
humane shelter in Ohio. J. Am. Vet. Med.
Assoc. 168:421-422.
Cross, S. X. and Allen, R. W. 1958. Incidence
of intestinal helminths and Trichinae in dogs
and cats in Chicago. N. Am. Vet. 29:27-30.
Dorman, D. W. and Ostrand, J. R. Van. 1958.
A survey of Toxocara canis and Toxocara
cati prevalence in the New York City area.
N. Y. State J. Med. 58:2793-2795.
Georgi, J. R. 1977. Parasites of the horse, in
Evans, J. W., Borton, A., Hintz, H. F. and
Van Vleck, L. D. The Horse. San Francisco,
CA. W. H. Freeman and Co.: 573-604.
Hodasi, J. K. M. 1966. A note on some hel¬
minths of Manitoba chickens. Can. J. Comp.
Med. 30:26-27.
Hon, L. T., Forrester, D. J. and Williams,
L. E., Jr. 1978. Helminth acquisition by
wild turkeys ( Meleagris gallopavo osceola )
in Florida. Proc. Helminthol. Soc. Wash. 45:
211-218.
Jackson, J. W., Andrews, R. D., and Ridge¬
way, B. T. 1977. Helminth parasites from
Illinois wild turkeys. Trans. Ill. State Acad.
Sci. 69:455-460.
Jaskoski, B. J. 1971. Intestinal parasites of
well cared for dogs. Am. J. Trop. Med. Hyg.
20:441-444.
Lindquist, W. D. 1975. Nematodes, acantho-
cephalans, trematodes, and cestodes. In
Dunne, H. W. and Leman, A. D. (editors)
Diseases of Swine. Iowa State Univ. Press.,
4th ed.: 780-815.
Loebenberg, D. and Waitz, J. A. 1977. Intes¬
tinal helminths and Protozoa of New Jersey
dogs. J. Parasitol. 63:1139-1140.
Mann, P. H. and Bjotvedt, G. 1965. The in¬
cidence of heartworms and intestinal hel¬
minths in stray dogs. Lab. Anim. Care. 15:
102.
McGuire, S. L. 1964. Intestinal helminths of
stray dogs. Vet. Med. 59: 1132.
Palmieri, J. R., Thurman, J. B. and Andersen,
F. L. 1978. Helminth parasites of dogs in
Utah. J. Parasitol. 64:1149-1150.
Power, L. A. 1971. Helminths of cats from
the Midwest with a report of Ancylostoma
caninum in this host. J. Parasitol. 57:610.
Pence, D. B., and Bickel, S. 1977. Helminths
of wild turkeys in west Texas. Proc. Hel¬
minthol. Soc. Wash. 44:104-105.
Stephen, L. E. 1976. Poultry diseases diagnosed
in Canadian laboratories for the year 1974.
Can. Vet. J. 17:145-149.
Stewart, T. B. and Hale, O. M. 1975. Swine
parasite transmission in relation to housing.
J. Anim. Sci. 40:192-193.
Vaughn, J. and Jordan, R. 1960. Intestinal ne¬
matodes in well-cared for dogs. Am. J. Trop.
Med. Hyg. 9:29-31.
THE PHYSICAL AND CHEMICAL LIMNOLOGY OF A
WISCONSIN MEROMICTIC LAKE
T. B. Parkin, M. R. Winfrey and T. D. Brock
Department of Bacteriology
University of W isconsin-Madison
Abstract
Numerous physical and chemical parameters of a small central Wisconsin lake
were monitored over an 18 month period. Included in these parameters were tem¬
perature, light, conductivity, pH, oxygen, sulfide, sulfate, iron, nitrate, nitrite,
ammonia, phosphate, dissolved inorganic carbon, and methane. Chlorophyll a and
bacteriochlorophyll d were also measured. The lake was determined to be bio-
genically meromictic. Because of its meromictic state, the lake provides a favorable
environment for the development of populations of anaerobic bacteria such as
photosynthetic sulfur bacteria and methanogenic bacteria.
Introduction
Meromictic lakes, since they do not un¬
dergo complete vertical turnover, provide
permanently anaerobic habitats in the deeper
portions. Such lakes provide favorable lo¬
cations for the study of many limnological
and biogeochemical processes related to
anaerobiosis such as carbon, nitrogen, and
sulfur cycles. Meromictic lakes also provide
an extremely favorable environment for the
development of diverse and relatively stable
populations of anaerobic bacteria.
Hutchinson (1957) describes three types
of meromictic lakes: those displaying ecto-
genic, crenogenic or biogenic meromixis.
According to this classification, ectogenic
and crenogenic meromictic lakes have a
dense, saline layer covered by a less dense
freshwater layer. Lakes displaying biogenic
meromixis have a dense bottom layer as a
result of biological decomposition which re¬
leases high concentrations of solutes into the
bottom waters. In each type, the different
dissolved solute concentrations between the
bottom (monimolimnetic) and surface (mix-
olimnetic) waters creates a density differ¬
ence which prevents mixing when the lake
is isothermal. A chemocline separates the
mixolimnion and the monimolimnion. The
mixolimnion of meromictic lakes exhibits
changes similar to those of a holomictic
lake. It may develop thermal stratification
and completely mix at some time of the
year. The terms epilimnion and hypolimnion
are used to describe portions of the mixolim¬
nion, when thermally stratified, in a manner
analogous to holomictic lakes.
Several meromictic lakes have been stud¬
ied with respect to chemical balances and
causes of meromictic stability. Many mero¬
mictic lakes have been shown to remain
stratified as a result of dense saline bottom
water (Matsuyma, 1973; Takahashi et al.,
1968). Walker (1974) has used stability
calculations to compare several saline mero¬
mictic lakes in Washington. In most of the
lakes studied, the meromictic stability has
decreased with time. In biogenic meromictic
lakes, additional factors besides density aid
in preventing mixing. Weimer and Lee
(1973) concluded that the morphometry of
the lake basin and topography of the sur¬
rounding watershed were major factors in
maintaining meromixis in Lake Mary, Wis¬
consin. Similarly, Culver (1975) concluded
that lack of wind action was necessary to
maintain meromixis in Hall Lake, Washing¬
ton.
Ill
112
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
The discovery in central Wisconsin of
Knaack Lake, a sharply stratified meromictic
lake, allowed the authors to conduct detailed
studies of physical and chemical changes in
such a lake over a two year period. In ad¬
dition, this paper provides necessary field
background for subsequent studies on micro¬
bial activities in the lake.
Materials and Methods
Study Areas. Knaack Lake is located in
northern Waupaca county approximately 8
miles south of the town of Marion, Wiscon¬
sin. The lake and surrounding farm lands are
owned by Mr. Carl Knaack. Douglas Cald¬
well, who first studied this lake in 1972 and
1973, referred to it as Hirsch Lake (Cald¬
well, 1977). The lake lies in the northwest
corner of section 22, R. 13 E., T.25 N.
The lake has a surface area of approxi¬
mately 1.1 hectare and a maximum depth of
22.0 m. The water is yellow-brown in color,
a result of high levels of dissolved humic and
tannic compounds. The lake is bounded on
three sides by farm fields while a peat bog
extends from the northeast shore a distance
of about 0.3 k. A dense stand of hardwood,
hemlock, and pine lies between the fields
and the lake shielding it from the predomi¬
nant northwestly winds. A hill to the north¬
west of the lake contributes additional
shielding. No wind speed measurements
have been made, however the authors have
never observed waves in excess of 5 cm at
the lake surface. There are no visible in¬
flows or outflows to or from the lake, thus
the major source of water input appears to
be groundwater seepage and rainwater.
Lake Morphometry. During the winter
the depth of the water was measured along
six transects across the lake. Holes were
drilled through the ice at 10 m intervals
along each transect and measurements were
made using a weighted hand line marked
at 0.5 m intervals. The depth readings were
then transferred to an enlarged copy of the
USGS topographic map (7.5 minute series,
Marion Quadrangle), and bathymetric con¬
tours drawn.
Sampling Techniques and Field Measure¬
ments. Initially, water samples were collected
using a horizontal Van Dorn water sam¬
pler (Wildco Wildlife Supply Co., Saginaw,
Michigan). Beginning in December 1976,
water samples were collected using a peris¬
taltic pump (Horizon Ecology Co.). Water
was pumped through 3/16 inch inside di¬
ameter latex tubing weighted at one end.
The weighted end was attached to a chain
which was used to regulate sampling depth.
The chain prevented stretching of the tub¬
ing, and the system allowed accurate sampl¬
ing at narrow intervals, and minimized ex¬
posure of the anoxic water to oxygen. Un¬
less otherwise stated, samples were collected
from a station located over the deepest area
of the lake. Water was sampled through holes
in the ice during the winter and from a canoe
when the lake was ice free.
Seepage meters following Lee’s (1977)
design were placed around the perimeter of
Knaack Lake. Rates of groundwater seep¬
age into the lake were estimated by collecting
the water which flowed from the meters into
plastic bags. The volumes of water collected
were measured and seepage times noted.
Rates were calculated as ml flow/m2/min.
Temperature and oxygen were measured
in situ with a combination temperature-oxy¬
gen probe (Yellow Springs Instruments
Co.). Conductivity was measured in situ
with a combination salinity-conductivity-
temperature probe (Yellow Springs Instru¬
ments Co.). pH measurements were made in
the laboratory on water samples collected in
glass stoppered BOD bottles using a Corning
Model-12 pH meter. A 30 cm diameter
Secchi disk was used to estimate water trans¬
parency and a Li-Cor model-185 quantum
meter combined with an underwater silicon
photodiode quantum sensor (Lambda In¬
struments Corp., Lincoln, Nebraska) was
used to measure light extinction in the lake.
To determine the underwater spectral dis-
1980]
The Physical and Chemical Limnology of a Wisconsin Lake
113
tribution of light in the lake, water samples
were brought to the laboratory, filtered, and
the optical characteristics of the water were
determined following James and Birge
(1938). Ten cm glass cuvettes were used
with a Beckman DK-2 scanning spectro¬
photometer.
Chemical Assays. Samples for nutrient
assays were collected in polyethylene bottles
and placed on ice. Immediately upon return¬
ing to the laboratory (ca. 4 hours) the water
samples were filtered through Whatman
GF/C glass fiber filters and Gelman GN-6
0.45 gm membrane filters. After membrane
filtration, the water samples were frozen;
soluble phosphate, nitrite, nitrate, and am¬
monia concentrations were determined at
a later date. The glass fiber filters were ex¬
tracted with 90% acetone and refrigerated
overnight before chlorophyll analysis. Chlor¬
ophyll a was determined as described by
Vollenweider (1969) and bacteriochloro-
phyll as described by Takahashi and Ichi-
mura (1968). Absorbances were determined
in a Beckman DB-G spectrophotometer or a
Beckman DK-2 scanning spectrophotometer.
Glass fiber filters were found to retain more
than 95% of the chlorophyll present in the
lake water.
Nitrite and soluble reactive phosphate
were determined by the method of Strickland
and Parsons (1968). Ammonia was initi¬
ally determined according to Strickland and
Parsons (1968). However, this method gave
questionably low values of ammonia in the
bottom water. A second method (Strickland
and Parsons, 1972) was then used and
yielded considerably higher values. Nitrate
was initially measured by the method of
Mullen and Riley (1955). This method
proved satisfactory in other lakes, but re¬
sulted in formation of a brown precipitate
in the monimolimnetic water samples from
Knaack Lake. In these samples the precipi¬
tate was filtered out, using a 0.45 /im mem¬
brane filter (Gelman), and the absorbance
of the colored filtrate was measured. To ex¬
amine the accuracy of this procedure, nitrate
was determined by a second method (Strick¬
land and Parsons, 1968). The methods gave
comparable results (±5%) on the same
water sample. Using either method unusually
high concentrations of nitrate were detected
in the monimolimnetic waters. Water below
15 m, but not the surface water, had values
often higher than 200 jug/ 1 when filtered
through the Gelman filters. However, nitrate
was not detected when the same water sam¬
ples were analyzed for nitrate before filtra¬
tion or assayed after filtration through glass
fiber filters alone. Gelman GN-6, 0.45 /on
membrane filters are composed primarily of
esters of cellulose nitrate (>95%). Ap¬
parently some compound, present in the
monimolimnion, possibly an organic acid,
was able to extract nitrate from the filters
resulting in false positive values.
Iron was quantified by means of a modi¬
fication of the assay described in American
Public Health Association (Taras et al,
1971). Samples for ferrous and ferric iron
were collected anaerobically in glass-stop¬
pered bottles and transported to the labora¬
tory on ice. Ferrous iron was determined by
adjusting the pH of the water samples to
4.0 with ammonium acetate buffer, adding
a solution of 1,10 phenanthroline mono¬
hydrate, and reading the absorbance at 510
nm. Total iron was determined by adding
concentrated HC1 and a hydroxylamine so¬
lution to water samples which were then
heated at 100°C for 30 minutes in teflon-
capped screw-cap test tubes. After heating,
the pH of the sample was adjusted to 4.0,
the phenanthroline reagent added, and ab¬
sorbance read at 510 nm. The ferric iron
concentration was calculated by subtracting
the ferrous concentration from the total con¬
centration. This method did not distinguish
between particulate and soluble ferrous or
ferric iron.
Ten ml water samples for sulfate and sul¬
fide analysis were collected in screw-cap test
tubes containing 0.5 ml of a 0.2% solution
114
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
of zinc acetate in 0.2% acetic acid. Sulfide
was determined by the colormetric method
of Pachmayr as described by Brock et al.
(1971) modified in that only 1 ml of the
amine reagent and 0.5 ml of the ferric iron
reagent were added to the 10 ml water sam¬
ples. Sulfate was determined by the turbido-
metric method of Tabatabai (1974). All
chemical assays were performed on a Bausch
and Lomb Spectronic 20 or Gilford Model
420 spectrophotometer.
During the fall of 1977 Winkler titrations
were used for oxygen determination as low
levels of oxygen were present in the mixo-
limnion. Winkler titrations were performed
as described in Strickland and Parsons
(1972), with the modification that samples
were fixed immediately at the lake with the
addition of manganous sulfate and alkaline
iodide. Since oxygen levels were very low,
the thiosulfate titrant was diluted ten fold to
attain better sensitivity.
Dissolved methane and dissolved inorganic
carbon (DIC = C02 + HCO-3 + H2CQ3)
were measured by modification of the gas
stripping technique of Rudd et al. (1974).
Water (5 ml) was collected by inserting a
10 ml glass syringe (without needle) into
the outlet of the sampling pump. The syringe
was held pointing downward to prevent any
degassing bubbles from escaping. It was
fitted with a 23 gauge needle, and the water
injected into a 18 by 240 mm butyl rubber
stoppered anaerobic tube (Bellco Glass Co.)
containing 0.5 ml of 6 N HC1. Upon return¬
ing to the laboratory, tubes were assayed for
for CH4 and C02 on a Packard 419 gas
chromatograph (Nelson and Zeikus, 1974).
DIC was calculated using the Bunsen absorp¬
tion coefficients for dissolved C02.
Calculation of Stability. Stability, the min¬
imum amount of work required to mix a
chemically stratified lake that is devoid of
thermal stratification, was calculated by
Schmidt’s stability equations (Walker 1974).
The density of Knaack Lake was calculated
by summing the total dissolved solutes pres¬
ent at a given depth and adding this mass to
the density of the water.
Results
Physical Characteristics
Lake Morphometry and Seepage. The
physical characteristics of the lake basin and
surrounding watershed were mapped (Fig.
1A). Bathymetric contours and position of
the seepage meter sites were established and
a cross section of the lake along the major
axis prepared (Fig. IB and 1C). The po¬
sitions of the thermocline, present during
the spring, summer, and autumn months,
and the chemocline, which is present year-
round, are represented by broken lines.
Since there are no visible inflows to the
lake, a survey was made to determine the
rate of groundwater seepage and the points
of maximum seepage. Meters were placed
at the deeper stations in the lake by a SCUBA
SCALE: | cm =59.6 M SCALE: I cm = 13.75 M
N
Fig. 1. Morphometry of Knaack Lake and top¬
ography of the surrounding watershed. A, Topog¬
raphy of watershed from the Marion county
Quadrangle (USGS). B. Bathymetric contours
(meters). The sampling station was located over
the deepest portion of the lake (22 m). Circled
numbers indicate locations of seepage meter sites.
C. Cross section of the lake along the major
axis. Dashed lines designate the location of the
summer thermocline, which separates the epilim-
nion and hypolimnion, and the chemocline, which
separates the mixo- and monimolimnion.
DEPTH Cm) DEPTH Cm)
1980]
The Physical and Chemical Limnology of a Wisconsin Lake
115
diver. Maximum seepage into the lake was
found to occur along the northwest shore
(Table 1). These data, collected in the
spring of 1977, coincide with visual observa¬
tions made during the winter. In determina¬
tion of morphometry of the lake basin many
holes were drilled through the ice. At that
Table 1. Seepage into Knaack Lake.
ICE IN
Fig. 2. Temperature profiles in Knaack Lake
from 20 October 1976 through 22 November
1977. Profiles just prior to lake freezing (A), dur¬
ing the period of ice cover (B and C), immediately
after “ice-out” (D), during the stratification period
(E through G), and when the lake was isothermal
(H).
time, it was observed that the ice near the
northwest shore of the lake was 70 to 80%
thinner than the ice at any other location on
the lake, suggesting larger flows of warmer
groundwater.
Temperature and Oxygen. Temperature
profiles were measured throughout the year
(20 October 1976) to 22 November 1977)
(Fig. 2). After the lake became isothermal
in the fall, the surface temperature dropped
rapidly until the lake froze. Temperature in¬
creased with depth reaching 4°C at 6-8 m.
Water temperature from 8 to 15 m was 4°C,
while below 15 m the temperature again
increased to a maximum of 5°C at the bot¬
tom. Temperature profiles remained constant
throughout the winter (Figs. 2B and 2C).
After “ice-out” in the spring (Fig. 2D) the
surface temperature increased rapidly and
a sharp thermocline was formed at 1 to 2 m
(Fig. 2E). Throughout the year the water
below the thermocline remained at 4°C and
increased to approximately 5.5°C at the
bottom. In the late summer and fall, surface
temperatures decreased and the thermocline
dropped (Figs. 2F and 2G) until the upper
15 m of the lake became isothermal (Fig.
2H).
In the fall of 1976 oxygen was present
down to the thermocline (Fig. 3A). The lake
quickly became anaerobic after freezing in
the winter of 1976-1977 (Figs. 3B and 3C).
However, the measurements were made with
an oxygen meter which could not detect
small (less than 0.5 mg/1) concentrations.
The lake remained anaerobic throughout the
winter except for a period in March (Fig.
3D) when an algal bloom formed under the
ice and 9 to 10 mg/1 oxygen was detected.
The lake again became completely anaerobic
after the algal bloom disappeared (Fig. 3E).
After “ice-out,” oxygen (8-12 mg/1) was
present above the thermocline and oxygen
concentrations in the epilimnion remained
fairly constant throughout the summer (Figs.
3F and 3G). As the lake began to mix in
the fall, oxygen concentrations in the sur-
DEPTH Cm) DEPTH Cm) DEPTH Cm)
116
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Fig. 3. Oxygen profiles in Knaack Lake from 20
October 1976 through 13 January 1978. Oxygen
concentrations during the periods when the lake
was stratified (A. F. G. H. and I), when the lake
was isothermal (B and J), and when the lake was
covered with ice (C, D, E, K, and L).
face waters decreased and oxygen was de¬
tected in deeper waters (Figs. 3H and 31).
When the lake became isothermal in the fall
(Fig. 3J), oxygen was detected at 12 m at
a concentration of 0.4 to 0.8 mg/1. Traces
of oxygen were present for several weeks
after ice formed (Fig. 3K) but by 1-3-78
oxygen was absent (Fig. 3L).
Conductivity. Conductivity was measured
throughout the study period (Fig. 4). Con¬
ductivity was low in the surface water and
increased at the thermocline (Figs. 4A, 4B
and 4C). This increase followed the thermo¬
cline down the water column in the fall. Be¬
low the chemocline (14 to 15 m) conduc¬
tivity increased rapidly with depth, reaching
300 to 400 /xmhos at the bottom. This cor¬
responded to high concentrations of am¬
monia, phosphate, and carbonate found in
the monimolimnion. When the lake was iso¬
thermal in the fall (Fig. 4D), conductivity
was nearly constant to 14 m, as a result of
mixing of the mixolimnetic waters.
Light. The color of the lake water and
the presence of suspended particles results
in rapid dissipation of light as it travels
through the water column. The transparency
of the lake water was estimated with a Seech i
disk, as the depth of Secchi disk extinction
may be interpreted as 1 to 15 percent
transmission of incident light (Wetzel,
ICE IN
F:g. 4. Conductivity profiles for selected sampling
dates. Conductivity when the lake was thermally
stratified (A), during ice cover (B), immediately
after ice-out (C), and when the lake was isother¬
mal (D).
LIGHT INTENSITY C^E/S^S)
Fig. 5. Light extinction in the Knaack Lake water
column from 0 to 4 m (A). Details of light extinc¬
tion from 2 to 4 m (B).
1980]
The Physical and Chemical Limnology of a Wisconsin Lake
117
1975). Depths of Secchi disk transparency
ranged from 0.6 to 1.1 m throughout the
year. Using the data of Aberg and Rodhe
(1942), that relate lake water color and disk
transparency as a hyperbolic function, the
water of Knaack Lake has an estimated color
of 130 Pt units. Light extinction was also
measured with a submersible quantum detec¬
tor. This method of measuring the penetra¬
tion of light through the water column is
more useful, in that it directly measures the
quanta of light available for phytoplankton
photosynthesis. It is evident that the lake
water absorbs light effectively and that below
the depth of 4 m no light is present (Fig. 5).
Large amounts of dissolved organic com¬
pounds impart a yellow-brown color to the
water, suggesting that changes in light
quality with depth be examined. Extinction
coefficients were determined by scanning
filtered lake water in a spectrophotometer,
and using the formula given by Hutchinson
(1957); T% = 100e~n, where n is the ex¬
tinction coefficient and T is transmission.
Using the extinction coefficients it was pos-
Fig. 6. Transmission spectrum for a filtered, 0 to
3.5 m integrated lake water sample. The integrated
sample was prepared by pooling samples collected
at 0.5 m intervals with a vertical Van Dorn water
sampler to the 3.5 m depth. Extinction coefficients
are shown for several wavelengths.
sible to determine which wavelengths pene¬
trated farthest into the lake. Calculations
employed the formula Iz = I0e~nz where I,
is the light intensity at depth z, I0 is the light
intensity at the surface, and n is the calcu¬
lated extinction coefficient (Hutchinson,
1957). The transmission spectrum for a 0 to
3.5 m integrated water sample was measured
in a 10 cm glass cuvette (Fig. 6) and extinc¬
tion coefficients were calculated for selected
wavelengths. Percent transmission is low
and extinction is high for wavelengths greater
than 725 nm. Maximum transmission oc¬
curs at 700 nm and transmission decreases
sharply from 640 to 400 nm.
Chemical Parameters
Chemical parameters of Knaack Lake
water were determined during an 18 month
period in an attempt to characterize the
chemistry of the lake over an annual cycle.
The chemical parameters monitored were
pH, nitrite, nitrate, ammonia, soluble reac¬
tive phosphate, sulfide, sulfate, DIC, meth¬
ane, ferric iron, and ferrous iron.
pH. During the winter (Fig. 7A) pH values
were relatively constant with depth through¬
out most of the water column (5.9 to 6.2).
During the months when the lake was ice
free, increased pH values were observed in
the surface water, although the pH below
the thermocline remained constant (Figs.
Fig. 7. pH profiles in Knaack Lake during the
period of ice cover (A), after ice-out (B), and dur¬
ing summer (C) and autumn (D) stratification
periods.
118
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
1C and 7D). During mid-summer, the high¬
est pH values were observed in the epilim-
nion and the pH below the thermocline was
slightly higher than observed at other times
of the year. The increased pH reached down
to 4 m during the fall due to the lower ther¬
mocline at this time.
Nitrogen Species. Nitrite and nitrate con¬
centrations in the water column were mea¬
sured throughout the sampling period. Ni¬
trite concentrations greater than the sensi-
Fig. 8. Nitrate-nitrogen concentrations of the
epilimnion (0 to 2 meters) throughout the year.
Concentrations generally ranged from undetectable
(<10 Atg/1) to 75jug NOvN/1. On 30 June, 1977
nitrate concentrations reached 390 Mg/1-
ICE IN
Fig. 9. Ammonia profiles in Knaack Lake during
summer stratification (A), during winter ice cover
(B) and the spring after ice-out (C). Note that scale
of abcissa in A is different from B and C.
tivity of the assay (10 ftg/l) were never
observed. Nitrate was not detected below a
depth of 2 m, although nitrate was periodi¬
cally detected in the surface water (Fig. 8).
Surface values ranged from less than 10
tig/ 1 to 390 [ig/ 1. Increased groundwater
seepage due to rainfall and phytoplankton
activity influenced nitrate concentrations.
When the lake was ice-free, oxygen was
present in the surface water and nitrate, a
chemically stable species under aerobic con¬
ditions, was often present. On some dates
during the ice-free period, dense populations
of phytoplankton were observed in the epi-
limnetic waters and nitrate was not detected
in the surface water (7 July 1977 and 23
May 1977). At times, however, pulses of
nitrate were observed in the surface water
when phytoplankton was present (17 May
1977 and 30 June 1977). These pulses of
nitrate occurred after periods of heavy rain¬
fall (the lake received 1.4 in of rain on 16
May 1977 and 1.75 in on 28 June 1977)
and it is likely that heavy rainfall signifi¬
cantly accelerated the rate of groundwater
seepage resulting in a higher input of nitrate.
Shortly after the lake froze in 1976, oxy¬
gen disappeared from the surface water.
Nitrate, an energetically favorable electron
acceptor for anaerobic respiration in the
absence of oxygen, was depleted within three
weeks. On several dates during the winter
of 1977, nitrate was detected in the surface
water. Several of these dates corresponded
with the presence of oxygen in the water im¬
mediately below the ice. The presence of ni¬
trate on these dates may be a result of in¬
creased flow of oxygenated groundwater.
When the lake was thermally stratified,
the surface waters contained 0.2 mg/1 am¬
monia and ammonia was not detected at 1
and 2 m (Fig. 9A). At 3 m, ammonia was
detected at 1.4 mg/1 and increased steadily
to a concentration of 3.4 mg/1 at 10 m. At
20 m, the ammonia concentration reached
9.0 mg/1. During the winter, ammonia con¬
centrations were relatively low (<2 mg/1)
1980]
The Physical and Chemical Limnology of a Wisconsin Lake
119
above 14 m, but rose sharply below this
depth and reached a maximum of 68 mg/1
at 21.5 m (Fig. 9B). A similar profile was
observed after ice left the lake in the spring
(Fig. 9C).
Phosphate . During the winter of 1977,
phosphate was detected at 70 pg/1 from the
ice down to 8 m (Fig. 10A). Below this
depth phosphate values increased reaching
1300 fig/ 1 at 20 m. During periods when the
lake was ice-free, phosphate was generally
not detected in the surface water. Occasion¬
ally, however phosphate was present at the
surface. Fluctuations in phosphate in the
surface water were probably a result of in¬
creased groundwater seepage following peri¬
ods of heavy rainfall
On 22 November 1977, when the lake
was isothermal, phosphate concentrations
were constant to a depth of 14 m (Fig.
10G). In the unmixed water below this
depth, phosphate values increased sharply.
During the winter months phosphate in¬
creased in the upper 14 m of the lake (Fig.
Fig. 10. Phosphate profiles in Knaack Lake
throughout the sampling period.
10H-I). This increase was thought to result
from liberation of phosphate from decom¬
posing phytoplankton; marked decreases in
chlorophyll a were observed during this
period.
Sulfur Species. Sulfate and sulfide concen¬
trations in Knaack Lake were measured
throughout the sampling period (Fig. 11).
In the fall of 1976 (Fig. 11A) sulfide was
absent above the thermocline and was pres¬
ent in concentrations of 0.6 to 0.8 mg/1 in
the anaerobic portion of the lake. Immedi¬
ately after ice formed (Fig. 1 IB) sulfide
was absent in the top meter of water; phos¬
phate was low from 2 to 10 m (0.1 to 0.2
mg/1) and was approximately 0.7 mg/1 be¬
low 12 m. Sulfide in the upper 12 m in-
HS“-S (mg/I)
SOf-S (mg/I)
Fig. 11. Sulfate and sulfide profiles in Knaack
Lake. Symbols: SOvS (O) mg/1; HS~ and H2S-S
(#) mg/1. Note sulfate was only detectable on
two sampling dates (J and K).
DEPTH Cm) DEPTH Cm)
120
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
creased throughout the winter (Figs. 1 1C
and HE) and was present to the bottom of
the ice except during a period when an algal
bloom under the ice depleted sulfide, and
oxygen was detected immediately below the
ice (Fig. 11D). After “ice-out” (10 April
1977) sulfide was absent above the thermo-
cline and was 0.7 to 1.2 mg/1 in the anaero¬
bic water (Fig. 1 IF). As the upper part of
the lake began to mix in the fall (Figs. 1 1H
and 111) the anoxic waters became oxygen¬
ated and sulfide depletion occurred. When
the lake was isothermal (22 November
1977) sulfide was not detected in the upper
14 m (Fig. 11J). After ice formed (Fig.
ICE IN
Fig. 12. Profiles of total ferrous and total ferric
iron in Knaack Lake. Symbols: Fe+S (A); and
Fe+2 (*).
ICE IN
Fig. 13. Profiles of dissolved methane in Knaack
Lake from 12-17-76 through 12-2-77.
UK) sulfide was absent above 14 m but
gradually increased in the upper waters
throughout the winter (Fig. 11L).
Sulfate was not detectable in Knaack Lake
throughout most of the year. The turbido-
metric assay for sulfate, however has a lower
detection limit, approximatealy 0.5 mg/1
S04~s, than the colorimetric method for sul¬
fide. Small amounts of sulfate (1-2 mg/1)
were detected in the fall of 1977 above the
thermocline (Figs. Ill and 11J). This was
probably a result of sulfide oxidation as the
deeper sulfide containing water was mixed
with the shallow oxygenated water.
Iron Species. Ferric iron was detected
only in the surface water at concentrations
from 0.10 to 0.50 mg/1 (Fig. 12). No ferric
iron was detected in the anaerobic hypolim-
nion. In the aerobic epilimnetic waters, fer¬
rous iron concentrations were low 0.1 to
0.38 mg/1), but increased with depth in the
anaerobic portions of the lake and concen¬
trations of 4 to 6 mg/1 were commonly ob¬
served near the bottom.
Ferrous iron concentrations were con¬
siderably higher than would be expected from
the concentrations of sulfide measured in
Knaack Lake. The maximum concentration
of sulfide predicted from theoretical calcula¬
tions was approximately 50 times lower than
the actual sulfide concentrations measured
in the lake. It is likely that the ferrous iron
observed in the bottom water is present as
iron chelates of humic acids.
Methane. In Knaack Lake, high concen¬
trations of methane were found in the bot¬
tom water throughout the year. After ice
formed (Fig. 13A) methane was present in
small concentrations in the top 12 m (ca.
100 /xmoles/1) and began to increase below
12 m. Methane in the oxygenated surface
water probably resulted from mixing of the
hypolimnetic waters, which contained meth¬
ane, with the surface water when the lake
was isothermal. Methane concentrations
gradually increased throughout the winter
(Fig. 13B). When the ice went out in the
1980]
The Physical and Chemical Limnology of a Wisconsin Lake
121
spring (Fig. 13C), methane was depleted
in the aerobic surface water, presumably
because of methane oxidation at the thermo-
cline and evasion into the atmosphere at the
surface. As oxygen reached greater depths
in the fall of 1977, methane was consumed
above the thermocline (Fig. 13D-F). When
the lake became isothermal on 11 Novem¬
ber 1977, water with large concentrations of
dissolved methane above 14 m was mixed
with overlying water and a concentration of
200 to 300 /xmoles/1 methane was found
throughout the upper 14 m (Fig. 13G).
These concentrations stayed constant after
the ice formed. Methane concentrations
reached levels as high as 4000 ^moles/1 in
the bottom water and monimolimnetic waters
varied little throughout the year.
Dissolved Inorganic Carbon. Dissolved
inorganic carbon (DIG) was measured
throughout the lake and was generally at
1000 to 3000 /xmoles/1 in the surface water
and increased to 5000 to 10,000 /mioles/1
in the monimolimnion (Fig. 14).
Photosynthetic Bacteria. Photosynthetic
bacteria were present in Knaack Lake at all
times of the year. Microscopic examination
of water samples revealed that the predomi¬
nant photosynthetic bacteria were green sul¬
fur bacteria of the genera Chlorobium and
Pelodictyon. Bacteriochlorophyll assays of
water samples indicated only one type of
bacteriochlorophyll, bacteriochlorophyll d
(bchl d). The relative distribution of oxygen,
Fig. 14. Profiles of dissolved inorganic carbon
(DIC) on selected sampling dates.
sulfide and bchl d were compared for a mid¬
summer sampling date (Fig. 15). Usually
bchl d was only detected at depths where
sulfide was present and maximum concentra¬
tions of bchl d were found at depths where
sulfide was first noticed in the water column
(Fig. 16A). Occasionally bchl d was ob¬
served at depths just above the sulfide con¬
taining waters (Fig. 16). Sulfide was present
between 2 and 4 m during periods of strati¬
fication and generally present up to the ice
during the winter. In February and March,
1977, a bloom of photosynthetic algae was
present under the ice. The water became
oxidized and sulfide was not detected above
2 m. In the fall of 1976 and 1977 the point
at which sulfide was first detected dropped
to depths of 14 and 15 m respectively. These
depths indicate the maximum depth of mix¬
ing when the lake was isothermal. During
the winter of 1977, bchl d maxima were
found at depths of 0.5 to 1.0 m (Fig. 16B).
On 10 April, 1977 the ice left Knaack Lake
CONCENTRATION Cmq/I)
Bchl gj 25.0 75.0 125.0 175.0 225.0
OXYGEN 1.0 3.0 5.0 7.0 9.0
Fig. 15. Distribution of oxygen, sulfide, and
bacteriochlorophyll d in Knaack Lake on a mid¬
summer sampling date (7-7-77). Symbols: Bchl d
(#); Oxygen (■); and Sulfide (A).
122
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Fig. 16. Variation in depths where Bchl d (A)
and Sulfide (B) were first detected in the Knaack
Lake water column throughout the sampling period.
Fig. 17. Integrated Bchl d concentrations (A) and
Chlorophyll a concentrations (B) in Knaack Lake
throughout the sampling period.
and the surface waters (0 to 2 m) were de¬
pleted of sulfide. At this time the bchl d
maximum was located at a depth of 2.5 m.
By mid-May 1977 the bchl d maximum had
migrated to a depth of 3 m. The photosyn¬
thetic bacteria remained at depths of 3 to 4
m in the lake from mid-May to mid-Octo¬
ber. From 17 October, 1977 to 22 Novem¬
ber, 1977 the lake experienced partial mix¬
ing. Mixing occurred to approximately 15
meters and not above this depth were sul¬
fide and bchl d present in the water column.
By 13 January, 1978 the lake had ice cover
and the photosynthetic bacteria were found
at a depth of one m.
Integrated bchl d values in Knaack Lake
were calculated (Fig. 17A). Concentrations
of bchl d exhibit an annual periodicity. After
ice forms, the concentrations of bchl d in
the lake increased steadily until “ice-out”
(10 April 1977) and continued to increase
throughout the summer. Maximum concen¬
trations were observed in September at which
time concentrations began to decrease. It is
thought that this decrease occurred because
the thermocline and hence the sulfide con¬
taining water became established at a lower
depth (4.5 meters). The 4.5 m depth is
below the photic zone and, since photosyn¬
thetic bacteria require both light and sulfide,
the population began to decline. The de¬
crease in bchl d continued through the
partial mixing period until the lake became
isothermal. After ice covered the lake anoxic
conditions became reestablished and bchl d
concentrations increased.
Phytoplankton. Chlorophyll a concentra¬
tion in the epilimnion also seem to exhibit an
annual periodicity (Fig. 17B). Peaks oc¬
curred in July 1976, October 1976, March
1977, June 1977, and October 1977. The
summer chlorophyll peaks were higher than
either of the two fall peaks or the winter
peak. The predominant photosynthetic or¬
ganism present in the epilimnion during July
1976 and June 1977 was the filamentous,
heterocyst-forming, blue-green alga, Ana-
1980]
The Physical and Chemical Limnology of a Wisconsin Lake
123
“Data from Walker (1974). All lakes have highly
saline monimolimnia; Soap and Lower Goose Lake
are thought to be ectogenic.
b Data from Weimer and Lee (1973).
haena subcylindrica . The peaks in October
1976 and October 1977 consisted of a mix¬
ture of blue-green algae and green algae.
Ceratium, Scenedesmus, Staurastrum, Anki-
strodesmus , Coelospherium, Anabaena, and
several types of flagellated unicellular green
algae were identified in water samples col¬
lected on these dates. These fall blooms dis¬
appeared when the lake became isothermal
and iced over. In March and April, 1977 a
bloom of algae occurred under the ice. This
bloom was almost entirely composed of a
green flagellated alga.
Meromiciic Stability. The density of
Knaack Lake at 15 m was estimated by
summing the concentrations of the various
chemical species measured in the monimo-
limnetic waters and was calculated to be
1000.455 g/1. Using this value, the stability
of Knaack Lake (S) was calculated to 35.8
g-cm/cm2 (Table 2). Highly saline mero-
mictic lakes (Soap, Lower Goose, Blue, and
Wannacut) have extremely high stability
values, while Lake Mary, a biogenic mero-
mictic lake, has a stability value of only 1.1
g-cm/cm2.
Discussion
The results presented here show that
Knaack Lake is indeed a meromictic lake.
A sharp thermocline was established imme¬
diately after “ice-out” in the spring and only
the upper one to two m of water were mixed.
In the fall the thermocline began to drop and
partial mixing of the lake occurred to a depth
of 14 to 15 m as was evidenced by the uniform
profiles of all chemical parameters. Although
the turnover was not followed closely in the
fall of 1976, chemical data after ice formed
indicate that mixing occurred to a depth of
approximately 12 to 14 m.
The decreased depth to which the lake
mixed in the fall of 1976 probably resulted
from the rapid and early freezing. The lake
froze two weeks earlier in 1976 following
a period of very cold weather. This early
freezing and consequent mixing to a shal¬
lower depth also affected the water chem¬
istry during the period of ice cover. Sulfide
was present to the bottom of the ice immedi¬
ately after ice formed in 1976 whereas sul¬
fide was not detected in the upper 14 m of
water for one month after ice formed in
1977, indicating more thorough mixing in
1977.
Although conductivity increases rapidly
with depth in the bottom waters, there is no
sharp chemocline dividing the mixolimnion
and monimolimnion. Thus, meromixis in
Knaack Lake does not appear to be of ecto¬
genic or crenogenic origin. Other factors
than salinity must be responsible for main¬
taining meromixis in Knaack Lake.
Weimer and Lee (1973) have suggested
that the major factors allowing meromixis in
Lake Mary are biological activity and mor¬
phometry of the lake basin. These factors
may also be responsible for the meromictic
state of Knaack Lake. The concentrations
of ammonia, carbonate, phosphate, and
methane were extremely high, and (except
methane) probably account for the increase
in conductivity observed in the monimolim¬
nion. Ammonia, carbonate and methane are
all products of biological activity and are
relatively stable anaerobically. Thus, bio¬
genic activity is likely a major factor in
maintaining meromixis in Knaack Lake. As
oxygenated surface water is never mixed
with the bottom water, these compounds
124
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
accumulate and reach extremely high con¬
centrations in the bottom water resulting
in increased density in the monimolimnion.
The morphometry of the Knaack Lake
basin and surrounding topography probably
has a major effect on maintaining meromixis.
The lake is surrounded by dense stands of
trees and there is a hill on the northwestern
shore of the lake which shields the lake from
the prevailing winds. The small surface area
and the great depth of the lake, combined
with the shelter provided by the surrounding
watershed prevent extensive mixing of the
lake by wind.
Weimer and Lee (1973) calculated that
the density difference between the mixolim-
netic and monimolimnetic waters in Lake
Mary was not sufficient to prevent mixing
of that lake. Using Schmidt’s stability equa¬
tion, they calculated the stability to be only
1.1 g-cm/cm2. They concluded that the
physical characteristics of the lake basin and
to a lesser extent biogenic activity were re¬
sponsible for maintaining meromixis. Bio¬
logical factors may play a more important
role in maintaining meromixis in Knaack
Lake than in Lake Mary. Conductivity, am¬
monia, phosphate, methane and DIC con¬
centrations in Knaack Lake were much
higher than values reported in Lake Mary.
Furthermore, the stability of Knaack Lake
(35.8 g-cm/cm2) was considerably higher
than Lake Mary, although the stability of
Knaack Lake was several orders of magni¬
tude less than reported values for saline
meromictic lakes (Walker, 1974). It appears
unlikely that density difference between the
mixolimnetic and monimolimnetic waters
alone is sufficient to prevent complete mix¬
ing of Knaack Lake.
Based on our results, Knaack Lake can
be classified as a biogenic meromictic lake,
although the morphometry of the lake basin
is also an important factor in maintaining
meromixis. Since there is no sharp chemo-
cline dividing the mixo- and monimolimnetic
waters, the amount of mixing each fall may
depend on seasonal factors such as the date
the lake freezes and the magnitude and di¬
rection of the predominant winds.
The mixolimnetic waters of Knaack Lake
behave as a monomictic lake, mixing com¬
pletely only in the fall. Nutrient input into
the lake appears to result primarily from
groundwater seepage along the northwest
shore. Increases in groundwater after heavy
rainfall result in increased nutrients in the
surface water which in turn give rise to phy¬
toplankton blooms. The shallow thermocline
during spring and summer provides an en¬
vironment conducive to blooms of photo¬
synthetic bacteria.
Stagnation of the monimolimnetic waters
of the lake gives rise to a permanently anae¬
robic environment high in dissolved solutes.
As sulfate and nitrate are absent in the
anaerobic water fermentation and methano-
genesis are probably the major biological
activities occurring in the monimolimnion.
The shallow and sharp thermocline and the
permanently anaerobic bottom water of
Knaack Lake provide an excellent environ¬
ment for the examination of many microbio¬
logical processes such as bacterial photosyn¬
thesis, anaerobic decomposition and meth-
anogenesis. The chemical and physical data
presented in this paper have been used as a
basis for other studies on the microbial activi¬
ties in the lake.
Acknowledgments
The authors would like to thank R. D.
Fallon for assistance in placing the seepage
meters in the lake and Mr. C. Knaack for
providing access to Knaack Lake. This work
was funded by National Science Foundation
grant DEB 7906030.
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Milieufakteren in Einegen Sudschwedischen
Seen. Symbol. Bot. Upsalien. 5:256.
Brock, T. D., Brock, M. L., Bott, T. L. and
M. R. Edwards. 1971. Microbial life at 90°
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The Physical and Chemical Limnology of a Wisconsin Lake
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C: the sulfur bacteria of Boulder Spring.
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Caldwell, D. E. 1977. The planktonic micro¬
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Culver, D. A. 1975. Physical, chemical and
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Hutchinson, G. E. 1957. A Treatise on Lim¬
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James, H. R. and E. A. Birge. 1938. A lab¬
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480.
Nelson, D. R. and J. G. Zeikus. 1974. Rapid
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Rudd, J. W., R. D. Hamilton and N. E. R.
Campbell. 1974. Measurement of the micro¬
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Limnol. Oceanogr. 19:519-524.
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Takahashi, M. and S. Ichimura. 1968. Photo¬
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synthetic sulfur bacteria in lakes. Limnol.
Oceanogr. 13:644-655.
Takahashi, T., Breeder, W., Thurber, Y. H. L.
and D. Thurber. 1968. Chemical and isotope
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Walker, K. F. 1974. The stability of meromic¬
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FORWARD: COMMON SCHOOLS AND UNCOMMON LEADERS
Shirley Nelson Kersey
Division of Education
University of Wisconsin-Parkside
Wisconsin’s school system, conceived in
the northeastern states, was brought into
being through the successive labors of six
dedicated men. Eleazer Root, Azel P. Ladd,
Hiram A. Wright, Alfred C. Barry, Lyman
C. Draper, and Josiah L. Pickard came to
Wisconsin in the middle of the nineteenth
century from New York, New Hampshire,
and Maine to serve, each in his turn, as
Wisconsin Superintendent of Public Instruc¬
tion. Each built upon the efforts and achieve¬
ments of his predecessor, shaping Wiscon¬
sin’s schools to the philosophy of the Com¬
mon School Movement that flourished in
nineteenth century Massachusetts and Con¬
necticut.
Wisconsin’s electorate was already sym¬
pathetic with the Common School Move¬
ment or it would not have hired these pro¬
ponents of the movement. But the orienta¬
tion and energy of these early Superinten¬
dents gave direction and thrust to the infant
school system. Had any or all of them sup¬
ported the private tutorial education of the
southern states or the sectarian education of
the middle Atlantic states, Wisconsin’s edu¬
cational system might have been far different.
As it was, these harmonious leaders faced
many obstacles.
Teacher preparation, parental apathy, en¬
vironmental aesthetics, and the search for a
responsive and demanding supervisory struc¬
ture concerned these early educators much
as they worry us today. A picture of the con¬
ditions and reforms of Wisconsin schools of
the time emerges from the thirteen annual
reports these first six superintendents were
required to file. Each report contained infor¬
mation supplied by clerks of county boards
of supervisors. These annual reports provide
a record of the recommendations and
achievements of each superintendent, as well
as a detailed account of the status, problems,
and progress of early common schools in
Wisconsin.
Territorial statesmen had envisioned a
Wisconsin educational system encompassing
all levels, elementary through university. The
state constitution of 1848 committed land
monies and revenues to the support of such
a system. Article X, Section 1, specifies the
leadership designed to bring the dream to
fruition:
The supervision of public instruction shall be
vested in a state superintendent, and such
other officers as the legislature shall direct.
The state superintendent shall be chosen by
the qualified electors of the state, in such
manner as the legislature shall provide; his
powers, duties and compensation shall be
prescribed by law.1
Fittingly, the author of Article X was elected
the first Wisconsin Superintendent of Public
Instruction.
Eleazer Root (1802-1887) was born in
the state of New York, earned a law degree
from Williams College, and moved to the
Wisconsin Territory in 1845, becoming prin¬
cipal of the Prairieville (now Waukesha)
Academy. Instrumental in the founding of
Carroll College and the University of Wis¬
consin, he became a professor at Carroll
and a member of the first Wisconsin Board
of Regents. Root’s three year term as state
superintendent of the Wisconsin system of
common schools began in December 1848.
Delegates to the constitutional convention
had voted to adopt the term common
schools, defeating the proposal favoring the
126
1980]
Forward: Common Schools and Uncommon Leaders
127
name public schools. Unlike Europe, where
the word “common” denoted inferiority, in
the United States a common school was a
tax-supported institution intended to offer
equal educational opportunity to all chil¬
dren. Root earnestly discharged his respon¬
sibility to advance the schools according to
this principle.
Root listed three major personal objec¬
tives: (1) to promote in-service training
programs for teachers; (2) to promote nor¬
mal schools, (3) to promote grading, i.e. the
classification of students by age and ability.
Root’s annual reports show a determination
to personally evaluate school quality. He
traveled throughout the state observing and
participating in school functioning for as
many as seven months in a single year. Vari¬
ous diaries and personal accounts record the
conditions Root encountered.
Most schoolhouses were small log or frame
buildings with benches for students and a
desk on a platform for the teacher. The
rooms were drab. Windows were high to
minimize distractions, walls were unpainted
and pictureless. Ventilation was lacking; a
pot-bellied stove emitted uneven heat, and
a water pail with a common dipper often
spread disease. Globes, blackboards, and
standardized textbooks were lacking, making
teaching and learning difficult.
Many teachers were teenagers; most were
ill-prepared, and all were hired to “keep”
school, i.e., administer firm discipline. Teach¬
ers’ low salaries were supplemented by
“boarding round,” with various families in
the school district. Daniel Thomas described,
in a diary, his many years of boarding round.
Apparently meals were usually uninspired
and often inadequate; a typical breakfast
consisted of bread and water, and he was
served turkey only once in twenty years.
Uncomfortable beds in cold rooms were
common; one particularly miserable attic
room drove Thomas to sleep in a trunk for
warmth. School days for Thomas began
when he built a fire at 8:00 A.M., and
ended at 4:00 P.M. on weekdays, noon on
Saturdays. One diary entry vividly illustrates
teacher status within the community. During
a blizzard, Thomas waited at school until a
parent arrived to call for the last remaining
students. Thomas left the schoolhouse with
the children whose father had come in a
wagon. The father chose not to invite
Thomas to ride; furthermore, he admonished
him to walk “a respectable distance” behind
the wagon.2
Teacher improvement was one of Root’s
major objectives. During his first year in of¬
fice he formed teacher institutes in all except
five counties in Wisconsin, although he re¬
garded institute lectures and discussions as
partial, temporary aids to classroom teach¬
ers. He judged normal school training es¬
sential to prepare future teachers in the sub¬
jects they would teach and in pedagogical
skills. Commenting that teaching was a pro¬
fession not unlike law or medicine, Root en¬
couraged normal school administrators to
include theory as well as technique in their
curricula. He recommended a free five-
month university course for all teachers,
legal support for teacher institutes, and re¬
tention of teacher certification even though
he believed the criteria for certification were
inadequate. The following copy of one cer¬
tificate indicates the characteristics the com¬
munity desired in a teacher.
We the subscribers, inspectors of Common
Schools for the town of Chili in the county
of Monroe do certify that at a meeting of
the inspectors called for that purpose, we
have examined Miss Eliza Dibble and do
believe that she is well qualified in respect
to moral character, learning and ability to
instruct a common school, in this town, for
one year from the date hereof.3
His extensive school visits gave Root spe¬
cific ideas for desirable changes in school-
houses and their sites. Observing that schools
often were built on treeless land, sometimes
swampland, at a junction of two roads, Root
recommended they be built in a dry, health-
128
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
ful, sheltered location on one or more acres
of land away from highways and businesses.
He specified a need for shade trees and a
fence, separate privies and schoolhouse en¬
tries for boys and girls, and low windows
which could be opened or closed. He pre¬
ferred buildings with two classrooms which
would enable teachers to implement a grad¬
ing system and eventually eliminate one
teacher classrooms with students of varying
ages. Large blackboards, maps, charts, pic¬
tures, and even useful decorations Were ad¬
vocated, provided they promoted sound
morals. Root intended improved common
school facilities to increase comfort and prac¬
ticality as well as to discourage private
school enrollment. Always, his emphasis was
on the tax-supported education of the public,
privileged or poor.
Root requested an expense account and a
clerk for the State Superintendent of Public
Instruction. He asked that copies of text¬
books, samples of school apparatus, and
county maps be placed in the office of the
superintendent.
Despite public approval of his perfor¬
mance. Root declined to be a candidate for
reelection in 1851. In his final month in
office, he summarized his recommendations:
( 1 ) every township should have primary
graded schools taught by female teachers, and
higher graded schools equal to high schools
and academies; (2) the university should
include a non-tuition normal department;
(3) county boards of superintendents should
conduct institutes and certify teachers; (4)
public libraries should exist in every school
district supported by public funding; (5) the
school fund should be ample and continually
increasing; (6) town and county officers, in
conjunction with a state officer, should su¬
pervise teachers, and strive toward unifor¬
mity.
Root’s successors restated his recommen¬
dations, most of which were eventually en¬
acted. His greatest accomplishments appear
to have been the firm establishment of the
new office, open communication with teach¬
ers and other citizens, and some improve¬
ment of teacher competency. After serving as
a state assemblyman, Root moved to St. Au¬
gustine, Florida in 1853 serving as rector of
Trinity Episcopal Church until his death in
1887.
New Hampshire-born Azel P. Ladd
(1811-1854), Root’s successor (1852-
1853), had moved to the Wisconsin Terri¬
tory in 1842. Some members of the elec¬
torate opposed his candidacy for the super¬
intendency because they believed that he, a
physician, lacked suitable qualifications. He
had, however, shown previous interest in
public service by helping to form the Mining
Region Teachers’ Association in 1848, and
by serving as vice president of the State His¬
torical Society of Wisconsin.
Ladd was confident that the common
schools would inspire public honor, create a
wholesome regard for laws, prevent crime,
and infuse kindness. He expressed his faith
in this possibility, saying,
Thus FREE EDUCATION TO ALL may
be appropriately inscribed upon the emblem
of our State — its present glory, its future
hope.4
Wealthy parents created an obstacle to pub¬
lic school progress by enrolling their chil¬
dren in private schools, creating by contrast
an image of public schools as vulgar and in¬
ferior. Responding to parents who expressed
fears that their children might acquire habits
of vice and vulgarity in common schools,
Ladd urged them, as a public duty, to send
their children to public institutions so that
they might reform, elevate, and purify the
schools.
In an attempt to strengthen public school¬
ing, Ladd advocated a tuition-free state sys¬
tem of three divisions: (1) a district school
to teach the common and necessary branches
of knowledge, (2) a county high school to
provide the elements of professional studies
and prepare pupils for a business or trade,
1980]
Forward: Common Schools and Uncommon Leaders
129
(3) a university to equip graduates for an
occupation in science or literature. He rec¬
ommended construction of schoolhouses with
two, or even three classrooms to accommo¬
date the separation of pupils into grades.
Ladd observed many schoolhouses, lo¬
cated on wide and shelterless prairies, failing
to provide either health or comfort. He con¬
demned overcrowded classrooms with ex¬
tremes of temperature, impure air and high
seats, and without drinking water and teach¬
ing apparatus. Ladd advised that no new
schoolhouses be built near swamps, marshy
river banks, or pools of stagnant water. He
recommended shade trees and pleasant play¬
grounds, a constant supply of fuel and fresh
water, windows which opened, high ceilings,
low benches, and space to allow movement.
Convinced of the value of aesthetics, Ladd
remarked, “Beautiful sights create beautiful
thoughts, and beautiful thoughts are the
germ of pure principles and noble actions.”5
One of the state superintendent’s duties
was to recommend textbooks. Ladd devoted
many hours to examining textbooks before
concluding that Wisconsin’s textbooks were
inferior, outdated, and deplorable in their
diversity. As a remedy, he urged the adop¬
tion of uniform textbooks.
Ladd labored to enhance teaching skills.
He continued Root’s sponsorship of one- to
two-week teacher institutes offering profes¬
sional information during the day and pub¬
lic lectures for the general population at
night. Encouraging women, whom he termed
“natural guardians of the child,” to teach,
Ladd catalogues his reasons for asserting
their superiority to male teachers: her voice
is more inviting, and her language is com¬
prehensible to a child; her affections are
stronger than her intellect so her greater
concern is for the child’s feelings, rather
than his intellect; her classroom control is
based on kindness, not on fear. Advocating
hiring the best, even though the most expen¬
sive, teachers available, Ladd cautioned,
“. . . no school at all is preferable to one
taught by an incompetent and unfaithful
teacher.”5
Ladd was equally interested in the judg¬
ment of the men who hired teachers. The
town superintendent of schools was charged
with responsibility to form school districts,
receive and apportion school money among
the several districts in the town, and certify
teachers. Ladd accused town superintendents
of sometimes hiring unqualified relatives,
friends, or neighbors. For this reason, he
advised the public that the office of town
superintendent wielded excessive power.
Clerks of county boards of supervisors
were required to submit annual reports to
the state superintendent of public instruction
for incorporation in the superintendent’s
comprehensive annual report. Portions of
such reports substantiate Ladd’s contention
that clerks submitted irregular, incomplete,
or inaccurate accounts. One clerk reported
on a school where classes had been con¬
ducted forty-six months during that year.
Another described a school which had op¬
erated twenty and one-half months over a
twelve month period. Furthermore, that
community had 327 residents, 436 of whom
had attended school that year.6
Ladd also attempted to explain the proper
relationship of parents to the common
schools. He advised parents to display inter¬
est in all school affairs, to participate in dis¬
trict school work, and to actively pursue
financial aid for schools. He urged parents
to visit school frequently and unceremoni¬
ously, to associate with the child’s teacher
and peer group, and to supervise home study.
Ladd relied upon community involvement to
sustain a successful common school system.
Ladd formed county associations of teach¬
ers, as a preliminary step to establishing a
state organization. He requested delegates
from each county group to attend a meeting
in Madison on July 12, 1853. Eight teachers
assembled to adopt a constitution, elect of¬
ficers, and confer with one another for sev¬
eral days. This was a modest beginning for
130
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
a group that would wield enormous power in
later years. Perhaps Azel Ladd’s most en¬
during contribution to Wisconsin education
was the founding of the influential State
Teachers Association.
Before his death in 1854, Ladd returned
briefly to his career as a physician.
Hiram A. Wright (1823-1855) succeeded
Ladd as State Superintendent of Public In¬
struction (1854-1855). He moved from
New York state, where he was born, to
Prairie du Chien in 1846, and, in the late
1840’s published the only newspaper on the
upper Mississippi River. He studied law,
was admitted to the bar, then served for two
years as Crawford County judge. Wright
served in both the Wisconsin Senate and As¬
sembly prior to his election to the highest
educational post in the state.
In Wright’s annual report of 1854, he, like
Ladd, called upon parents to participate ac¬
tively in common school operations, for he
believed that properly directed public senti¬
ment would accomplish what laws could not.
He issued a warning:
So long as the people remain indifferent to
the character of their school, so long will
their children have to attend indifferent
schools.7
Reporting that teachers unanimously rated
“irregular attendance and want of punctu¬
ality” as the greatest deterrent to educational
reform, Wright blamed parents for perpetu¬
ating this problem. He went on to reproach
careless and indifferent parents for deficien¬
cies in moral and intellectual training in the
schools. Noting that poor schoolhouses con¬
tributed to poor attendance, he proposed
that parents work to improve physical ac¬
commodations.
Wright was repelled by filthy school¬
rooms, cracks in the walls, impure air from
poor ventilation, and ill-constructed seats
that caused pain and, in some instances, per¬
manent bodily distortion. Wright recom¬
mended an annual allowance for the pur¬
chase of globes, maps, blocks, blackboards,
and numerical frames. A clock was indispen-
sible to his standards of orderliness. Advis¬
ing optimum use of existing facilities, he
made two practical suggestions to teachers:
paint the cardinal points of a compass on
either the platform holding the teacher’s desk
or the ceiling; mark the measure of an inch,
foot, and yard on the edge of the blackboard.
Pointing to the success of the few union
schools in existence, Wright encouraged the
establishment, in populous areas, of addi¬
tional institutions of two or more classrooms.
He favored, where feasible, combining sev¬
eral district schools into a union school, for
union schools would be economical, provide
the best schoolhouses and the best appara¬
tuses. Union schools, Wright believed, would
permit proper pupil classification, and main¬
tain order and discipline, while attracting
the best teachers.
The problem of diverse textbooks, con¬
fronted during Ladd’s tenure, continued. Be¬
cause there were almost as many different
textbooks as students, teachers were forced
to hold excessive numbers of hurried recita¬
tions. For this reason, Wright, too, advocated
textbook uniformity. Despite his expressed
confidence that qualified teachers were capa¬
ble of selecting textbooks, he recommended
that, because of the large number of unquali¬
fied teachers, the state superintendent should
make the choices.
Apparently annual district and town re¬
ports had not improved, for Wright referred
to incomplete and erroneous accounts. As
had Ladd, Wright charged district clerks and
town superintendents with careless record¬
keeping. He faulted some teachers, also, for
failing to keep a school register as prescribed
by law.
Wright believed that the classroom per¬
formance of teachers was critical. He stated,
“As the teacher is, so is the school. He
teaches by example as well as by precept.”8
Wright contended that if a teacher were
boisterous, uncourteous, careless, superfi-
1980]
Forward: Common Schools and Uncommon Leaders
131
cial, unzealous, severe, or unreliable these
qualities would be transmitted to students.
The formation of town teachers’ associations
would provide a forum for sharing ideas:
parental involvement might improve teacher
performance, and discriminating certification
policies would eliminate unsatisfactory teach¬
ers.
Having promoted and participated in insti¬
tutes, Wright was persuaded they, too, would
have a salutary effect on classroom perfor¬
mance. In his opinion, institutes could im¬
prove methodology and create an environ¬
ment in which pupils might reason, under¬
standing principles as well as facts; the men¬
tal capacity of students might be enlarged
and a love of learning instilled.
Wright requested funds for normal schools
as well as for institutes. Citing New York,
Massachusetts, and Connecticut for main¬
taining successful normal schools, he empha¬
sized an immediate need for normal schools
in Wisconsin.
Again referring to New York, Wright en¬
dorsed that state’s system of school libraries,
proposing the establishment of similar fa¬
cilities in Wisconsin. In addition to supplying
books for children, such libraries could serve
the community by offering adult books. Wis¬
consin law allocated a maximum of ten per
cent of the district school fund for the pur¬
chase and continuance of a school library.
Wright recommended that use of the entire
ten per cent for that purpose be made man¬
datory.
Also at this time, and with Wright’s ac¬
tive support, a bill passed authorizing town
libraries to buy a copy of Webster’s Un¬
abridged Dictionary for each common school
under their jurisdiction. Wright wanted a
dictionary in each Wisconsin common school,
for he viewed the book as an aid in discour¬
aging provincialism, and preventing immi¬
grants from corrupting the English language.
Wright’s period in office was characterized
by a consistent appeal for parental involve¬
ment, endorsement of improvements advo¬
cated by his predecessors, and provision for
a dictionary in each common school. After
suffering from ill health throughout his su¬
perintendency, Wright died in May of 1855,
less than six months into his second term.
Governor Barstow appointed the Rever¬
end Alfred C. Barry (1815-1888) to com¬
plete Wright’s term. Barry was later elected
to two consecutive one-year terms (1856-
1857). Born in New York state, he attended
private schools to prepare for the Universal-
ist ministry. After moving to Racine in 1846,
he founded and edited a temperance maga¬
zine, The Old Oaken Bucket. He served as
the first Superintendent of Schools in Racine
from 1849 through 1853.
Seeking specific additional information,
Barry submitted a questionnaire to each
town superintendent, then incorporated the
responses into his annual reports together
with letters from other educators in Wis¬
consin and the East. Moreover, he clarified
his educational goals by supporting the com¬
mon school intended, according to his inter¬
pretation, to foster “. . . the development of
a free, true, harmonious human soul.”9 He
viewed public education as the safeguard of
a democratic government, and an instrument
for the advancement of mankind.
Barry contended that it was difficult to
learn in uncomfortable, inconvenient, un¬
pleasant, unattractive schoolhouses which
he labeled “mean, murderous things.” A
town superintendent placed a value of three
cents on one building. Barry speculated,
This pre-supposes ‘three cent’ parents. And
we have only to suppose farther a three cent
teacher, and a three cent school, to complete
a very interesting and prosperous state of
things.10
To alter these circumstances, Barry like
his predecessors recommended that new
schoolhouses be built on pleasant sites con¬
sisting of a minimum of one acre of land,
although he preferred three to five acres. He
stipulated that there be two rows of shade
132
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
trees, flowers and shrubbery in front of the
building, and two playgrounds in the rear.
Stressing the desirability of cultivating com¬
fort and health, he recommended high white-
painted walls holding maps, charts, and pic¬
tures, and a thoroughly ventilated building.
To facilitate adoption of his plans, Barry
urged each town superintendent to purchase
a copy of School Architecture, written by
Henry Barnard, noted Connecticut educator.
Barry urged the public to endorse a sys¬
tem with a primary school and a high school
in each town, an academy in each county,
and university for the state, all tuition-free.
Opposing small districts, Barry supported
formation of union schools, assuring citizens
that a two- or three-mile walk would not be
a hardship for students. Perhaps to counter
parental apathy, he recommended an in¬
crease from the then current minimum of
three to at least six months of school an¬
nually, before a district could receive its
share of state aid.
Directing his attention to equipment,
Barry quoted numerous town superinten¬
dents who approved of the concept of text¬
book uniformity, and agreed to implement
such a plan.
There would be numerous advantages,
according to Barry, to the State Superin¬
tendent’s selecting all textbooks. The often
inferior books chosen with haste and par¬
tiality by overburdened teachers and town
officials would be eliminated by the judicious
selections of the state superintendent. Books
suitable to each grade level would be the
same throughout the state, saving money and
time when students or teachers moved across
district lines. After telling of the success of
a uniform textbook system in other states,
Barry mentioned bribery and corruption
charges directed toward his office and per¬
haps in self-defense, carefully documented
his reasons for selecting each book on his
list.
Barry favored a curriculum which would
be pragmatic, promote health and cheerful¬
ness, and achieve a union of moral affections
and nature. He recommended study of nat¬
ural history and natural sciences, botany and
zoology, geology and agriculture, anatomy
and physiology, citizenship and moral sci¬
ence. In an emotional account of the moral
power of music, Barry stressed the impor¬
tance of music in primary schools. Daily
hymns and songs would provide a welcome
respite from studies.
Comparing school to a prison, Barry ob¬
jected strongly to a strict regimen of book
learning for small children exposed to six
hours of inactivity, impure air, uncomfort¬
able benches, and meaningless memoriza¬
tion. He said,
... the result is seen in the shattered con¬
stitution, the ruined health, the enfeebled
mind, the perverted moral sense, the nervous
excitability of blasted or abused childhood.11
To offset these conditions, Barry favored de¬
laying schooling until a child displayed ade¬
quate maturity to comprehend subject mat¬
ter rather than engage in rote memorization.
He observed that many great minds, e.g.,
Newton, Schiller, and Patrick Henry, did
not, as youngsters, display intellectual bril¬
liance.
Barry condemned parents, generally, for
being apathetic toward education. He also
accused parents of frequently keeping their
children home from school without a legiti¬
mate reason, and not knowing when their
own children were tardy. Parents failed to
determine whether teachers were fulfilling
their duties, whether proper and adequate
books were supplied, or whether equipment
and environment were satisfactory. Many
town superintendents called parental indif¬
ference the greatest obstacle to improved
schools. In Barry’s opinion, the chief educa¬
tional responsibility lay directly with the
parent, while the teacher was intended to be
merely a parental agent or surrogate.
Objecting to the popular view of a teacher
as a person who simply “keeps” school,
1980]
Forward: Common Schools and Uncommon Leaders
133
Barry asserted that teachers should stand
in loco parentis. Parents must accept the
responsibility for choosing good teachers.
Teachers, for their part, must avoid formal,
mechanical instruction forcing students to
cram, a process Barry termed “sausage stuf¬
fing.” Barry urged annual funding of insti¬
tutes as likely to eradicate unacceptable
methodology. He insisted that, in addition,
it was imperative for Wisconsin to establish
a state normal school to enhance teacher
preparation. Barry also urged an increase in
teacher salaries, hoping thereby to attract
competent, well-educated professionals.
Superior teachers deserved skillful leader¬
ship. Agreeing with Ladd’s assessment, Barry
claimed that incompetent or disinterested
town superintendents were unable to give
such direction. Therefore Barry made the
momentous decision to recommend creation
of the office of county superintendent of
schools. He was convinced that county super¬
intendents would give rigid but practical
certification examinations, speak persuasively
to influence public opinion, provide efficient
leadership, and assume certain duties per¬
formed, at the time, by the state superin¬
tendent. Because the state superintendent
and his assistant worked fourteen to sixteen
hours a day, Barry also asked for additional
help in the Department of Public Instruction.
The state superintendent heard appeals cases,
kept records, spent five months a year in¬
specting schools, apportioned school money,
and prepared the annual report. His assistant
was fully occupied handling the extensive
correspondence.
In 1856, a private periodical, The Wis¬
consin Educational Journal, was renamed
The Wisconsin Journal of Education, and
according to the title page, became the of¬
ficial organ of the State Teachers’ Associa¬
tion and the Department of Public Instruc¬
tion. Barry, a member of the original nine-
man editorial committee, contributed fre¬
quent articles and printed his annual report
in the journal. He sent a copy of each issue
to every town superintendent, and expressed
the wish that it could be read by every Wis¬
consin teacher.
After his service as state superintendent,
Barry served as a chaplain during the Civil
War, and after the war as a hospital chap¬
lain. He worked, also, in the State Assem¬
bly, and was chaplain of the Wisconsin
Commandery of the Military Order of the
Loyal Legion.
Lyman C. Draper (1815-1891), fifth Wis¬
consin State Superintendent of Public In¬
struction (1858-1859), attended public
schools in his home state of New York be¬
fore entering Granville College in Ohio. He
became corresponding secretary of the State
Historical Society of Wisconsin in 1854, two
years after moving to Madison. His work
for the society helped to expand its member¬
ship, library, and state funding. An early
fascination with the West, and extensive
travel, led him to a career of writing about
the land and its people. Draper was influ¬
ential in bringing to Wisconsin the notable
common school proponent, Henry Barnard,
admired by Draper’s predecessor.
Draper identified the common school sys¬
tem as the hope of the state. In the following
statement, he interpreted the role of the
common school as a “leveling agent.”
And such must ever be the legitimate results
of the Free School system, placing the high
and the low, the rich and the poor, upon a
common level — where unconquerable devo¬
tion and intrinsic worth, however humble
or however poor, alone secure the prize.12
Unlike his predecessors, Draper did not
dwell upon the responsibility of parents and
the general public in advancing the Common
School Movement, but, instead, relied upon
the state legislature to achieve progress.
To implement educational equality, Draper
advised legislators to adopt a free graded
system of education from primary schools
through the university. He reinforced his ar¬
guments for a central graded high school for
134
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
each town in Wisconsin by quoting numer¬
ous sympathetic educators from other states.
As a further means of strengthening educa¬
tion, he, like Barry, recommended extending
the school year from three to six months.
To improve administration, he advised
replacing the district system with a township
board of education to be composed of a
superintendent, school treasurer, and school
clerk. Draper, expressing popular disap¬
proval of town superintendents, was hopeful
that a board of education would prevent
continued hiring of inept town superinten¬
dents and clerks. He illustrated the incom¬
petence of some of these officials by exam¬
ples from his correspondence. In one letter
a schoolteacher referred to a man responsi¬
ble for certifying teachers.
The District Clerk, _ _ _, cannot read
or write. . . ,13
A letter, from a town superintendent, dra¬
matically displays the academic attainments
of another school official.
May 10th 1860
Mr. Lyman J. Drayper
Stait Supertendant
Madison Wis
my Dear frend i was Electid town super¬
tendant of the town of _ , _ _
co. Wisconsin and i would like to have A
new School code of Wisconsin and som
Annual Reports of the Clerk of School Dis-
tric and all most Repctfuley yors
town Supertendant of Common Schools in
the town of _ _ _ , _ _ co wis14
In a further attempt to upgrade administra¬
tive procedures, Draper approved Barry’s
recommendation for creating the office of
County Superintendent with the following
duties: (1) supervising teachers, (2) cer¬
tifying teachers, (3) furnishing statistics and
information, (4) adjusting controversies.
According to Draper, the first educational
duty was to teach children to read, and the
second was to provide them with the right
books. To fullfill this obligation, school li¬
braries must be a part of the public educa¬
tional system. Draper contended,
I think that it may justly be regarded, that
this matter of Township School Libraries is
emphatically the present great educational
want of Wisconsin.15
He underscored this interest, by devoting
approximately twenty-five per cent of his an¬
nual report to a discussion of libraries.
School libraries, Draper declared, would pro¬
vide incentive for the formation of literary
associations and debating clubs. With prop¬
erly selected books, libraries would be valu¬
able to the entire community when school
was not in session. Draper proposed that
the libraries include books on history, travel,
physiology, chemistry, and geology. In ad¬
dition, books on the theory and art of teach¬
ing would be a less expensive method of im¬
proving teacher performance than either in¬
stitutes or normal schools.
Libraries should not be a substitute for
institutes, however, for teachers need a for¬
mal learning experience, Draper noted, par¬
ticularly when they are unable to attend a
normal school. A successful institute is de¬
pendent upon effective instructors and lec¬
turers, for whom the state should provide
funding. Crediting Barnard for improving
Wisconsin normal schools and teacher in¬
stitutes, Draper termed Barnard’s association
with the state normal schools the most im¬
portant event ever to occur in Wisconsin’s
educational history.
The growth of normal schools provided
increasing opportunities for women to be¬
come teachers. Draper encouraged the ac¬
ceptance and advancement of women in the
teaching profession, declaring,
Females, in consequence of their higher
moral instincts, their more refined tastes,
together with their more patient and sym¬
pathising natures, are fitted in a more emi-
1980]
Forward: Common Schools and Uncommon Leaders
135
nent degree than the male sex for imparting
instruction to the young.16
Draper proposed that a teacher’s associa¬
tion be formed in every county, city, and
township in Wisconsin. Information from
each chapter could be incorporated into the
annual report of the State Superintendent.
Referring to salaries of comparable offi¬
cials in other states, Draper recommended
a wage increase for the State Superintendent,
Assistant State Superintendent, and Clerk.
Lamenting the intrusion of politics into the
office of superintendent, he proposed a
change from a fall election for a two-year
term to a spring election for a three-year
term. He recommended establishing a state
board of education authorized to appoint a
superintendent and serve in an advisory ca¬
pacity to him.
After completing his term as State Super¬
intendent, Draper resumed his writing career,
traveling extensively to find materials. His
personal collection, combined with the 478
volumes he acquired for the society, formed
the nucleus of the Historical Society’s manu¬
script collection of frontier history, one of
the largest and most important in the nation.
Josiah L. Pickard (1824-1914), who be¬
came, in 1860, the sixth State Superinten¬
dent, and the last to hold this office prior to
the Civil War, was born in Maine. He grad¬
uated from Bowdoin College before moving
to Platteville in 1846. A professional edu¬
cator, he was principal of Platteville Acad¬
emy for fourteen years, and helped to or¬
ganize the Wisconsin State Teachers’ Asso¬
ciation.
A public educational system, for Pick¬
ard, was essential to prepare citizens for
active participation in a democracy, to pre¬
vent people from becoming willing tools of
demagogues, and to permit persons to ap¬
preciate the blessings of civil liberty. More¬
over, education, as a preventative to crime,
was more effective and less expensive than
corrective measures. In the following state¬
ment, Pickard voiced his approval of com¬
mon school principles.
The general diffusion of knowledge and of
correct moral principles, are therefore ab¬
solutely essential to the perpetuity of popular
institutions.17
Pickard was convinced that only public
schools were able to equip Wisconsin citizens
for self-government inexpensively and uni¬
versally.
Pickard divided schools into three levels:
primary, intermediate, and high schools.
Pickard’s goals for primary schools were to
further physical and moral development,
cultivate a taste for study, and provide a
transition from freedom at home to restric¬
tion at school. Only female teachers should
work at this level, he said, for they have
quick perception, patience, kindness, a sym¬
pathetic nature, and devotion. Intermediate
scholars would encounter more severe re¬
straints, longer tasks, greater emphasis upon
books, and more variety in daily work. Pu¬
pils must be more self-reliant during this
transition period. The high schools were to
emphasize mental activity in a curriculum
including moral and natural science, history
and civics, classics and research.
Pickard praised the effectiveness of the
graded system, listing many advantages:
( 1 ) a teacher taught fewer branches of
knowledge, thus utilizing a talent for special
work; (2) supervision was more careful;
(3) opportunity for promotion stimulated
teacher and pupil; (4) permanent, congenial
employment appealed to teachers and a
larger number of female teachers were em¬
ployed; (5) expenses did not increase; (6)
pupils remained in a school longer, giving
character to the school, while sparing parents
the expense of sending the child away from
home for an education; (7) the system fol¬
lowed natural development.
Aware of circumstances which might make
gradation impossible in some districts, Pick-
136
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
ard offered several alternatives: giving the
younger children more frequent recesses and
an earlier dismissal; devoting half a day to
the younger children, who would then leave;
or dedicating half a day to the younger and
half a day to the older children. Each teacher
could select from among the three options.
As ex officio member of the fifteen-man
Board of Regents, Pickard wanted the uni¬
versity to be intimately connected with com¬
mon schools. He urged free instruction not
only in arts and sciences, but also in profes¬
sional pedagogical training.
Because many Wisconsin schools still had
improper lighting and heating, no ventila¬
tion, and no coat closets, because black¬
boards were placed too high and ceilings
built too low, because halls were narrow
and seats often the wrong size, Pickard
recommended that each school library should
have a book of schoolhouse architecture,
such as Barnard’s, to encourage creating
useful and beautiful buildings.
Pickard hoped that a pleasant setting
might improve attendance and encourage
children to take the initiative in attending
school, despite parental indifference. Pickard
speculated that some needy parents kept
their children home to avoid buying books
or clothes, or to encourage them to find jobs
to supplement the family income. He esti¬
mated that one-fourth of Wisconsin children
received instruction only in the “school of
the street,” where they learned corrupting
habits running counter to the moral teaching
of the common schools.
Pickard, and the public generally, favored
a curriculum broader than the “three r’s.”
He quoted Daniel Webster who said,
Were the branches taught in public schools
to be limited, I would select such as would
of themselves deeply interest the pupil, and
thus create a thirst for knowledge.18
Adopting a more rigid stance on text¬
books than on curriculum, Pickard advised
legislation to force district board members to
adhere to the recommended book list of the
State Superintendent. Although he regarded
textbook uniformity as essential within a
school and desirable in a town and county,
he believed state uniformity to be unneces¬
sary, for pupils rarely moved great distances.
He restricted the need for textbook uni¬
formity to district schools where frequent
teacher turnover would lead to confusion
or dissatisfaction if each were to follow
personal preference. Because of their greater
job stability Pickard believed high school
teachers might choose their own textbooks
to be used over a period of several years.
The 1859 legislature had passed an act
to provide a permanent township school li¬
brary fund. Pickard approved, citing books
as ever-present, direct educational agencies
which were often more potent than a living
teacher. He observed that people with the
lowest incomes most needed a library, but
could least afford to support one. Pickard
claimed to have found no libraries worthy
of the name except where a voluntary local
tax was added to state money.
Pickard reported that public interest in
education increased wherever he conducted
institutes. He viewed these classes, varying
in length from three days to two weeks, as
vehicles to awaken an interest in culture.
Perceiving a need for the preparation of
greater numbers of teachers than in past
years, he advocated placing the state uni¬
versity at the head of a normal school sys¬
tem consisting of a number of local schools
financed with state aid and private contribu¬
tions. In the meantime, growth of the Wis¬
consin State Teachers’ Association prompted
the organization of increasing numbers of
local chapters which provided an oppor¬
tunity for teachers to share professional skills
and arouse public interest in schools.
The improvement of teacher preparation
made it possible to revise teacher examina¬
tions. Pickard recommended that examina¬
tions be both written and oral, and that
they test knowledge of fundamental princi-
1980]
Forward: Common Schools and Uncommon Leaders
137
pies rather than continue to ask ambiguous
or puzzling questions. He proposed sched¬
uling examinations for a definite date and
time, in preference to the impromptu sys¬
tem then in effect.
During his first year in office, Pickard had
repeated his predecessors’ appeals for a
county superintendency to replace town ad¬
ministrators. The perseverence of state su¬
perintendents and others was rewarded in
1861 with the passage of a law creating the
office of county superintendent of schools.
Persons elected to two-year terms assumed
responsibility to: (1) examine and license
teachers; (2) visit and inspect schools; (3)
organize and conduct at least one teacher
institute each year; (4) encourage teachers’
associations; (5) advise in all questions
arising under county school law; (6) advise
on pedagogical skills and schoolhouse de¬
sign; (7) report on the condition and pros¬
pects of schools; (8) collect abstracts of
clerks’ reports for transmission to the State
Superintendent. Problems long confronted
by the State Superintendents were, at last,
on the way to resolution with the enactment
of this law.
Innovations of a different nature occurred
with the common school system’s expansion
to include special schools. The Wisconsin
Institute for the Education of the Blind
opened in Janesville; the Wisconsin Institute
for the Education of the Deaf and Dumb
opened in Delavan; a State Reform School
opened in Waukesha. The Reform School
was intended to prevent crime rather than to
reform criminals, to be educational rather
than penal.
Although this study ends with the begin¬
ning of the Civil War, it should be noted
that Pickard served during wartime, resign¬
ing in 1864 to become Superintendent of
Schools for Chicago, a position he held un¬
til 1877. He then accepted another presti¬
gious position as president of the State Uni¬
versity of Iowa, remaining from 1878 to
1887.
The shared educational roots of these six
superintendents gave Wisconsin’s edu¬
cational system a period of uninterrupted
progress. The early superintendents were in
general agreement. Each superintendent
identified the following obstacles to the
achievement of quality education: insuffici¬
ent state funds, inefficient administration,
incompetent district and town officials, in¬
ferior schoolhouses, lack of textbook uni¬
formity, ill-prepared teachers, poor atten¬
dance, and parental indifference.
Consistent with one another in naming
probable solutions to these problems, the
superintendents recommended, and were
eventually granted, creation of an office of
County Superintendent of Schools, graded
schools, school libraries, institutes and nor¬
mal schools, and professional associations
and publications.
Several trends between 1848 and 1861
reflect the efforts of the state superinten¬
dents. Public interest in education grew, uni¬
formity of textbooks was accepted, and the
quality of teacher preparation improved.
Teacher salaries increased with teachers’
increased professionalism. The average male
teacher earned $15.2219 a month in 1849,
but $23. 01 20 in 1861, while corresponding
figures for female teachers were $6.9221 and
$14. 62. 22
Schoolhouse construction changed slightly.
In 1849, five per cent of all schoolhouses
were brick, three per cent of stone, fifty per
cent of logs, and forty-two per cent frame.23
In 1861, the number of brick schoolhouses
remained at five per cent, stone buildings
increased to four per cent, log structures de¬
creased to thirty-two per cent, while frame
schoolhouses increased markedly to fifty-
eight per cent.24 The number of schools hav¬
ing blackboards grew from fifty-three per
cent in 184925 to seventy-nine per cent in
186 1.26 Schools with maps numbered twenty-
three per cent in 1848, 27 twenty-nine per
cent in 1861. 28
During these years common schools
138
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
reached increasing numbers of children. In
1849, forty-six per cent of children between
the ages of four and twenty attended
schools29 which were in session an average
of 3.93 months that year.30 In 1861, sixty
per cent of the registered children attended
classes regularly31 in schools open an aver¬
age of six months yearly.32 These and other
statistics serve only as indicators, for their
accuracy is questionable because of the in¬
eptitude of many district clerks and town
superintendents. Yet it is evident that vast
improvements in the Wisconsin school sys¬
tem were wrought between 1848 and 1861.
Root, Ladd, Wright, Barry, Draper, and
Pickard championed education despite great
obstacles. They were uncommon leaders who
shaped the common school system of Wis¬
consin during its formative years.
Notes
1 “The Wisconsin Constitution,” Wisconsin Leg¬
islative Reference Bureau, The Wisconsin Blue
Book, 1968. Madison Document Sales, 1968, p.
307.
2 State Historical Society of Wisconsin, Diary
of Daniel Thomas, SC 145.
3 State Historical Society of Wisconsin, James
T. Lewis Papers, Wis Mss VY.
4Azel P. Ladd, Annual Report of the State
Superintendent of Public Instruction, For the Year
1852 (Madison: Brown and Carpenter, Printers,
1853), p. 24.
5Azel P. Ladd, Annual Report of the State
Superintendent of Public Instruction, For the State
of Wisconsin, 1853 (Madison: David Atwood,
Printer, 1854), p. 31.
6 Ibid., pp. 6-7.
7 H. A. Wright, Annual Report of the State
Superintendent of Public Instruction, Of the State
of Wisconsin For the Year 1854 (Madison: Beriah
Brown, Printer, 1855), p. 20.
8 Ibid., p. 25.
9 A. Constantine Barry, Annual Report of the
State Superintendent of Public Instruction of the
State of Wisconsin For the Year 1855 (Madison:
Calkins & Proudfit, Printers, 1856), p. 30.
10 A. Constantine Barry, Annual Report of the
State Superintendent of Public Instruction of the
State of Wisconsin For the Year 1856 (Madison:
Calkins & Proudfit, Printers, 1857), p. 16.
11 A. Constantine Barry, Annual Report of the
State Superintendent of Public Instruction of the
State of Wisconsin, For the Year 1857 (Madison:
Atwood & Rublee, Book Printers, 1858), p. 19.
12 Lyman C. Draper, Tenth Annual Report on
the Condition and Improvement of the Common
Schools and Educational Interests of the State of
Wisconsin For the Year 1858 (Madison: Atwood
and Rublee, Printers, 1858), p. 34.
13 Wisconsin Journal of Education, V (February
1861), p. 264.
14 Draper, 1858 Report, p. 179.
15 Ibid., pp. 87-88.
16 Ibid., p. 119.
17 J. L. Pickard, Thirteenth Annual Report of
the Condition and Improvement of the Common
Schools and Educational Interests of the State of
Wisconsin For the Year 1861 (Madison: Smith
and Cullaton, State Printers, Argus Office, 1861),
p. 47.
48 J. L. Pickard, Twelfth Annual Report on the
Condition and Improvement of the Common
Schools and Educational Interests of the State of
Wisconsin, For the Year 1860 (Madison: James
Ross, State Printer, Patriot Office, 1860), p. 7.
19 Eleazer Root, Report of the State Superinten¬
dent (December 31, 1849), Appendix A.
02 Pickard, 1861 Report, p. 11.
21 Root, 1849 Report, Appendix A.
22 Pickard, 1861 Report, p. 11.
23 Root, 1849 Report, p. 7.
24 Pickard, 1861 Report , p. 5.
25 Root, 1849 Report, Appendix A.
26 Pickard, 1861 Report, p. 5.
27 Root, 1849 Report, Appendix A.
28 Pickard, 1861 Report, p. 5.
29 Root, 1849 Report, Abstract A (no pagina¬
tion).
30 Ibid., pp. 5-6.
31 Pickard, 1861 Report, pp. 8-9.
Z2 Ibid., p. 112.
TRANSFORMATION OF U.S. AGRICULTURE:
THE PAST FORTY YEARS1
Peter Dorner
Department of Agricultural Economics
University of W isconsin-Madison
The United States, with some exceptions,
was settled as a nation of small farmers.
The peak number of farms, 6.8 million, was
reached in the mid-1930’s; the average size
was 155 acres. By 1979 there were about
2.4 million farms averaging 443 acres. One-
half million of these farms received about
80 percent of the cash receipts from farm¬
ing. The U.S. farm population reached its
peak of about 32.5 million people during
the depths of the depression in 1933. Today
we have less than 4 percent of the labor
force employed in on-farm production with
a total farm population of less than 9 million
people. These figures imply very rapid
changes in the structure and organization of
U.S. agriculture over the past 40 years. How
were these changes brought about and why?
Factor Endowments and
U.S. Agriculture
U.S. agriculture developed under condi¬
tions of plentiful land and a scarcity of la¬
bor. Thus the emphasis since the beginning
of the nineteenth century has been on output
and efficiency per person rather than per
acre. To be sure, some people were con¬
cerned with breeding better livestock, im-
1 Parts of this paper were included in my “Agri¬
culture Within the U.S. Economy: Integration and
Interdependence,” in Farm Structure Committee
Print, 96th Congress, 2nd Session, April, 1980,
Committee on Agriculture, Nutrition and Forestry,
U.S. Senate. A more comprehensive analysis, in¬
cluding parts of this paper, is my “Rural Develop¬
ment Problems and Policies: The United States’
Experience,” in Background Papers for the United
States Delegation to the World Conference on
Agrarian Reform and Rural Development FAO
Rome 1979, Agency for International Develop¬
ment, Washington, D.C.
proving soil treatment, better plant varieties,
etc. But the major concern was to extend
the capacity of labor through mechanical
devices and improved tools and equipment.
Our green revolution came more recently.
Hybrid corn was introduced in the late
1920’s, but the widespread use of commer¬
cial fertilizers and, later, of weed and insect-
control chemicals did not occur on a massive
scale until after World War II. The abrupt
increases in yield based on biological-chemi¬
cal technology came after 1950. But this
technology alone would have had little im¬
pact on farm size and population structure.
The change in structure was brought about
largely by the tractor and related mechaniza¬
tion. The shift from oxen to horses in the
nineteenth century, and the horse-drawn
implements and equipment that were de¬
veloped throughout that period, did improve
labor efficiency and output per worker. Es¬
sentially this permitted a better job of tilling
the land or perhaps clearing and putting
more land under cultivation within the 80-
or 160-acre family farm unit — rather than
expanding the basic size of the farm. Use of
tractors and the development of ever larger
power units as well as tillage and harvesting
equipment required larger farms to utilize the
machinery efficiently.
In the United States, as in countries
around the world, land-saving technology
was essentially neutral to scale or size. There
is nothing mysterious or complex about this.
Seeds, fertilizers, insecticides, etc. are di¬
visible inputs and can be applied with equal
efficiency on small or large farms. Water for
irrigation may involve some scale econo¬
mies, but these can be captured through
water user associations, cooperatively owned
139
140
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
tube-wells, etc. Likewise, machines can be
small, machine services can be rented, or
machines can be jointly owned. In this way,
machine services too can be made divisible.
However, the basic factor endowments in
U.S. agriculture with plentiful land and
scarce labor did not encourage the latter
development.
Mechanization and Farm Size
Expansion
In the early years of mechanization, joint
ownership of certain machines was common.
This did not generally include the tractor or
the basic tillage machines and implements.
Machines that were used only a few days
during the year and where timeliness of op¬
eration (in relation to weather and season)
was not crucial were generally prospects for
joint ownership. The joint ownership by 6
to 10 farmers of a grain threshing machine
was common, at least in the Midwest, until
the 1940’s. Many farmers hauled their un¬
threshed grain (in bundles) and stored it at
the farmstead, either in relatively weather¬
proof stacks or in the large lofts above the
stables. In either case, the crop was pro¬
tected by removing any concern for losing
the crop because of a prolonged period of
rainy weather. The threshing machine could
be moved from farm to farm, and there were
few conflicts over whose grain was to be
threshed first and whose last. With the
shortage of farm labor brought about by
World War II, farmers switched increasingly
to threshing directly from the field. Now
timeliness became critical and conflicts arose
among the cooperators in a threshing ring.
Everyone wanted to be first to avoid loss
should the weather turn bad. Most of the
sharing and joint ownership of machines
disappeared by the late 1940’s.
During the prosperous years of World War
II, farmers accumulated savings; later credit
became more readily available. The ma¬
chinery companies shifted from war-time
production to domestic production, and new
and bigger farm machines (tractors and ac¬
companying equipment) were placed on the
market. Thus, in the 1950’s, there was a
major wave of farm mechanization. From
one-fifth to almost two-thirds of the farms
sold in the late 1950’s, depending upon type
of farming, were purchased by adjoining
farmers who wished to enlarge their farms
to achieve the economies of scale associated
with the new machines. This process con¬
tinued throughout the 1960’s, but slowed in
the 1970’s.
How did the small farms (e.g., 80-acre
farms) that continued operation during this
period succeed financially? Actually, they
continued to be productive on the basis of
output per acre. In the late 1950’s, analysis
of a large number of Wisconsin farms
showed that the smaller farms produced the
same (or even slightly higher) yields for the
major Wisconsin crops as did the larger
farms. However, output per worker in¬
creased much more rapidly on the larger
farms. With increased mechanization and
farm-size expansion, the difference in out¬
put per worker between larger and smaller
farms grew wider. To own the machines,
and to get bigger machines, a farmer was
forced to expand. Farmers who increased
their land base received higher incomes — as
a general rule. Although their costs increased
also, the returns increased faster than costs
— always, however, with the requirement of
an expanded land base; otherwise scale
economies were not realized and costs went
up faster than returns. Realization of these
economies was dependent upon farm enlarge¬
ment and labor displacement. The net out¬
migration of people from U.S. farms aver¬
aged more than a million per year through¬
out the 1940’s and the 1950’s and over one-
half million per year throughout the 1960’s.
Outmigration has declined substantially in
the 1970’s.
Small farmers could survive and stay in
business throughout this period — and some
did. They had to settle for a lower income
1980]
Transformation of U.S. Agriculture : The Past Forty Years
141
and fell behind farmers who were expanding
their operations and even farther behind
people in urban occupations. However, one
must differentiate here between a small
farmer who was established before 1940 and
one who tried to become established in the
1950’s. Throughout this period, land values
and taxes were increasing at a fairly rapid
rate. Thus a farmer who was established in
1940 and who had his mortgage paid off by
1960 or before could continue operations,
although at a reduced return. But, a young
family purchasing a farm at the higher land
values of 1950 (given the subsequent un¬
favorable cost/price relations in farming)
would find it very difficult to make the higher
mortgage payments and pay the higher taxes,
and at the same time provide the increasing
income needed for a growing family. The
late 1940’s marked the turning point.
Small farms transferred before 1945 could
survive through the 1950’s and 1960’s, but
those transferred later were likely to experi¬
ence financial difficulties and these farms
were again sold and usually combined with
a neighboring farm. “Small farm” is not a
precise term. Even specifying acreage is im¬
precise since the significant measure is the
size of the business rather than acreage. In
the dairy areas of Wisconsin and neighboring
states, the 80-acre farm was considered at
the margin of being economically viable in
the late 1940’s. In cash-grain (corn-soybean)
farming areas, the 160-acre farm, and in the
more arid wheat producing areas, the 320-
acre farm were marginal. Of course, farm
enlargement in the cash-grain and wheat
areas occurred somewhat earlier and was
more pronounced than in the dairy areas.
In many cases, the sale of small farms re¬
sulted from older farm operators selling
farms at retirement. In other cases, how¬
ever, technological developments drove the
small farmer out of business or required that
he change his type of farming. One such case
involved small dairy farmers; but the more
dramatic case was that of the mechanical
cotton picker and the displacement of South¬
ern sharecroppers.
A major technological innovation oc¬
curred in the 1950’s that made it difficult
for small farmers to continue in dairying.
Until about 1950, farmers stored milk in
10-gallon cans which were kept in a cooling
tank. The cans were picked up each morning
and delivered to a processing plant. But be¬
ginning with the early 1950’s, cans were
replaced by the refrigerated bulk tank in¬
stalled in a special milk-house adjacent to
the dairy barn. This was accompanied, or
soon followed, by the pipeline milking sys¬
tem through which the milk was pumped
directly from the milking machine into this
bulk tank. Each morning, or in some cases
on alternate mornings, the milk was picked
up by a tank truck. It soon became almost
impossible for the dairy farmer to operate
without this new equipment. The bulk tank
and pipeline system involved a major invest¬
ment and required a larger dairy herd than
many farmers had to support it. One alter¬
native was to produce milk for delivery to
small local cheese factories, but these were
also under economic pressure, and were be¬
ing consolidated. So this new technology
created major pressures for farm-size expan¬
sion in Wisconsin dairying.
In the South, the mechanical cotton picker
had a profound effect on farm structure and
employment. Southern plantation agriculture
was transformed after the Civil War, not
into a system of small owner-operators, but
into a system of sharecroppers. These share¬
croppers, many of them Black Americans,
held very insecure tenure rights to the land
and could easily be displaced. The shift from
mules to tractors as the major power source
resulted in decline of the sharecropping sys¬
tem and increased reliance on wage labor
supplied by resident, former sharecropper
families, or by workers living in the neigh¬
boring villages and countryside. A further
decline in sharecropping and in overall la¬
bor use resulted from greater mechanization
142
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
of pre-harvest cotton operations and use of
chemical weed control. In addition to the
mechanization of pre-harvest operations in
cotton, other farm tasks were also increas¬
ingly mechanized: corn harvesting, oats and
soybean combining, hay baling, and the like.
But, although cotton was of key significance,
all of this mechanization did not affect the
unskilled labor required for the cotton har¬
vest. In fact, seasonal harvest labor per acre
of cotton increased as a result of increasing
yields. With the introduction of the mech¬
anized cotton picker in the 1940’s, however,
demand for unskilled labor practically dis¬
appeared while that for skilled labor in¬
creased. The average unskilled labor input
per hundred-weight of cotton was 33.5 hours
in 1940; it dropped to 11.5 hours by 1950,
and to 2.4 hours in 1957. In the same period
input of skilled labor increased eight times
(0.32 hours in 1940 to 2.50 in 1957). In the
first stage of mechanization sharecroppers
were being replaced, but they retained an
employment opportunity (although at very
low pay) in the cotton harvest. In the final
stages of mechanization (which included the
mechanical cotton picker), this opportunity
disappeared leading to a massive outmigra¬
tion of poorly educated people seeking em¬
ployment in industrial centers — especially in
the large cities of the North (Day 1967).
Aside from a few such dramatic cases,
which were extremely costly and disruptive
to the people involved, farmers had a choice.
They could continue without expanding if
they were willing to accept declining rela¬
tive incomes. The only way that farmers
could keep up with family income growth in
non-farm occupations was to buy the ma¬
chines and expand their land base. This
could be done only by combining farms and
displacing labor.
Sociological Factors in Farm Size
Expansion
Another factor weighed heavily on the
minds of operators of family-owned farms.
Almost every farmer and his wife wanted
the farm to remain in the family. Before the
1940’s this was not a major problem. The
young people (son and wife or daughter and
husband) who got the home farm considered
themselves favored and fortunate. The prob¬
lem was not to persuade one of the children
to take over the farm; rather, to figure out
how to establish the remaining children — ■
since farms were generally not subdivided
to provide for all the children. The farm
ordinarily passed to the next generation as a
unit. All children usually shared in the par¬
ents’ will, but this sharing was commonly
achieved through the estate which included
payment for the farm by the child fortunate
enough to become the new operator.
Again, however, changes occurred after
1940. Farm children were no longer isolated
from urban society; electrification gave ac¬
cess to radio and television. Many farm boys
were involved in World War II. Most farm
children attended high school after 1940,
whereas before many did not. And after
World War II, jobs in the cities were rela¬
tively plentiful. Young men and women
would not stay on the farm if it meant fall¬
ing behind in income and sacrificing the
amenities which they felt urban life could
offer. So, if a farmer did not expand his op¬
eration and buy the machines, he fell behind
in income and his children left the farm and
took city jobs.
The change in the structure of opportuni¬
ties is well illustrated by two studies of fam¬
ily farming in Wisconsin. A study in the
1940’s documented the relation between
the size of the farm business and the life
cycle of the farm family (Long and Par¬
sons 1950). At that time, a Wisconsin dairy
farm was a business closely associated with
the physical capacity of the farm operator
and his family. A young family would build
its business (measured in terms of the num¬
ber of milking cows) until the farmer
reached about age 50. At about that time,
there were two possibilities. If a son was
1980]
Transformation of U.S. Agriculture : The Past Forty Years
143
available to “work his way into the business,”
the dairy herd was maintained at the peak
size and the son would take over the business
when the father reached 60 to 65. Where no
sons were available, the herd was gradually
reduced and the farmer would sell the farm
to a new beginning farmer when he reached
60 to 65. The new family would simply start
the cycle over. In the first case, the increased
labor (and strength) supplied by a son came
at an appropriate time to offset the declining
physical capacity of the father. In the latter
case, where no sons were available, the
waning capacity of the aging farmer resulted
in a decline in the business.
Similar studies in the 1960’s and 1970’s
illustrate well the fundamental changes that
had occurred. The life-cycle phenomenon
and its relation to business size was still pro¬
nounced. However, the timing and implica¬
tions had changed. Farmers without sons at
home were able to maintain the size of their
business (i.e., the number of milking cows)
until they were about 60 years old. Machine
technology had reduced dependence on
hard, physical labor. Farm wives had become
more important in the farm labor force. Fur¬
thermore,, it is likely that farm people were
healthier and in better physical condition
than a generation earlier. Other factors con¬
tributed to this greater capacity. Farmers
were more knowledgeable about production
practices. With the consequent reduction in
risks, greater specialization was possible and
secondary enterprises could be eliminated.
Greater availability of custom machine hire
was also a factor. Finally, farmers had
achieved coverage under the Social Security
system in the 1950’s and were less depen¬
dent on their children for care and support
in old age. Thus, by this time, the parents
had achieved greater independence from
their children (Dorner and Sandretto 1963;
Dorner and Weisblat 1963; Dorner and Mar-
quardt 1979).
Yet, as noted above, the children had also
achieved much greater independence from
their parents. What these latter studies
showed very clearly was that if a farmer
was to interest a son in taking over the farm
business, he had to expand operations by the
time he approached the age of 50. Even
though his own increased capacities would
permit him to run the business at peak per¬
formance ten years longer than his father
had, he still had to expand and mechanize
further to provide volume sufficient to sus¬
tain both himself and his wife and a new
(son’s or daughter’s) family at a constantly
rising level.
Prices and Farm Size Expansion
Throughout the 1940’s, farm prices were
relatively high. Thus a small farmer got a
substantial boost (certainly relative to the
depressed prices of the 1930’s) in his farm
income from the higher prices even when his
output remained constant. After the first
few years of the 1950’s, or more precisely,
after the Korean War, farm prices fell. They
continued to fall, relative to the prices farm¬
ers had to pay for production goods, through¬
out the 1960’s and the 1970’s. This is evi¬
dent from changes in the Parity Ratio over
these years. The Parity Ratio is a ratio of
two indices: Index of Prices Received by
Farmers divided by the Index of Prices Paid
by Farmers (including in the latter-interest,
taxes, and wages). Both indices are on a
base of 1910-14 = 100. The ratio is multi¬
plied by 100 and expressed as the percent¬
age that farm prices are of parity. Over the
past thirty years, there have been a number
of modifications in the formula, especially
concerning the base period. These compli¬
cations do not alter the conclusions. During
the 1940’s, this percentage averaged 107.4;
it fell to an average of 91.7 during the
1950’s; fell further to an average of 81.5
during the 1960’s; and, despite the high
prices during several years, the Parity per¬
centage averaged under 80 during the first
six years of the 1970’s (Economic Report of
the President 1976). In recent years, only
144
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
dairy product prices have been held at 80
percent of parity by government purchases.
Most other commodity prices were consis¬
tently below 80 percent. Thus the terms of
trade have shifted against farmers since the
prosperous 1940’s.
The only way to maintain farm family
income was to expand production and to in¬
crease efficiency (i.e., lower cost per unit
of output). But, maintaining income was
hardly sufficient. Average farm family in¬
comes had always been considerably lower
than urban family incomes, and urban family
incomes were rising sharply throughout this
period. Farmers were under pressure from
a variety of sources: from the machinery
companies introducing and merchandizing
new and bigger machines; from a cost-price
squeeze; from the prospect of income decline
relative to urban workers and other farms
that were mechanizing; and finally, from
their own hopes and desires for keeping the
farm in the family.
So, to repeat and to emphasize, the econo¬
mies of scale in U.S. agriculture were and
are associated with machinery, the machines
introduced after 1940 and particularly after
World War II. This mechanization made
sense under conditions of relatively scarce
labor and abundant land. However, it did
not always make sense everywhere in the
country since mechanization came very rap¬
idly, and the movement of people from the
farms was overly rapid — especially in cases
such as the adoption of the mechanical cot¬
ton picker and the displacement of share¬
croppers.
Consequences of Agricultural
Commercialization
Commercialization of U.S. agriculture oc¬
curred throughout the 19th century, and
continued with increasing momentum in the
20th and especially during the past 40 years.
More and more functions that once were per¬
formed on the farm were shifted to the in¬
dustrial sector, while some service functions
which farmers could not provide on their
own developed in the non-farm sectors of
the economy.
In the early years, capital was created
with farm labor and oxen or horse power —
land was cleared, buildings were constructed,
fences were built, drainage systems were in¬
stalled, livestock herds were enlarged, and so
forth. Horses and mules were home-grown
power sources and they used home-grown
fuel in the form of hay and oats. Later, pur¬
chases of implements and other hardware
increased, but throughout most of the 19th
century, major reliance was on farm-pro¬
duced capital. However, with greater com¬
mercialization and purchase of equipment,
more credit was needed — especially follow¬
ing the Civil War. On the output side, much
processing in the early years took place on
the farm but, with some exceptions, these
functions were soon shifted off the farm.
Gradually those functions where major
economies of scale could be realized dis¬
appeared from the farm and into the indus¬
trial sector. The farmer was left with the
increasingly specialized function of produc¬
ing raw materials for processing. He pur¬
chases large quantities of seed, fertilizer and
similar materials, some from other segments
of the farm sector, combines them with land,
labor, machinery, and livestock under his
management, and produces raw materials
practically all which are sent to market for
further processing, packaging, storing, trans¬
porting, refrigeration, wholesaling, and re¬
tailing. Indeed, in recent years, there has
been an increasing industrialization of some
of the raw material producing functions—
especially in certain lines of livestock produc¬
tion. Highly specialized broiler production
operations, some hog operations, and beef
feeding lots with as many as 100,000 head
resemble much more a factory assembly line
than they do the sequential processes asso¬
ciated with crop production; these last con¬
tinue to be governed by season and climate
and are highly dependent on land area.
1980]
Transformation of U.S. Agriculture: The Past Forty Years
145
Given these major shifts of functions from
the farm to the industrial sector, it is some¬
what misleading to concentrate only on the
less than 4 percent of the U.S. population
that are engaged in actual farm work. Over
the years people and functions have moved
from the farm to the factory — -some moving
relatively close geographically to the on-farm
production, and some far distant. These peo¬
ple and these functions remain part of the
larger agribusiness food and fiber system.
Perhaps one-fourth to one-third of the entire
U.S. labor force is engaged in either farm
production, production, sale, and servicing
of farming inputs, and processing and mar¬
keting of food and fiber. However, this larger
labor force does not necessarily feel a close
and common economic interest with on-farm
producers. They are part of the urban-indus¬
trial labor force, and their basic interests are
shaped by the vicissitudes and the pressures
related thereto.
Thus while the land policies of the nine¬
teenth century favored the establishment of a
small-farm, owner-operated agriculture,
small in the context of available area — the
coming of the tractor and the machinery that
accompanied it changed the economic cir¬
cumstances and favored larger and larger
farms. Economies of scale in on-farm pro¬
duction did not become important until
widespread mechanization occurred. Econo¬
mies of scale in on-farm production are re¬
lated directly to this machinery, and can be
realized only by farm enlargement and labor
displacement. Only relatively minor econo¬
mies of scale are associated with the tech¬
nology primarily responsible for increased
productivity per acre.
Past Achievements — Continuing
Problems
Agriculture has had a highly successful
production record in the U.S. economy. That
performance has been significantly influenced
by developments in the industrial sector.
From the early mechanical inventions to the
technological revolution of recent decades,
industry, with strategic support from public
investment in research and education, played
a significant role. Agriculture became in¬
creasingly dependent on off-the-farm factors
- — modern capital inputs, research, exten¬
sion, communication and transportation fa¬
cilities, markets, credit, and legal and social
services.
Notable in U.S. agricultural development
has been the absence of comprehensive pub¬
lic planning. There have been no five-year
plans or production targets. Yet agriculture
has contributed impressively to capital for¬
mation and to the economic development of
the non-agricultural sector. In recent dec¬
ades, the U.S. Department of Agriculture
has performed a production planning func¬
tion for agriculture through administration
of the price support and production adjust¬
ment programs. But, primary reliance is
placed on income inducements to elicit vol¬
untary participation.
Despite the good production performance,
many problems have emerged from the trans¬
formation of U.S. agriculture and the con¬
comitant development of a predominantly
urban-industrial society. These problems
include those facing the commercial farming
sector such as high capital requirements, and
those associated with the continuing agricul¬
tural transformation such as underemploy¬
ment and poverty. They are clearly interre¬
lated.
Commercial Farm Problems
The rapid transformation of U.S. agricul¬
ture has generated increasingly large capital
requirements for an efficient farming unit.
For an efficient family-sized unit, although
varying by type of farming, capital require¬
ments now range from $400,000 to $600,000
and more. This creates an especially acute
problem for young people trying to get a
start in farming. Many farms are transferred
within the family and special financial ar¬
rangements may be worked out between the
146
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
parents and the children — full market value
may not be applied to the land, interest rates
asked may be lower than going market rates,
allowance may be made for the years of un¬
derpaid labor provided by the children, etc.
Some young people begin by renting some or
all of the land for a number of years and
purchasing later. In most cases very substan¬
tial borrowing is involved and a heavy debt
is assumed by beginning farmers. Federal
legislation has been proposed to provide spe¬
cial financing for beginning farmers, but
thus far has not been enacted. The Farmers
Home Administration has not had sufficient
funds or personnel to meet these needs. Sev¬
eral states have passed legislation setting up
special state funds to assist young, begin¬
ning farmers (Dobson et al. 1979).
There is growing concern over the move¬
ment into farming by large corporations.
Such large corporations are heavily involved
in the production of such commodities as
fruits and nuts, broilers, some vegetables,
sugarcane, and a few others. In the mid-
1970s’s receipts of corporations whose ma¬
jor income was from farming totalled about
20 percent of U.S. farm product sales. How¬
ever, this overstates the case since most farm
sales by corporations were made by relatively
small corporations with less than ten stock¬
holders. In the late 1950’s changes in in¬
come tax laws permitted farm corporations
with ten or fewer (fifteen under the 1976
Tax Reform Act) stockholders to be treated
as partnerships for federal tax purposes. If
the income is passed directly to the owners
who pay the income taxes, no corporate tax
is paid. For a number of reasons, including
farm transfers within families which may be
facilitated by incorporation, many farm fam¬
ilies have incorporated their farming opera¬
tions. According to the most recent esti¬
mates, agricultural corporations with more
than ten stockholders produced only 5.3 per¬
cent of total U.S. farm sales (Edmondson
and Krause 1978).
Nevertheless, the issue of increasing cor¬
porate control over land and farming opera¬
tions (either directly or indirectly through
vertical integration) is a serious one. There
is no special federal legislation but, as of
1977, ten states had legislation providing
restrictions on corporate farming and several
others required annual reporting by corpo¬
rations engaged in farming. Seven additional
states had legislation pending (Edmondson
and Krause 1978).
Finally, an issue that is of increasing con¬
cern and significance is the rising cost of
energy and the energy-intensive nature of
the U.S. food system. The food system uses
about sixteen percent of the total energy used
in the U.S. Only about 3 percent of total
U.S. energy consumption is used directly in
farm production and the manufacture of
farm inputs produced in the industrial sector.
The largest energy users in the U.S. food
system are processing and home preparation
of food (USDA Handbook of Agricultural
Charts, 1977). Efforts to conserve energy
and to shift to other sources (wind, biomass,
solar — especially for crop drying) are under¬
way, but achieving significant change will
take many years. Various experimental and
educational programs are being undertaken
by the individual states. In this area much
will depend on the effectiveness of national
energy conservation and development poli¬
cies (USDA Yearbook of agriculture 1980).
Poverty and Related Problems
Many people were left behind and did not
benefit from the rapid increase in labor pro¬
ductivity in U.S. agriculture. The incidence
of poverty in both the farm and the nonfarm
population is higher among the nonwhite
population. However, poverty is by no means
confined to that part of the population. Of
the 14 million rural poor reported by the
National Advisory Commission on Rural
Poverty (1967), 11 million were white.
The rapid adoption of labor-saving tech¬
nologies and the massive displacement of
people from farm employment may not be
1980]
Transformation of U.S. Agriculture: The Past Forty Years
147
the root causes of urban poverty, but they
have certainly intensified the problem. Peo¬
ple most adversely affected were those who
remaind on farms but were unable to adjust,
and those who left the farm but were ill pre¬
pared for well-paying city jobs.
Compared to the 1920’s and 1930’s, most
jobs today now require greater skill. Many
of the people who have been pushed and/or
pulled out of farming face a labor market de¬
manding skills they do not possess. Subsis¬
tence employment opportunities have virtu¬
ally vanished. There are far fewer rungs on
the ladder of economic opportunity, both in
farming and in nonfarming occupations,
within reach of those lacking education and
specialized training than in earlier decades.
The poverty problem, both rural and urban,
would be less acute today if rural migrants
had been better trained and if the agricul¬
tural sector had not released so many un¬
skilled workers. Furthermore, severe racial
and ethnic discrimination intensified the
problems for blacks and other minorities.
These problems are extremely complex.
They do not lend themselves to quick solu¬
tions. Policymakers are recognizing these
problems as major issues in economic de¬
velopment. In recent years we have accepted
as one measure of economic progress the
number of people lifted from the misfortune
of being poor.
Historically, there was a strong faith in the
ultimate justice and maximum welfare to be
derived from a free-enterprise exchange
economy. “A man earns what he gets and
gets what he deserves.” This faith has been
badly shaken, especially by the severe de¬
pression of the 1930’s. In recent decades we
have placed great emphasis on the efficacy
of fiscal and monetary policies to maintain
high levels of effective demand and employ¬
ment. But, after four decades without a ma¬
jor depression, far too many people still live
in poverty — disconnected from the growing
points of the system. They remain on the
outside looking in.
The history of agricultural development
in the United States is illustrative of some
major successes intermingled with areas of
failure and continuing problems. The produc¬
tivity of the U.S. system is undisputed. How¬
ever, the very rapid transformation of the
past forty to fifty years created adjustment
problems for millions of people. In addition,
the environmental long-term effects of these
changes are just becoming evident. In coun¬
tries with factor endowments quite different
from those existing in the U.S. (e.g., where
capital is scarce and labor is in overabundant
supply), any transformation must take dif¬
ferent forms and proceed at a slower rate;
under such conditions a transformation simi¬
lar to that which has occurred in the U.S.
could be disastrous.
Literature Cited
Day, Richard H. 1967. The economics of tech¬
nological change and the demise of the share¬
cropper. American Economic Review 57:
425-449.
Dobson, W. D., Brian Schmiesing and Carol
Tank. 1979. The structure of Wisconsin’s
agriculture in 1990, Economic Issues 39,
Department of Agricultural Economics, Uni¬
versity of Wisconsin-Madison.
Dorner, Peter and Mark Marquardt. 1979. The
family’s role in the Wisconsin family farm
(A sample study of Wisconsin farms 1950,
1960 and 1975). Department of Agricultural
Economics Staff Paper, 171, University of
Wisconsin-Madison.
- and Carmen Sandretto. 1963. Resource
adjustments, income growth and tenure:
Their interaction on farms in two Wiscon¬
sin dairy areas, 1950-13960. University of
Wisconsin College of Agriculture, Research
Bull. 242.
- and Abraham Weisblat. 1963. The
father-son dilemma. Better farming meth¬
ods, Central Edition.
Economic Report of the President transmitted
to Congress January 1976 together with the
Annual Report of the Council of Economic
Advisors. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Govern¬
ment Printing Office, 1976.
Edmondson, Thomas D. and Kenneth R.
148
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Krause. 1978. State regulation of corporate
farming. ESCS Agricultural Economics Re¬
port 419. Washington, D.C.: U.S. Depart¬
ment of Agriculture.
Long, Erven J. and Kenneth H. Parsons. 1950.
How family labor affects Wisconsin farm¬
ing. Madison, Wisconsin: University of Wis¬
consin College of Agriculture, Research Bull.
167.
National Advisory Commission on Rural Pov¬
erty. 1967. The people left behind. Wash¬
ington, D.C. : U.S. Government Printing
Office.
U.S. Department of Agriculture. 1977. Hand¬
book of agricultural charts: 1977. Agricul¬
tural Handbook 524, Washington, D.C.:
U.S. Government Printing Office.
- . 1980. Cutting energy costs. The 1980
Yearbook of Agriculture, Washington, D.C.:
U.S. Government Printing Office.
DEVIL’S LAKE STATE PARK:
THE HISTORY OF ITS ESTABLISHMENT
Kenneth I. Lange
Devil's Lake State Park
Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources
D. Debra Berndt
Department of Continuing and Vocational Education
University of Wisconsi n ~M ddison
Although Wisconsin’s state park system
had an uncertain beginning,1 Wisconsin now
has a total of 54 state parks.2 Among the
earliest was Devil’s Lake State Park, located
three miles south of Baraboo in south-central
Wisconsin.
The establishment of Devil’s Lake State
Park is an intriguing story centering on pub¬
lic support and the conservation movement
of the early 1900’s. The story also involved
such dissimilar elements as a railway com¬
pany and geologists, a quarry, and a typhoid
outbreak.
Devils Lake is the most popular park in
the Midwest and has probably been so since
its beginning. Since 1952 it has attracted
more than a million people a year. “Large
crowds” gathered at the lake “every Sunday”
in the early park years, and more than
100,000 people visited the park in the sum¬
mer of 1919, “the greatest day being July
17, when homecoming exercises were held
for the soldiers of Sauk County, and over
10,000 people visited the park.” By the
1920’s the park was being “visited each sea¬
son by about 200,000 persons,” and by
1940' the annual attendance was approxi¬
mately half a million.3
Tourism at Devil’s Lake is an old story.
Soon after this area was settled by whites,
the lake became a popular place to visit, and
heavy use of Devil’s Lake began some 50
years before the state park was established
in 1911 (Fig. 1).
Among the first to visit, in 1849, was
Wisconsin’s pioneering scientist, Increase
A. Lapham: “A large body of broken frag¬
ments have accumulated along the edge of
the water rendering it very difficult to walk
along shore: yet two of our party made a
circuit of the Lake, jumping from rock to
rock as best they could.”4 A few years later,
in the 1850’s, the first building, a bathhouse,
was erected on the north shore.5
In 1853, 20 years before trains started
whistling past the lake, the Milwaukee Sen¬
tinel commented: “The lake is well worth a
visit, and no one should pass by without
stopping to examine it.” Four years later, a
Baraboo newspaper remarked: “This charm¬
ing piece of water is visited by pleasure par¬
ties nearly every day . . .” Lewis Wood, in
an 1861 paper on the industry of Sauk
County, called Devil’s Lake “a noted . . .
resort for parties of pleasure,” and added
prophetically, “and will become eminently
so, as population increases.”6
The first hotel opened in 1866: it was
located near the northeastern corner of
Devil’s Lake, and called the Minniwauken
House, after a supposed Indian name for
the lake. In that year, a local newspaper pre¬
dicted that Devil’s Lake would become a
fashionable summer resort, “not only for
the Northwest, but also for the East,” and
the next year the same paper decided that its
prophecy had come true— “It is already a
fashionable resort for excursion parties from
Chicago, and other places. . . .”7
In 1872, a year before the inauguration
149
150
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
lottf.K ( fftfrWe
tttfj ffrooA'
wife tjtt iff
skHSfMI
I DEVILS LAKE
m Z/t) ft .abort i hr ft is.
Hurt a L ffcrr//////rA
a///* '/W ft. alwre f/te
Banlf/co Kin- WnmheKt
¥///? %, ffi/r f rpm Bar
Fig. 1. Devil’s Lake as depicted by William H. Canfield about 100 years ago in Outline Sketches of Sauk
County. The south bluff is at the bottom, with the west bluff on the left and the east bluff on the right.
The Sheldon House later was enlarged and renovated by E. T. Hopkins into the Lake View Hotel. No¬
tice Kirkland with its vineyard along the south shore, north of the Sheldon House. This map was drawn
before the Messengers developed their resort at the southwestern corner of the lake, between the south
and west bluffs. At the north end of the lake, note the Claude property, a creek, and the Minnewauken
House, which later was enlarged into the Cliff House. The railroad track runs along the east side of the
lake; a steam train is at the lower right.
1980]
Devil’s Lake State Park: An Historical Account
151
Fig. 2. Devil’s Lake, looking north from the
south bluff. The railroad track can be glimpsed at
the south end of the east bluff; the track runs
along the east side of the lake, past the camp¬
ground on the right, and east out of the park
along the bottom of the south bluff.
of regular train service, a LaCrosse, Wiscon¬
sin, newspaper was quoting property owners
at the lake as estimating that 15,000 people
“have already visited the Lake this season,
and yet they come. And why should they
not, for there is not a place in the State
more attractive. . . William Canfield,
Sauk County’s pioneer historian, put the
figure for 1872 at “probably 20,000 visitors
. . . from regions outside of its immediate
neighborhood.”8
These early tourists took the train to
Portage, next a private carriage for the 16
miles to Baraboo, then another private car¬
riage for the remaining 3 miles to the lake.
But a new age was dawning for Devil’s
Lake, created by that wonder of 19th-cen¬
tury technology, the railroad train. At one
time as many as nine passenger trains
snorted and smoked past Devil’s Lake and
through Baraboo each way and each day.
E. D. Jackson of nearby Greenfield Town¬
ship in Sauk County recalled the first loco¬
motive he saw: “It was profusely orna¬
mented with brass trimmings as bright as
burnished gold, and in the glistening sun¬
shine was something of a marvelous beauty
to behold.” Railways permeated the Ameri¬
can way of life; in some respects, they be¬
came the American way of life.9
Fig. 3. Devil’s Lake from the air, looking west,
with the west bluff in the upper part of the pic¬
ture, the east bluff to the right, and the south bluff
to the left. The railroad curves through the left
half of the picture.
The railway running past Devil’s Lake is
a main line of the Chicago and Northwest¬
ern between Chicago and Minneapolis-St.
Paul. Its coming ushered in a hotel-resort
era at Devil’s Lake that lasted for 30 color¬
ful years and made Devil’s Lake a house¬
hold name.
Publicity for the lake, generated by the
Chicago and Northwestern in the form of
notes and articles, appeared in such publi¬
cations as Railway Age, but the railway’s
most effective advertising came from cor¬
respondents who wrote alluring and some¬
times romantic accounts of this strange and
wonderful place (Figs. 2 and 3). Here are
the impressions of a visitor from Chicago in
1874: “The loneliness enhanced the beauty.
The next minute the train was stopping by
a platform at the upper end of the lake . . .
and a Swiss cottage, with bright dresses on
its ample galleries, came to view through
the trees.” Rand McNally’s Tourist Guide
to the North-West promised that at Devil’s
Lake the tourist would see “one of the love¬
liest sheets of water in the whole world . . .
in a tremendous gorge . . . hemmed in on
all sides by frowning rocks, of prodigious
size, piled up in every conceivable form. . . .
Other lakes have much in common. This is
absolutely unique. . . .” The Standard Atlas
152
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Fig. 4. The lobby of the Cliff House on a sum¬
mer afternoon about a century ago. William B.
Pearl, the manager is on the right and the post
office is to the left of Pearl’s assistant.
and Gazetteer of the World, which was pub¬
lished in Chicago in 1890, prefaced the
Rand McNally description with a reference
to “the wierd beauty of Devil’s Lake, which
in the mystery of its origin rivals Lake
Tahoe. . . .”10
In 1873, when train service began for
Baraboo and Devil’s Lake, the owners of
the Minniwauken House enlarged it into a
new structure — the Cliff House (Fig. 4).
Verandahs and galleries extended around
the main part of the building. While the
original structure accommodated a maximum
of 20 guests, the new hotel, which had some
50 rooms, could house about 200 people.11
The Cliff House featured a 40 by 80 foot
dining room with a spacious view of the
lake; 200 people could eat together in this
dining room, but only in the proper attire:
suits for the men and dinner dresses for the
women. “Elegant” would be an apt descrip¬
tion of this resort.12
The Cliff House also had a telegraph,
ticket and baggage office, a post office, a
grocery, a barber shop, a billiard room,
and the first bowling alley in the area — “It
would make your sides ache with laughter
to see the boys at the lower end of the alley
dodging the wild projectiles.”13
This resort became so popular that an¬
other building, called the Annex, was added
Fig. 5. Hiking at Devil’s Lake. People in Sunday
attire are climbing the east bluff with the help of
wooden steps and a railing. The Cliff House is
beyond the trees in the center of the picture.
When this picture was taken about the turn of the
century the lake was very low.
in 1884; it had 30 rooms. With the 63
rooms in the enlarged Cliff House, the two
buildings could lodge up to 400 people.14
If visitors did not like these accommoda¬
tions, there were others — family cottages, a
log cabin, or in the adjacent sugar maple
woods, camping.15
What could guests do? Rent fishing tackle
and a rowboat. Go swimming. Climb the
bluffs (Fig. 5). Play croquet or quoits. Test
their archery skill. Take an excursion in a
rig (“reasonable rates”) to Wisconsin Dells
(“this is a full day’s trip”) or some closer
place of interest.16
A visitor could also take a ride on the
resort’s steamboat. The Capitola, launched
on Devil’s Lake in 1869, was the first side-
wheel steamer on the lake; it carried 100
passengers “comfortably.” In 1874 it was
replaced by another sidewheel steamer, the
Minniwauken, which carried 100 people
“with safety” (an interesting distinction).
This woodburner was still being used on the
lake in 1895, but by the turn of the century
gasoline launches were becoming popular.
Band picnics were held at the lake in the
resort years and one moonlit night, the
Spirit Lake Band of Baraboo and the Bara¬
boo Choral Society went to the middle of the
lake on the Minniwauken, “and there dis¬
coursed sweet music with charming ef-
1980]
Devil's Lake State Park: An Historical Account
153
feet. . . On another moonlight band ex¬
cursion, all the rowboats were rented be¬
cause so many people wanted to be near
the music.17
There were activities at this resort for
everyone. Geologists from the University of
Chicago spent a month in field work at
Devil’s Lake in 1894, One of them, Rollin
D. Salisbury, gave a public lecture at the
resort about the origin of the lake, stressing
non-volcanic forces.18 Once there was “an
interesting exhibition of mind reading.”
Then there was Zenia, “the noted palmister
of Chicago,” who lectured on her speciality
and then examined “the hands of those wish¬
ing ... in a private parlor.” One evening the
balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet was
presented “to a large and enthusiastic audi¬
ence.” Often these activities were concluded
with a dance, and nightly dances were a
regular feature once the orchestra arrived
for the season. The orchestra, at least in
1889, consisted of 2 violinists, a cornet
player and a pianist.19
Almost every evening some of the guests
would walk to a place called Shadow Town
to listen to cylinder records played on an
Edison phonograph and drink pop and eat
cracker jack. This phonograph was one of
the first in the area, so Shadow Town was
also popular with local people, who came in
horse-drawn wagons. Concerts were given
from 1899 through 1903 or 1904, when the
resort closed, as did Shadow Town.20
Many local people visited the lake in those
years, arriving by team or train. At that time,
a road just to the east of the railroad tracks
was the main wagon and carriage route be¬
tween Baraboo and the lake, and one Sun¬
day in the summer of 1903 a family on this
route counted 32 teams in one hour going
past their home to the lake.21
In the summer there were special trains
to Devil’s Lake from Baraboo and Chicago,
but most exciting were the excursion trains.
Although the manager of the Cliff House
once wrote, “There is no money in feeding
excursionists,”22 he encouraged train ex¬
cursions in the hope that they would be
profitable for the resort. Coming mainly
from Illinois, they became especially popular
in the 1890’s. One excursion in 1894 con¬
sisted of 2 separate trains pulling a total of
22 coaches; both trains stopped at the Cliff
House, where some 2000 people emerged,
stretched, “and then began gazing in wonder
at the sights.” Another 1894 excursion is the
largest on record: three trains with a total
of 34 coaches. The passengers lined the en¬
tire north shore of the lake, a distance of
one half mile. One can imagine these steel
monsters breathing fire and smoke and utter¬
ing strange noises as they screech to a halt by
the Cliff House and there disgorge up to
several thousand cramped tourists.23
Excursion fares were within the means of
lower income families. In 1906, for exam¬
ple, an excursion from Chicago cost $2,
from Milwaukee $1.50, and from Madison,
$1.24
Before the days of the railroad diner,
trains stopped for breakfast and supper at
the Cliff House. This resort was also a flag
stop, but the train station was located at the
southeastern corner of the lake. Later, in
1908, a new depot was built 1200 feet to
the south. The popularity of Devil’s Lake
in these early years was indicated by the
fact that an agent was on duty at that sta¬
tion 24 hours a day in the tourist season.25
The railroad company was making money
but the resort was not. The season was
short, June often was rainy and cold, and
the buildings, especially the Cliff House,
were in constant need of repair. Also in¬
volved in the closing of the resort was the
railway’s decision to reduce the number of
passes and their refusal to give a lower rate
on a round trip from Chicago. Misunder¬
standings with local people may also have
been a factor. And so, in 1905, the Cliff
House was demolished by order of the
owner; the Annex stood until 19 14.26
Today one may search in vain for any
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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
sign of the Cliff House, but in the lawn
near the north shore boat landing are a few
flat stones. They are part of the foundation
of the Annex. This is all that remains of
that “elegant” resort.
The southeastern shore was called Kirk¬
land, after Mr. and Mrs. Noble C. Kirk, the
owners. The Cliff House was deluxe but
Kirkland was rustic, reflecting the personality
of the “genial little man” who always kept
his property open to the free use of the
public. Kirk, in 1854, bought property at the
south end of the lake and added to it over
the years. Kirkland consisted of a pavilion —
a combination kitchen-living quarters-post
office which was the focus of life at this
resort, about a dozen cottages, a winehouse
and cellar, croquet grounds, picnic grounds,
and arbors and seats. Kirk’s widow had a
14 room hotel built in 1906-1907 and a
bathhouse erected in 19 10.27
Entertainment at Kirkland included dances
or masquerades on Friday and Saturday
nights for the guests and the help. All day
hay rides for guests were another feature.
Kirkland was a place lower income fami¬
lies were apt to visit and return again.28
The material evidence for Kirkland today
is the hotel foundation, but the Kirks, who
wanted a park at Devil’s Lake, had their
wish fulfilled.
The Kirks owned about half of the south¬
eastern valley. Adjacent to Kirkland, on the
other half of this valley, stood another of
the lake’s early hotel-resorts, the Lake View.
The most imposing structure there was the
hotel, a three-level building with a telegraph
office and entertainment halls on the ground
level, and eating and sleeping quarters above.
This resort also had five cottages and a
bathhouse.29
There were dances on weekends at the
hotel, but not as often as at Kirkland and
they were for guests only. The Lake View
had a pleasant atmosphere, but it was more
formal than Kirks’ resort.30
Sometimes the people from these two re¬
sorts got together for a concert, and on one
occasion they united for an evening of sing¬
ing and story telling, with a “Dutch lunch”
at 9:30.31
In those years, climbing the bluffs was al¬
ways popular, and in the evening there might
be a dance or a corn roast or a marshmallow
roast. Sometimes one of the resorts held a
benefit concert for a local church.
The southwestern shore, across from Kirk¬
land and Lake View, was called Messenger
shore, after a family that lived there in the
hotel-resort years. Oscar Messenger managed
the Lake View for a few years in the early
1890’s, then he erected his own buildings,
including a hotel and a pavilion, at the
southwestern corner of the lake.32
The Messengers and also Edward Martin,
a local farmer, were cutting marsh hay on
Messenger shore before the park was estab¬
lished, and this activity continued after 1911.
Some of the hay was stored in the Messenger
barn. The people from the west and south
who journeyed to the lake intending to pic¬
nic at Kirkland, left their wagons at Mes¬
senger shore and rented a boat for 25 cents.
If they wanted their horses to feed while
they were at Kirkland, they put the animals
in the barn for 10 cents and the horses
could munch on hay cut along the lakeshore.
The barn might be full on Farmer’s Picnic
Days, when up to several thousand rural
people converged on Messenger Shore or
Kirkland.33
An annual railroad picnic at Kirkland al¬
so attracted as many as several thousand
people. The German Club of Sauk City and
the Baraboo Maennerchor (Men’s Chorus)
each had picnics and festivals at the lake,
and so did the Grand Army of the Republic
and the Baraboo Valley Veterans’ Associa¬
tion. A big event was the Grand Regatta of
1877, when several thousand people lined
the lakeshore to watch the races and to hear
two bands from Baraboo. The 4th of July
was often an exciting day at the lake. In
1878, for example, some 2000 people were
1980]
Devil’s Lake State Park: An Historical Account
155
there: they listened to speeches and watched
a horse race and a race between a hiker and
an oarsman; in the evening there were fire¬
works, and, in the Cliff House, a dance.34
But publicity for the lake arose not only
from the railway and the tourists. Geologists
also started coming to Devil’s Lake in the
early years; for example, Lapham in 1849,
and a group of eight men, one of whom was
T. C. Chamberlin, the well-known glacial
geologist, in 1872.35
The Madison Democrat in 1906 re¬
ported: “Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of
students visit this storehouse of knowledge
each year to study and admire.” The earliest
reference to a class of geology students is to
one from the University of Wisconsin in
1892; doubtless there were groups here even
earlier. Charles R. Van Hise of the Univer¬
sity of Wisconsin included field trips to
Devil’s Lake in his geology courses before
1900. He once said of Devil’s Lake: “I
know of no other region in Wisconsin which
illustrates so many principles of the science
of geology.” The University of Chicago had
a geology camp at the lake, beginning in
the 1890’s (the earliest reference is 1894),
and A. C. Trowbridge of the University of
Chicago and later of the University of Iowa
began bringing geology classes to the lake
in 1905. Trowbridge, in 1908, gave an in¬
formal address at Kirkland to the annual
state assembly of the Wisconsin Archeo¬
logical Society, which had included Devil’s
Lake in its itinerary that year.36
Possibly Northwestern University also
scheduled geology field trips at Devil’s Lake
by the turn of the century; however, the
earliest recorded date for such trips is
1910.37
Because of the publicity the lake was re¬
ceiving, it was almost inevitable that some¬
one would conceive the idea of developing
a summer resort city on the bluffs overlook¬
ing the lake. That someone was Arthur R.
Ziemer (1871-1895).38 If his resort had
been successful, Devil’s Lake State Park
might have been very different, if indeed it
had been established at all.
The development on top of the west bluff
imitated similar enterprises in New York’s
Catskill Mountains; the west bluff was said
by Ziemer to be a “counterpart of the Pali¬
sades on the Hudson River.” He called his
resort “Palisade Park.”39
For about a year, beginning in 1894, there
was much activity: 90 acres were platted
into lots, parks, and a hotel site; several
cottages were built,40 a road of crushed stone
was constructed, a reservoir of several acres
was installed, and a tower 85 feet high was
erected.41
“The time is now at hand,” according to
a promotional pamphlet for Palisade Park,
“when the great middle class, the heart and
soul of our country, can enjoy summer
houses. . . . For $500 we will build you an
artistic story and a half house with stone fire
place, and deed you a lot. ... No saloons,
stores, or boisterous crowds will be toler¬
ated. . . .” Palisade Park was publicized as
superior to other midwestern retreats be¬
cause of its mountainous setting and eleva¬
tion— -“The highest resort within 600 miles
of Chicago.” Here one could withdraw from
the busy and noisy city life to a “quiet
mountain retreat.” The advertising was es¬
pecially aimed at Milwaukee and Chicago.
Platted lots were sold at a real estate office
in Baraboo.42
Then, in October of 1895, tragedy struck
-—Ziemer died of typhoid in his cottage, pre¬
sumably from drinking contaminated water
from the Palisade Park spring.43 The word
spread and with a few exceptions people
stayed away from the resort, although there
was talk in the early 1900’s of reviving the
project. A plat of Palisade Park was still
being shown in the county atlases of 1906
and 1922. 44
All that survives today of what the pro¬
moters hoped would become the “most
prominent summer resort in the northwest”
are stone steps and the debris of a fallen
156
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
sandstone chimney, the foundation of one
of the cottages, and 8 flat stones arranged
in a square 24 feet on a side — the founda¬
tion of the tower.45
By 1900 virtually all the shoreline around
Devil’s Lake was privately owned and de¬
veloped for catering to summer tourists.
While these resorts accommodated people
mainly from outside the area, local people
were also coming to the lake. Although the
resort people allowed the public free use of
their grounds and supplied services such as
ice water at no charge, they found it neces¬
sary to remind non-guests that “special
privileges are due only to guests of the hotels
and cottages and that they should be treated
with due consideration.” The resort people
also cautioned the public “not to strew vic¬
tuals promiscuously upon the grounds, nor
annoy the innkeepers and their guests by
indulging in boisterousness and indiscretion,”
this being most noticeable “when boys are
in bathing.” The landlord of the Cliff House
probably was speaking for the resort peo¬
ple in general when he said that the visitors
“who did not receive a warm welcome were
those who desired to use the grounds for
picnicking.” The resort people were being
reasonable and fair in these admonitions,
yet one can understand how friction and
charges of elitism arose. It is likely that lo¬
cal people had come to regard Devil’s Lake
as “their lake,” and any attempts to control
its use or visitation would have met with
their resistance. Also, the resort prices, for
the most part, excluded people of lower in¬
comes, and at least two of the resorts were
for gentiles only.46
But what if this area were made a public
park? This was a new and strange concept
in the early 1900’s but most local people
liked the idea of making such a choice tract
public property.
A proposal made in 1903 envisaged a
sort of gigantic zoo. A local newspaper ex¬
pressed the idea this way: “If the undertak¬
ing develops to its fullest possibilities a high
fence will be constructed to enclose cliffs
and water — a two mile area, more or less,
with suitable cattleguards at the points where
the Northwestern railway enters and leaves
the tract to curtail the range of deer, antelope,
buffalo and other animals of harmless nature
that may be secured. Bear pits and cages for
the more savage beasts and for winged crea¬
tures, and the open lake whereon shooting
will never occur, for the web-footed, and for
fish of all varieties are a part of the pleasing
project.” Three years later the Baraboo
Lodge of Elks “voted its intention of instal¬
ling a pair of Elks,” whereapon one local
person decided that he didn’t like the idea
of a state park at Devil’s Lake because, as
he put it, a man once had been killed by an
elk which had jumped out of an enclosure.
The idea of a mammoth zoo was still alive
in 1910, but it never gained much support.
Many people wondered whether the state
would lay out cement walks and flower
beds.47
By 1903 enough interest had been shown
by Baraboo residents to cause Franklin
Johnson, the local assemblyman, to intro¬
duce a bill in the State Assembly authoriz¬
ing the governor to appoint a three-member
commission “to investigate the advisability
of establishing and maintaining a state park
about Devil’s Lake.”48 Termed a bill “which
opens the alluring subject in a modest and
rational way,” it called for the commission
to report its findings and recommendations
to the governor on or before March 1, 1904.
This bill received additional support from
the Senate Committee on State Affairs, which
held a hearing on it in March 1903 and pre¬
sented it for passage. So favorably was this
bill regarded that the hearing “was not ex¬
tended and of course no one appeared to
oppose the bill.” An option-taking clause
was added at the suggestion of Evan A.
Evans, an attorney at Baraboo. This bill,
approved in May of 1903, later was amended
1980]
Devil’s Lake State Park : An Historical Account
157
to give the commission until March 1, 1906,
to submit its report. In the amended version
the commission was given the added respon¬
sibility of studying the Wisconsin Dells area
for park status. In 1907 this study commis¬
sion evolved into the State Park Board,
which the governor said would guide him
and the legislature.49
The early 1900’s were marked by increas¬
ing public sentiment in favor of a state park
system. Not only were Wisconsin citizens
beginning to realize the benefits of parklands
and forest preserves, but a similar move¬
ment was taking hold in other parts of the
country as well. This national sentiment for
protection of America’s natural resources
was influenced by John Muir and the newly
formed Sierra Club, the Theodore Roosevelt
administration, and the Progressive era. In
1905 at a meeting of the American Forestry
Congress, Roosevelt had said: 44 You are
mighty poor Americans if your care for the
well-being of this country is limited to hop¬
ing that that well-being will last out your
own generation.” This was the president
who in 1908 called a White House confer¬
ence of governors to discuss conservation
problems.50 The Madison Democrat ex¬
pressed it this way: “A movement nation
wide for the extension of park areas, for a
more systematic and intelligent park super¬
vision and for the cultivation of the beauti¬
ful and the esthetic is in progress.”51
In line with these feelings, Assemblyman
Estabrook of Milwaukee in 1907 introduced
a bill into the state legislature calling for the
appointment of a state park board. Citizens
supported such a board and a state park
system for various reasons. The public, it
was believed, needed retreats for its full en¬
joyment and well-being. “Not only are play¬
grounds essential for the welfare and happi¬
ness of children, but there is a demand, a
necessity, for larger playgrounds or parks
for older people-— and it may be well to re¬
member that men and women are but chil¬
dren a little older grown.” Much of the pub¬
lic attitude toward preservation looked to
the future. Citizens felt a need to save places
of natural beauty, such as Devil’s Lake, so
that succeeding generations could enjoy na¬
ture in much the same form as they knew it.
A few people spoke prophetically of the
time when the state would be more popu¬
lous and in greater need of land for public
recreation. Charles R. Van Hise, when
President of the University of Wisconsin,
urged the state to start preserving areas of
natural beauty for the future before an in¬
crease in population would deplete the land
available for public use. A newspaper re¬
porter, in speaking of the proposed State
Park Board, stated that we must look ahead,
“when Wisconsin shall have become fully
settled, with a population of perhaps
10,000,000 people, and when the necessity
for parks and playgrounds are more largely
felt.” A few people were even beginning to
favor preserving places of natural beauty for
their intrinsic value, and there was a growing
realization that areas such as Devil’s Lake
should be set aside for their scientific and
educational importance. As a Madison, Wis¬
consin, newspaper expressed it: “Such sci¬
entific worth, right near the doors of our
University, must be preserved to posterity.”
Lands must also be put into public owner¬
ship, people had come to believe, before
private interests destroyed them. Wisconsin
had witnessed first-hand the destruction of
its forest lands, and an increasing number
of voices now were being heard in favor of
preventing similar occurrences by setting
aside acreage in public ownership. The rhe¬
toric for preserving open space was very
much like that of today: “With the advance
of civilization, one by one all the places of
scenic beauty, and historical interest, are
passing away. Before it is too late, it is well
to pause and consider whether it is not be¬
fitting that some of them be preserved for
all time as state parks. . . . Once destroyed,
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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
they are never restored.” In addition to these
more or less altruistic considerations, there
were utilitarian ones, notably that parks
were economic investments, since tourists
represented money.52
With the passage of the Estabrook bill
and the establishment of the State Park
Board in 1907, the drive to create state
parks in Wisconsin gained momentum.
By 1906 local residents had become for¬
mally involved in the effort to establish
Devil’s Lake State Park. “A goodly number
of citizens met at the city hall ... for the
purpose of discussing the matter of establish¬
ing a state park at Devil’s Lake. Among
those present were owners of the property.
The meeting was called to order by W. H.
McFetridge, who has taken considerable in¬
terest in the matter ... a committee was
appointed by Mr. McFetridge, with himself
as chairman.” Under the direction and in¬
spiration of McFetridge, this committee of
eight members worked for a state park. As
the chairman related: “Since 1903 certain
citizens of Baraboo have been endeavoring
to have the state preserve this region. The
time is now ripe . . . there is a strong general
public sentiment ... of preserving accessible
nature spots like this one.”53
Evan Evans, the attorney who suggested
the option-taking clause to the state park
commission and now secretary and treasurer
of McFetridge’s committee, summarized the
committee’s thinking: “The Devil’s Lake
project leads all others in the state because
it is easy of access, and because it is located
in the southern portion of the state where
it is most densely populated. The spot is one
of the most beautiful and unique in the state.
Another point is that the land is cheap be¬
cause it cannot be utilized for agriculture.
The state must have forest preserves. . . .”54
The committee hoped to influence the
state legislature to pass a bill providing for
an annual appropriation of $35,000 for 3
years for the establishment of a state park
at Devil’s Lake. One way in which it pro¬
moted this goal was through the distribution
of a 38 page illustrated booklet entitled An
Appeal for the Preservation of the Devil’s
Lake Region. Two thousand copies were
printed and sold for 500 apiece. The first
part of the booklet stressed the need to pro¬
tect the region from despoilment by commer¬
cial and material interests, and the remainder
described the area’s geology, its potential as
a forest preserve, its plant life, its suitability
as a bird sanctuary, and its archeology; the
last page was devoted to endorsements. Inter¬
spersed throughout the prose are full page
photographs of the region, attesting to its
natural beauty.55
The committee also wrote about the pro¬
posed park in various publications, adver¬
tised in newspapers, exercised “much per¬
sonal advocacy,” and appeared before clubs
and other organizations.56
One example of the committee’s work
with organizations is a 1906 meeting of
Baraboo’s Ten Thousand Club, a business
group. McFetridge spoke of the work his
committee had been doing on the Devil’s
Lake project, and Evans also endorsed the
park, stating that it would be of “great finan¬
cial benefit as it would draw more people”
to the area. Not surprisingly, the Club then
adopted a resolution to appoint a commit¬
tee of its own to cooperate in efforts to pro¬
mote the venture.57
Local individuals of some influence, for
example, Louis A. Goddard, the pastor of
the First Congregational Church in Baraboo,
also began to speak for the project.58
While all these activities were taking
place, a local fund was being established to
help pay the expenses of advertising the
project. Local newspapers published the
names of the contributors and at least sev¬
eral hundred dollars were collected.59
There was also outside support. In 1906
the Milwaukee Journal editorialized for a
state park at Devil’s Lake— -“It is a worthy
1980]
Devil's Lake State Park: An Historical Account
159
project which ought to be carried out.”
Later that year a lengthy article appeared in
the Milwaukee Sentinel, which referred to
McFetridge’s committee, quoted extensively
from their booklet, and treated the Devil’s
Lake proposal in considerable detail.60
State legislators and guests came to Devil’s
Lake on a special train for a May Day pic¬
nic in 1907. There were speeches; the Bara-
boo Marine Band “discoursed some choice
airs”; a luncheon was served in the Kirkland
pavilion, and many of the people climbed
the bluffs, where residents and guides pointed
out choice views and rare plants, and the
work being done by a quarry which had
located at the north end of the east bluff in
1906. As it turned out, blasting continued
at this site until 1921. 61
Quarrying at the lake actually was an
incentive for establishing a park because
with this activity it was possible for Mc-
Fetridge to write: “Unless the state buys
their property several of the largest owners
have signified their intention of selling to
whomsoever will pay the most, without re¬
gard for what use the property is intended.
... To preserve the region the state must
own it — there appears to be no alterna¬
tive.”62
In February of 1907 Senator Browne of
Waupaca introduced a bill providing an ap¬
propriation of $35,000 annually for 3 years
to establish a state park at Devil’s Lake.
The Senate passed this bill, 20 to 2, then in
June of that year it came before the Assem¬
bly where it was defeated 32 to 31 despite
public support and strong pleas by some
legislators for preservation of the bluffs. One
assemblyman who had spoken for the park
stated that he was sure the measure would
pass until Thomas Reynolds of Door County
voted against it. “He wants a park in his
county.” Some of the Devil’s Lake property
owners lobbied against the bill, causing some
legislators to conclude that the state would
not be able to obtain all the land bordering
the lake without “undue expense.” The
chances of the bill passing were also lessened
by the vote coming in the closing days of
the session. A local newspaper gave this
advice: “Friends . . . should open the cam¬
paign now to insure favorable action by the
next legislature. . . .”63
They did. More people began to speak
and write in favor of a state park at Devil’s
Lake. Women became involved. Mrs. Eliza
Mulcahy wrote a poem pleading for the
preservation of Devil’s Lake which appeared
in a local newspaper in August of 1907.
Mrs. H. A. J. Upham in 1908 read a paper
to the Women’s Club of Milwaukee in favor
of a “public reserve” at the lake, and later
that year talked to the Wisconsin Natural
History Society in Milwaukee on the impor¬
tance of preserving Devil’s Lake and the
Dells of the Wisconsin River. The Wiscon¬
sin State Federation of Women’s Clubs saw
the need for parks and worked for them;
in fact, their principal interest in the first
decade of this century became the establish¬
ment of Devil’s Lake State Park. Club mem¬
bers had drafted and signed resolutions and
presented them to legislators in the unsuc¬
cessful 1907 project — “this agitation ... is
not given up as a lost cause . . . hopes are
entertained that strength may be gathered
for a more vigorous attack when the next
legislature convenes.” Near the end of 1908
the State Federation of Women’s Clubs had
W. H. McFetridge as a guest speaker and
Devil’s Lake was the main topic. A member
in attendance called upon the women of Wis¬
consin to “move to the fray,” then urged her
cohorts to work with legislative candidates
before the next election, specifically to ex¬
tract pledges from them and determine how
they would vote on the park question. The
meeting ended with the adoption of a resolu¬
tion for the appointment of a committee to
work for passage of the park bill in the next
legislature.64
Meanwhile a nationally known and re-
160
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
spected landscape architect from Boston,
John Nolen, was surveying Wisconsin for
park sites. His report to the State Park
Board, published in 1909, continues to in¬
fluence Wisconsin’s state park system. Nolen
devised five criteria for judging a site for
state park status: large size, since great
numbers of people would destroy the nat¬
ural qualities of a small area (he recom¬
mended a minimum size of 2000-3000 acres
with 5000 acres being “even better”); nat¬
ural beauty; healthy climate; accessibility;
and reasonable property cost and mainte¬
nance expenditures. Based upon these cri¬
teria, Nolen recommended four places as
particularly suitable: Wisconsin Dells, Devil’s
Lake, the Fish Creek area in Door County,
and the Wyalusing area in Grant County.
Only the Dells did not become a state park.
Although Nolen assigned highest priority to
the Dells, a dam on the river caused water
to rise and submerge much of the area, while
land values increased to a level which pre¬
cluded acquisition by the state for public
park use.65
The State Park Board was plagued from
the beginning by a lack of funds for buying
recommended properties. When the Board
was originally established, the only money
provided was a maximum of $500 for actual
expenses incurred by Board members. The
breakthrough came in 1909 when Senator
C. L. Pearson of the Sauk-Columbia district
introduced a bill which called for an appro¬
priation to the State Park Board of $75,000
annually for three years for buying park
lands. The legislature acted upon this bill
and although it reduced the appropriation
to $50,000 annually for two years, this was
sufficient to enable the board to start buying
land at Devil’s Lake.66
In 1909 the Board estimated that a park
could be established at Devil’s Lake for
$125,000 and, as it turned out, this was
accurate (the initial park holdings cost
$128,497.44), except for unforseen troubles
with the company that was quarrying the
east bluff. At the June 1910 meeting of the
Board the members voted unanimously to
proceed in securing certain lands around
Devil’s Lake and by the end of the year the
board had acquired 740 of the 1150 acres
it deemed essential for the park, namely, the
Kirk, Hopkins (Lake View) and Messenger
properties and several estates at the south
end, and the Vilas estate (the Cliff House
property) at the north end.67
The board started condemnation proceed¬
ings on the remaining acreage, which proved
especially difficult to acquire. A number of
people had purchased cottage lots along the
south shore at the turn of the century, and
while most of them sold to the state for a
dollar in exchange for a rental-free lease to
expire in 60 years, and the understanding
that the state would negotiate for the re¬
moval of the quarry from the park and build
a road into the cottage area, various com¬
plications and misunderstandings arose with
other property owners. Quite understand¬
ably, some of them wanted to remain on the
land.68
A bill passed by the state legislature al¬
lowed for such cases when the owners had
occupied the homestead for 25 years or
more. It was introduced by Assemblyman
C. A. Harper on behalf of Mrs. Louis J.
Claude and her daughter, whose family had
been among the earliest settlers at Devil’s
Lake.69 While the Board had been allowing
elderly owners to retain their residences, it
did not want to extend the same privilege
to younger family members — in this case,
Mrs. Claude’s daughter. The bill was ap¬
proved over the objections of the Board and
the Claudes were allowed to keep their
home and an acre of land. This was a most
commendable service, for the Claudes (and
the Kirks) could have sold to the quarry
companies and retired with much more
money than they received from the state for
their properties. For a time a quarry com-
1980]
Devil’s Lake State Park: An Historical Account
161
pany had an option on the west bluff from
the Claudes and wanted to build a spur line
from the railroad tracks to the property, but
the Claudes refused; they preferred the nat¬
ural setting. These decisions by the Claudes
and the Kirks helped make Devil’s Lake
State Park a reality.70
When the park was being established, the
State Park Board consisted of Thomas C.
Brittingham of Madison, the chairman,
L. C. Colman of LaCrosse, and Gustaf R.
Egeland of Ephraim. Like McFetridge,
Brittingham had a dream of a public
park at Devil’s Lake and worked long
and hard for it. His world travels had con¬
vinced him that the lake was a very special
place, and he also came to believe that local
people did not appreciate the area because
of familiarity. He and Colman made them¬
selves personally responsible for certain
Devil’s Lake properties by agreeing to buy
and hold them for the state for 5 years; if
the state did not take the land then the
owner could repurchase it.71
After some misunderstandings had been
settled and certain appeals satisfied, the
State Park Board controlled about 1100
acres, and in June 1911 newspapers were
announcing that there really was a Devil’s
Lake State Park. The Baraboo Republic
noted the overall approval of the project:
“. . . it is good to know that the beauties of
the Devil’s Lake region are to be preserved
by the great State of Wisconsin. . . . There
is no doubt about the action . . . being sanc¬
tioned by the people of the state for all time
to come.”72
But the quarry was still there and blasting
was still going on. A year after the creation
of the park, the State Park Board com¬
mented: “It was found impossible to pur¬
chase the . . . quarry ... at a price the board
considered reasonable as compared with
lands nearby equally suitable for the same
purpose.” The lands in question amounted
to 110 acres and were owned by the Ameri¬
can Refractories Company; they were using
the rock for fire brick and paving stones.
While economic interests were saying that
paving stones from the Devil’s Lake quarry
were being used on “some of the most im¬
portant avenues inside of the loop district
of Chicago,” environmentalists countered
with charges that quarry blasting caused fish
kills in winter — “The theory ... is that they
went into the shallow water to feed during
the winter, and because of the ice the con¬
cussion of the dynamite blasts caused death
to those in the shallow water.”73
Negotiations to resolve the conflict with
the American Refractories Company re¬
mained at a standstill until the state legisla¬
ture in 1919 authorized the Conservation
Commission to remove the quarry from the
park; if it proved necessary, the Commis¬
sion could purchase land for exchange. This
bill at first was defeated in the State As¬
sembly by one vote, “but on reconsidera¬
tion a big majority was secured when the
facts were fully explained by Sauk County
members.” In the following year American
Refractories sold its property in the park
to the state for $75,000 plus a small tract
of land at the south end of the east bluff,
then purchased a farm adjoining this tract
and moved there in 1922. At the time, this
area was outside the park boundary. The
company worked this site through 1967; the
cut that can be seen there is the result of 45
years of quarrying.74
In 1970 President Nixon signed the bill
creating Wisconsin’s Ice Age National Sci¬
entific Reserve, which consists of 9 units.
One of these is Devil’s Lake State Park with
an enlarged boundary including the quarry
property. Recently the state purchased this
property and thus completed a land tran¬
saction which had been started in 1910.
A private resort thus evolved into a public
park with the impetus of the widespread
conservation movement of the early 1900’s,
evidence of the influence of citizen activity
162
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
in determining this country’s natural re¬
sources policies.
Notes
AUTHORS’ NOTE: This paper is based upon A
Lake Where Spirits Live: A human history of the
midwest's most popular park, by Kenneth I. Lange
and Ralph T. Tuttle, Baraboo Printing — Baraboo,
Wisconsin, 80 pages (1975), and Preserving Wis¬
consin's Natural Beauty: The drive to establish
Devil's Lake State Park, by D. Debra Berndt, a
seminar paper for Urban and Regional Planning
— Resource Policy Issues: Regional and National,
University of Wisconsin-Madison, 64 pages (1977).
See also Chapter 16 (Tourism), pages 97-99, in
A County Called Sauk: A human history of Sauk
County, Wisconsin, by Kenneth I. Lange, Sauk
County Historical Society, 168 pages (1976).
We are indebted to George J. Knudsen and
especially Walter E. Scott for directing us to
sources we would otherwise have overlooked.
1 Laws of Wisconsin, Chapter 324 (1878) and
Chapter 367 (1897); Annual Reports of the Wis¬
consin Conservation Department, Biennial Reports
of the Wisconsin State Conservation Commission,
and James J. Damm, Development of Wisconsin's
Park and Forest Recreation System, 1867-1967,
M.S. thesis, University of Wisconsin-Madison
(1968), 81 pp.
2 Visitor’s Guide to Wisconsin's State Parks,
Forests and other Recreation Lands, Wisconsin
Department of Natural Resources, Pub. 4 —
8400(80). 50 state parks are listed, but Kohler-
Andrae is actually 2 parks, not 1, and Lake Men-
dota, Lake Pepin, and Thunder Mountain are not
listed.
3 Annual Reports of the Wisconsin Conservation
Commission, and the Wisconsin Blue Books; Bara¬
boo Republic, 20 July 1916; Wisconsin Conserva¬
tionist, 1:2 (1920); Baraboo Weekly News, 24
April 1924.
4 Increase A. Lapham, “Geological notes of a
tour to the Dells October 22 to Nov. 1st 1849,”
entry for 28 October, unpublished manuscript,
Lapham papers, State Historical Society of Wis¬
consin. The most comprehensive biographical
sketches of Lapham are by S. S. Sherman, “In¬
crease Allan Lapham, LL.D.,” Milwaukee News
Co., Printers, 80 pp. (1876) and N. H. Winchell,
“Increase Allen Lapham,” American Geologist,
13:1-38 (1894). See also P. R. Hoy, “Increase A.
Lapham, LL.D.,” Transactions of the Wisconsin
Academy of Sciences, Arts, and Letters, 3:264-267
(1876); Milo M. Quaife, “Increase Allen Lapham,
First Scholar of Wisconsin,” Wisconsin Magazine
of History, 1:3-15 (1917); Walter E. Scott, “An
Appreciation of Increase Allen Lapham,” Wiscon¬
sin Academy Review, 22:20-28 (1975).
° Mrs. Bella French (Editor), “History of Bara¬
boo and Devil’s Lake, Wis.,” The American Sketch
Book, 2:189 (1876).
6 “The Baraboo Country,” Milwaukee Sentinel,
11 May 1853; Baraboo Republic, 18 June 1857;
Lewis N. Wood, “Industry of Sauk County,”
Transactions of the Wisconsin State Agricultural
Society, 6:328 (1861).
7 Baraboo Republic, 14, 21 and 28 February
1866, and 19 September 1866 and 26 June 1867.
8 Republican and Leader (LaCrosse, Wisconsin),
27 July 1872; William H. Canfield, “Guide book
to the wild and romantic scenery in Sauk County,
Wisconsin,” in Outline Sketches of Sauk County
(1873).
9 Baraboo Republic, 19 September 1866; Bara¬
boo News-Republic, 10 February 1973; E. D.
Jackson, “Old Greenfield Days,” Baraboo Weekly
News , 12 July 1905, also, as “Town of Greenfield,”
in A Standard History of Sauk County, Wisconsin,
1:556 (1918).
10 Baraboo Republic, 12 August 1874; Tourist
Guide to the Northwest, Rand McNally Company
— Chicago, pages 30-31 (1877); Loomis T. Palmer,
The Standard Atlas and Gazetter of the World,
Standard Publishing Company — Chicago, page 375
(1890).
11 Baraboo Weekly News, 7 July 1921; C. W.
Butterfield (Editor), The History of Sauk County,
Wisconsin, Western Historical Company — Chicago,
page 700 (1880).
12 Sauk County Democrat (Baraboo, Wisconsin),
19 July 1884; Baraboo Republic, 11 August 1875.
13 Butterfield, loc. cit.; James B. Hale, “The
postal history of Devil’s Lake State Park,” Badger
Postal History, 14:1-2 (1974); Sauk County Demo¬
crat, 2 August 1894; Baraboo Republic, 9 May
1877 and 30 April 1879.
14 Sauk County Democrat, 19 July 1884.
15 Baraboo Republic, 3 May 1882; Sauk County
Democrat, 21 April and 9 June 1882; N. H. Wood,
in Outline Sketches of Sauk County, Third Sketch,
Devil’s Lake, page 22 (1870).
16 Butterfield, loc. cit.; William H. Canfield, Out¬
line Sketches of Sauk County, Wisconsin. Volume
Second — Baraboo. Ninth Sketch, page 47 (1891).
17 Baraboo Republic, 11 August 1869, 1 July
1874, 29 August 1900, 2 July 1879; Sauk County
Democrat, 23 August 1894.
18 Baraboo Republic, 15 and 29 August 1894,
and Sauk County Democrat, 30 August 1894.
Salisbury was a geology professor at Beloit Col¬
lege in the 1880’s, at the University of Wisconsin
1980]
Devil’s Lake State Park: An Historical Account
163
in 1891-1892, and at the University of Chicago
from 1892 until his death in 1922.
19 Baraboo Republic, 14 and 21 August 1895;
Sauk County Democrat, 3 August 1889 and 22
July 1897.
20 Baraboo Republic, 4 July 1900, 19 June 1901,
17 June 1903, and 5 October 1904; Kenneth D.
Martin to Lange, letter dated 15 November 1969
(Martin, who died in 1971, was a grandson of
William B. Pearl, the manager of the Cliff House
from 1878 until its closing in 1904).
21 Lange interview with Perry Loomis, February
1979.
22William B. Pearl, in a letter to William F.
Vilas, 20 August 1899, the Vilas papers, St. Hist.
Soc. Wis. The Cliff House was owned by the Vilas
estate and Pearl always communicated with Wil¬
liam F. Vilas; Vilas was a lawyer, lieutenant colo¬
nel in the Civil War, member of President Cleve¬
land’s cabinet, and U.S. Senator for Wisconsin
from 1891-1897.
23 Baraboo Republic, 8 August 1894; Sauk
County Democrat, 23 August 1894.
24 Sauk County Democrat, 21 June, 26 July, and
9 August 1906.
25 Baraboo Weekly News, 8 October 1908, and
Sauk County Democrat, 8 October 1908; Ralph
T. Tuttle, an unpublished history of Devil’s Lake
State Park.
“Martin to Lange, letter dated 18 September
1969; Sauk County Democrat, 16 June 1910;
Baraboo Republic, 10 June and 1 July 1903, 22
March 1905; Baraboo Weekly News, 8 March
1917; “Minutes of Meetings. Wisconsin State Park
Board,” 4 March 1914.
27 Canfield, op. cit., loc. cit., and Guy O. Glazier,
Baraboo Weekly News, 6 October 1938; Katherine
Martindale to Lange, letter dated 5 November
1968 (Miss Martindale stayed with her family at
Kirkland for 14 summers in the early 1900’s);
Baraboo Republic, 12 June 1895, and Sauk County
Democrat, 14 July 1892; Baraboo Republic, 20
May 1868; Butterfield, page 695 (1880), and Can-
field, “Guide book to the wild and romantic
scenery in Sauk County, Wisconsin,” in Outline
Sketches of Sauk County (1873); Baraboo Weekly
News, 1 May 1907; Sauk County Democrat, 4
August 1910.
“Lange interview with Ella Marquardt, April
1970 (Miss Marquardt worked at the south shore
resorts in the early 1900’s); notes written by Kath¬
arine Martindale on the back of a 1901 picture of
people on a horse-drawn wagon.
“Lange interview with Ella Marquardt in 1970
and Louis T. Martin in 1969 (Martin worked at
the Lake View in the summer of 1910); an un¬
dated Lake View folder; Sauk County Democrat,
13 July 1893.
30 Lange interview with Ella Marquardt, Feb¬
ruary 1973.
31 Baraboo Republic, 17 and 24 July 1895; Sauk
County Democrat, 22 August 1901.
32 Sauk County Democrat, 4 June 1891 and 21
April 1892; Baraboo Republic, 12 June 1895, and
Sauk County Democrat, 15 September 1892, 26
July 1894, 10 June and 9 September 1897, and
29 August 1901.
33 Lange interview with Rollo Martin, a son of
Edward Martin, in 1968; Baraboo Republic, 16
July 1891; Baraboo Weekly News, 5 August 1915
and 13 July 1922; “Northwestern News,” Milwau¬
kee Sentinel, 21 August 1874.
34 Baraboo Republic, 20 July 1877, 24 July 1889
and 30 July 1890; Baraboo Republic, 7 August
1867 and 9 September 1896; Baraboo Republic,
18 April and 27 June 1877, “Wisconsin Matters,”
Milwaukee Sentinel, 29 May 1877, and Portage
Democrat, 29 June 1877; Baraboo Republic, 10
July 1878.
35 Baraboo Republic, 14 August 1872. Thomas
Chrowder Chamberlin at this time was a professor
of natural sciences at the State Normal School in
Whitewater, Wisconsin.
36 Madison Democrat, cited in Baraboo Repub¬
lic, 25 April 1906; Sauk County Democrat, 12
May 1892 and 11 May 1893; Baraboo Republic,
15 and 29 August 1894; Proceedings of the State
Historical Society of Wisconsin, page 63, 1915
(1916); Baraboo Republic, 13 August 1908, and
“The Pilgrimage to Devil’s Lake,” Wisconsin
Archeologist, 7:152-153 (1908).
37 Arthur L. Howland, professor of geology at
Northwestern University to Lange, letters dated
14 April 1973 and 7 May 1974.
38 Ziemer was a member of a geology field party
from the University of Wisconsin that in 1893
visited Devil’s Lake, Rock Springs and Wisconsin
Dells ( Sauk County Democrat, 11 May 1893);
perhaps his resort plans originated with this trip.
As a student at the university, Ziemer was active
in politics, and as the president of the class he gave
an oration at graduation ( Baraboo Evening News,
23 October 1895).
39 Baraboo Republic, 1 August 1894 and (sou¬
venir supplement, page 38) 12 April 1899.
40 The first cottage, a double one, was dedicated
with a banquet and toasts in September 1894,
when Ziemer and two companions “furnished
amusement by rolling a large boulder over the
cliff, just to hear it drop” ( Baraboo Republic, 26
September 1894). Ziemer’s personal cottage, a ten
room structure, was completed in the summer of
164
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
1895; he called it “Beacon Pines” ( Baraboo Re¬
public, 12 June and 23 October 1895). One other
cottage (the Coleman cottage) was built ( Baraboo
Republic, 17 July 1895).
41 The view on a clear day would have been
magnificent, and the Baraboo Republic (12 June
1895) reported that the dome of the capitol in
Madison could be seen from the top of the tower.
For this tower, see also the Baraboo Republic, 22
May 1895, and the Sauk County Democrat, 6 June
1895. For the road, see the Baraboo Republic,
8 and 29 August 1894, and 12 June 1895, and for
the reservoir, see the Baraboo Republic, 29 August
1894.
42 “The New Mountain Summer Resort. Pali¬
sade Park. Devil’s Lake, Wis.,” a 4 page pamphlet
(1895); Baraboo Republic, 3 July 1895.
43 Baraboo Evening News, 23 October 1895, and
Baraboo Republic, 23 October 1895. A sister,
Myrtle, who lived with Ziemer in “Beacon Pines”
also contacted typhoid but she recovered; along
with an aunt and uncle, and a nurse, she traveled
in a special train car to Milwaukee, where the
Ziemers lived ( Baraboo Republic, 30 October
1895).
44 Baraboo Republic, 9 September 1903; Standard
Atlas of Sauk County Wisconsin, Alden Publishing
Company — Chicago, page 53 (1906); Standard
Atlas of Sauk County Wisconsin, George A. Ogle
and Company — Chicago, page 10 (1922).
45 Baraboo Republic, 5 September 1894.
46 Sauk County Democrat, 9 August 1894 and
3 August 1893; Baraboo Republic, 1 July 1903.
47 Sauk County Democrat, 19 February 1903;
W. H. McFetridge, Baraboo Republic, 25 July
1906; Baraboo Weekly News, 1 August 1906 and
14 July 1910.
48 The three members of the “state park com¬
mission” were Alfred C. Clas, E. M. Griffith (the
first state forester), and Frank Hutchins of Madi¬
son, formerly of Baraboo.
49 Sauk County Democrat, 19 February and 12
March 1903; Laws of Wisconsin, Chapter 232
(1903) and Chapter 169 (1905); Baraboo Weekly
News, 31 October 1906.
59 This conservation movement of the early
1900’s was characterized by two schools of thought.
One school, represented by Roosevelt, centered
around the conservation of material raw resources
for their orderly and rational development. The
other arm of the movement, led by such figures
as Muir, emphasized the preservation of landscape
and wildlife from all development and for the
health and enjoyment of the public. For details,
see Robert McHenry and Charles Van Doren,
editors, A Documentary History of Conservation
in America, New York, 306 pages (1972); Stewart
L. Udall, The Quiet Crisis, New York, 120 pages
(1963); and Linne Marsh Wolfe, Son of the Wilder¬
ness: The life of John Muir, Madison, Wis., 315
pages (1978).
51 Cited in An Appeal for the Preservation of the
Devil’s Lake Region, Lakeside Press — Chicago,
page 38 (1906); “That State Park Bill,” Madison
Democrat, 19 March 1907.
52 Madison Democrat, loc. cit., and 21 March
1907 (“Parks as Investments”) and 21 April 1906
(“Devil’s Lake Park”); “Letter from President
Charles R. Van Hise, University of Wisconsin,”
in State Parks for Wisconsin, Report of John
Nolen, page 53 (1909); Message of Governor
James O. Davidson on state parks (1909); Laws
of Wisconsin, Chapter 495 (1907).
53 Sauk County Democrat, 19 April 1906; W. H.
McFetridge, Baraboo Republic, 25 July 1906. The
McFetridge family owned the Island Woolen Mill
in Baraboo (A Standard History of Sauk County
Wisconsin, 1:87, 1918). W. H. McFetridge hoped
that all the land in the Baraboo Hills from Dur-
ward’s Glen on the east to around Leland on the
west eventually would become public property
( Baraboo Weekly News, 31 October 1906), and
also wanted to see the “entire Baraboo Valley as
one great park system” ( Baraboo Weekly News,
11 March 1908). He was concerned about people
dumping trash in the Baraboo River and pleaded
that it be treated with respect {Baraboo Weekly
News, 26 June 1907); in 1914 he set aside an area
on the woolen mill property as a dumping ground
in an effort to induce people to stop littering the
river and its banks — “Everything which will not
float or pollute will be allowed” {Baraboo Repub¬
lic, 23 April 1914).
54 E. A. Evans, Baraboo Republic, 31 October
1906. Evans later became federal judge on the
Seventh Circuit {A Standard History of Sauk
County Wisconsin, 2:1009, 1918).
55 An Appeal for the Preservation of the Devil’s
Lake Region, 38 pages (1906); Baraboo Republic,
26 September and 24 October 1906.
66e.g., W. H. McFetridge, “The proposed Devil’s
Lake State Park,” Wisconsin Arbor Day Annual,
pages 40-43 (1907); also W. H. McFetridge, Bara¬
boo Republic, 25 July 1906.
57 Baraboo Republic, 31 October 1906; Baraboo
Weekly News, 31 October 1906.
58 Baraboo Weekly News, 16 January 1907.
59 Baraboo Weekly News, 21 November 1906.
60 The Milwaukee Journal support is cited in
Reedsburg Free Press, 25 October 1906; “Pres¬
ervation of the Devil’s Lake Region,” Milwaukee
Sentinel, 2 December 1906.
1980]
Devil’s Lake State Park: An Historical Account
165
61 Bamboo Republic , 1 and 8 May 1907; Baraboo
Weekly News , 7 July 1910. One of the guides was
President Charles R. Van Hise of the University of
Wisconsin, who led a large party to the top of the
east bluff; there he “delivered a short lecture on
the surroundings. ... It was a treat that one rarely
hears, for Mr. Van Hise is probably the most
noted geologist of the age.” ( Baraboo Republic ,
8 May 1907). In just three years Van Hise would
be autographing copies of his new book, The
Conservation of Natural Resources in the United
States, a publication that has been called conser¬
vation’s most valuable book.
62 Baraboo Republic, 25 July and 3 1 October
1906.
63 Harriet M. Holcombe, in Wisconsin State
Federation of Women’s Clubs, Proceedings of the
Eleventh Annual Convention, pages 50-51 (1907);
Baraboo Republic, 3 July 1907; Baraboo Weekly
News , 3 July 1907; Sauk County Democrat, 4 July
1907; “Devil’s Lake Park Delayed,” Madison
Democrat, 30 June 1907.
64 Sauk County Democrat, 8 August 1907; Sauk
County Democrat, 12 March 1908 and Baraboo
Weekly News, 3 June 1908; Mrs. Thos. B. Davies,
in Wis. St. Fed. of Women’s Clubs, Proc. Eleventh
Ann Conv., pages 23 and 24 (1907); Mrs. Charles
E. Buell, “Wisconsin,” General Federation of
Women's Clubs, Ninth Biennial Convention, Of¬
ficial Report, page 234 (1908); Baraboo Weekly
News, 29 October 1908. The contributions of
women’s clubs to the conservation movement of
the early 1900’s have been little noted nor fully
appreciated. In Wisconsin, in addition to their
support of parks, the State Federation sponsored
forestry lectures at open meetings and lobbied
for protective legislation for birds. Their zeal is
evident in these remarks of Mrs. Charles E. Buell:
“In my prophetic vision I see the Wisconsin Fed¬
eration of Women’s Clubs, not only aiming to
raise themselves to higher planes of living, not
only protecting birds, trees, parks, and all the
national resources of this God-favored state,
helping to make ideal conditions for all our own
people, but striving to extend all these services to
some sister state.” (“President’s Address,” in Wis.
St. Fed. of Women’s Clubs, Proc. Twelfth Ann.
Conv., page 9, 1908).
65 John Nolen, State Parks for Wisconsin, 56
pages (1909); E. J. Vanderwall, “Historical Back¬
ground of the Wisconsin State Park System,” Wis¬
consin Conservation Department, page 1 (1953).
66 “Minutes of Meetings. Wisconsin State Park
Board,” 1909-1915; Sauk County Democrat , 21
May 1908, and 11 February 1909 and 9 February
1911.
67 Baraboo Weekly News, 4 March 1909; Bien¬
nial Report of the Wisconsin State Conservation
Commission for the years 1915 and 1916, page 87
(1916); Baraboo Weekly News, 15 December
1910, and Sauk County Democrat, 15 December
1910.
68 Baraboo Republic, 14 September 1898 and 9
September 1903; Sauk County Democrat, 14 July
1910 and 2 February 1911; Standard Atlas of Sauk
County Wisconsin, page 53 (1906).
09 The Claudes were intimately linked with the
early history of Devil’s Lake. Louis J. Claude
(1825-1893) was bora and raised near Lake
Windemere in the lake country of England, where
he was a boyhood friend of Matthew Arnold and
possibly knew or met Robert Southey and Wil¬
liam Wordsworth, who lived in the lake country
when Claude was growing up. Claude was edu¬
cated as a civil engineer and in his younger years
worked in India. When he first came to this coun¬
try, he settled in Kentucky where he “practiced
his profession,” but his anti-slavery convictions
caused him to leave the South in 1851 and settle
in Wisconsin in 1857 along the north shore of
Devil’s Lake, which reminded him of Lake Winde¬
mere. Claude wanted to be near water and a place
he could farm. The Claude residence was of Tudor
style and in designing it Claude apparently incor¬
porated some of the ideas of Andrew Jackson
Downing, America’s first important landscape
architect. This building was a landmark at Devil’s
Lake until 1953 when it was removed by the state.
Claude also designed the Cliff House, the “elegant”
resort at the northeastern corner of Devil’s Lake.
He married an American woman, Elvira Ward
(1834-1929); the two children were Louise (1865-
1951) and Louis Ward 1868-1951). Miss Claude,
who was educated by her father, loved nature and
wrote poetry, and the son became an architect in the
tradition of Frank Lloyd Wright. All four Claudes,
and the son’s wife, are buried in Baraboo’s Walnut
Hill Cemetery (Canfield, page 47, 1891; Baraboo
Republic, 11 August 1859 and 29 June 1893;
Ralph T. Tuttle, a family friend, personal com¬
munications to Lange).
70 Laws of Wisconsin, Chapter 511 (1911); Bara¬
boo Republic, 29 June 1911; Sauk County Demo¬
crat, 8 and 29 June 1911, and Baraboo Weekly
News, 15 June 1911; L. W. Claude, Baraboo
Republic, 19 October 1922.
11 Sauk County Democrat, 9 February 1911;
Baraboo Weekly News, 18 August 1910, and
Sauk County Democrat, 15 December 1910. Brit-
tingham came to Madison in 1855 and founded
a lumber yard. He quickly became prominent in
local affairs, e.g., member of the University of
166
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Wisconsin Board of Regents. He was notable for
contributions to park and hospital funds and in
his will left large sums to the city of Madison
and the University of Wisconsin.
72 Bar aboo Republic, 22 June 1911, and Baraboo
Weekly News, 22 June 1911.
73 “Minutes of Meetings. Wisconsin State Park
Board,” 13 July 1912; Baraboo Republic, 7 May
1914 and 30 May 1912.
74 Baraboo Weekly News, 6 November 1919, and
Baraboo Republic, 3 July 1919; Baraboo Weekly
News, 11 November 1920 and 2 March 1922.
THE FOLK SONGS OF CHARLES BANNEN:
THE INTERACTION OF MUSIC AND HISTORY
IN SOUTHWESTERN WISCONSIN
Philip V. Bohlman
School of Music
University of Illinois
The musical tradition of Charles Bannen,
an eighty year old dairy farmer living in
rural Crawford County, Wisconsin, is a com¬
posite of many of the threads that constitute
the larger fabric of the folk and traditional
music of Southwestern Wisconsin. Bannen is
by no means typical of the farmers who work
the unglaciated hills of Southwestern Wis¬
consin, for, in addition to farming, he is a
singer of folk songs and a spinner of tales
of his family and the area in which he lives.
Bannen learned the songs he heard as a
child from his family and friends, and he
continues to maintain this tradition of folk
music. He has been not merely a curator of
the family songs, but, throughout his life,
he has been a performer at dances, in
churches, at social gatherings in nearby
towns, and, in short, anywhere a group of
neighbors might gather. Bannen does not
have to be persuaded to sing; he knows that
he has something vital to communicate
through his songs.
Because he is aware of the importance of
his song tradition, Charles Bannen has put
much thought and care into the maintenance
of the tradition. He understands how various
songs have functioned in his past and in the
past of his family, and is quick to explain
the importance of music not only in his life,
but also in the lives of all people; further¬
more, he understands the value of tradition
and is willing to undertake the labor and
practice necessary to maintain tradition.
The family of Charles Bannen was also
musical. He learned songs not only from his
parents but also from aunts, uncles, and
cousins. Through these family members, the
Bannen song corpus reached out into other
areas of Southwestern Wisconsin. Many of
the Bannens were schoolteachers who col¬
lected songs in the small places where they
taught. For such reasons, songs of the eclec¬
tic Bannen tradition represent more than
Irish immigrant songs. The contents range
widely: Irish- American; British ballad; trans¬
lated German; temperance; railroad; dance;
school; Christmas and other holidays; Civil
War; sea shanties; Child ballads; children’s
songs; miners’ songs; gospel hymns; and
country-western. The Bannen song tradition
represents music from the many different
cultural and social groups found in South¬
western Wisconsin and is a musical repre¬
sentation of the complex cultural contacts
that occurred in this hilly, rural region. Much
as the social structure of the area has
changed, so has the Bannen music tradition
changed to reflect that cultural flux.
Southwestern Wisconsin has many unique
features which contribute to its unusual his¬
tory and folklore. The “driftless area” of
Southwestern Wisconsin is the only area of
the Midwest not to suffer the erosive forces
of the huge glaciers. The hilly topography is
cut into irregular sections by ancient valleys
creating both isolation and unity among the
residents. Travel is not as rapid as in other
areas of the state, for Southwestern Wiscon¬
sin has yet to be served by four-lane high¬
ways. Farms and towns are usually formed
within the irregular boundaries of winding
streams or steep bluffs. The sense of com¬
munity is intensified by towns strung along a
narrow ridge or tucked in a valley served by
few roads. It is such Crawford County geog-
167
168
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
raphy that Ben Logan describes in the fol¬
lowing passage:
Look in any direction and there were other
ridges, with dots of houses and barns, and
the blue shadows of other ridges still beyond
them, each a full world away from the next
narrow ridge. Down below, in the valley,
was yet another world. The valleys had dif¬
ferent trees and animals. Even the seasons
were different — watercress stayed green all
winter in the valley spring.1
But the hills of Southwestern Wisconsin
are not only forces of isolation. They are
also forces of community, for they act to link
people together, to cause people to share, to
bind people in a world occupied by friends
and neighbors. Again, Ben Logan described
this sense of community in a tale of a thresh-
erman of Crawford County:
Abe took a chew of tobacco and got it go¬
ing. ‘Why, he said a man used to hill coun¬
try could lose his mind out there [on the
Great Plains]. Said that country swallowed
you up without even a belch. Said there was
no surprises. Country shows itself to you all
at once. No privacy either. A neighbor living
twenty miles away can look out in the morn¬
ing, see if you’re up and got the fire going
yet.’
Abe raised his head. A long stream of
tobacco juice went sizzling into the brown
grass. ‘So he came back here, my grandfather
did. Said hill country had a feel of home
about it, didn’t keep leading a man off to¬
ward a horizon that was never there.’2
The early settlers of Southwestern Wis¬
consin represented an ethnic polyglot.
French-Canadians were dominant among the
earliest to enter the area. They settled in
and around Prairie du Chien, which was the
fur-trading center of the area because of its
location at the confluence of the Wisconsin
and Mississippi Rivers. Most of the miners
who poured into Southwestern Wisconsin
were from the British Isles; albeit, represen¬
tatives of the different parts of the British
Isles brought with them a variety of ethnic
traditions. Today, it is still possible to dis¬
cern which towns were settled by English,
Cornish, Welsh, Scottish, and Irish. German
settlers also entered Southwestern Wisconsin,
although not in the numbers as in southeast¬
ern and north-central Wisconsin. Norwe¬
gians, too, settled in the area in the later
nineteenth century, especially near Vernon
and LaCrosse Counties.
In short, Southwestern Wisconsin is not
dominated by any single ethnic group. This
ethnic variety produces cultural pluralism,
a process in which the larger socio-cultural
life of a group of people or geographic re¬
gion becomes a composite of the diverse
characteristics of the subcultural groups
which constitute the larger society.3 The his¬
tory and cultural change of Southwestern
Wisconsin provide a prime example of the
shaping of social structures by cultural plu¬
ralism. On one level, the relative isolation of
towns and the variety of ethnic groups en¬
courages the subsocietal maintenance of so¬
cio-cultural patterns. On a different level,
the unity provided by living in an area which
differs from other areas of the state, gives the
residents of Southwestern Wisconsin the
sense of combining the subsocietal patterns
of life into a larger social pattern represen¬
tative of Southwestern Wisconsin. The rec¬
ognition of such pluralism by members of a
particular society is not always overt and,
in many cases, is completely subconscious;
yet, within recent years, a growing conscious¬
ness of a Southwestern Wisconsin way of
life can be seen emerging in the socio-cul¬
tural patterns of the residents of this area.
Recent developments in the folklife of
Southwestern Wisconsin indicate that the
area is evolving a sense of cultural individu¬
ation4 similar to other semi-isolated societies
in the United States.5 In some of these sub¬
societies, the individuation derives from a
racial admixture characteristic of only a
small group of people and thus acts as a
1980]
The Folk Songs of Charles Bannen
169
means of separating that group from the
larger society which surrounds it. In other
cases, the differences are primarily ethnic.6
In still other cases, the unique patterns of
life are ascribed for reasons which are un¬
consciously manufactured, often with no
basis in reality. Such is the case of the Me-
lungeons of Hancock County, Tennessee.
For years, this group of people was believed
to be a racially distinct group with ancestors
who were Portuguese, Native American,
Black, Scotch-Irish, and various other ad¬
mixtures. The racial uniqueness was mani¬
fested in the lifestyle maintained by the
Melungeons. Not until the recent work of
Saundra Keyes Ivey7 did it become apparent
that the Melungeons were no different than
other groups which lived in semi-isolated
areas of the Appalachian region of the
United States. The concept of being and liv¬
ing like a Melungeon was probably imposed
by outside observers and later adopted by
the Melungeons themselves.
Certain similarities, although at an incipi¬
ent stage of development, can be observed
in Southwestern Wisconsin. During the early
1970’s, the term, “Ocooch Mountains,” be¬
gan to be used to describe Southwestern Wis¬
consin. Exactly what “Ocooch” means is de¬
batable; most residents believe it a term “the
Indians” used to describe the area.8 In 1975,
a quarterly periodical entitled the Ocooch
Mountain News began publication and
established a currency for the term, “Ocooch
Mountains.” The Ocooch Mountain News,
which is now published monthly, soon be¬
came a purveyor of folklore and helped to
establish pride in the special features of
Southwestern Wisconsin. It is not unusual to
find articles which begin like this: “Does it
give you a feeling of special importance to
know that you live in a place unlike any
other in the world? If you are a resident of
Southwest Wisconsin this is true.”9 More¬
over, some residents of Southwestern Wis¬
consin have begun referring to themselves
and their neighbors as “Ocooch people.”
The process of cultural individuation has
been progressing rapidly.
It is not my intention to assert that the
cultural individuation of Southwestern Wis¬
consin will develop like that of such groups
as the Melungeons in Tennessee; such ex¬
tremes are probably no longer possible with
mass communication as it is today. Further¬
more, the cultivation of the term “Ocooch
Mountains” with its concomitant folkloric
implications lies largely in the hands of new¬
comers who have settled in Southwestern
Wisconsin for a variety of reasons, but vir¬
tually all in pursuit of a more fulfilling life
which they imagine exists in a rural area like
Southwestern Wisconsin. These newcomers
to the area, therefore, come to their new
way of life with the expectation of finding
something very special. Greeting them is the
aforementioned pluralism which is, indeed,
a special product of the particular diversity
of Southwestern Wisconsin. The term,
“Ocooch Mountains,” evolved as a term of
pride on several levels. Outsiders and new¬
comers used the term in an exoteric fashion;
that is to say, the term was used to describe
a geographic location which possessed a spe¬
cial pattern of social functions. The long¬
term residents of the area began to accept
the term in an esoteric fashion; for them, the
singularity was a matter of unconscious ac¬
ceptance of the quality of life in Southwest¬
ern Wisconsin.
Charles Bannen was born and lives in
rural Southwestern Wisconsin. In a sense,
he is an “Ocooch person” extraordinaire.
Bannen was born in 1900 on a farm in sec¬
tion fifteen of Scott Township, Crawford
County, just east of Mt. Zion. At the age of
sixteen, he moved to a farm on section sev¬
enteen of Scott Township, just west of Mt.
Zion, where he farms today (Fig. 1).
First settlement of the area around Mt.
Zion began in the decade following that of
the Black Hawk War. The oldest permanent
170
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Fig. 1. Crawford County, Wisconsin.
settler of the area was John R. Hurlbut,
whose relatives remained in the Mt. Zion
area for many years. Another early settler
of Mt. Zion, Charles F. Coalburn, describes
the early settlement of this area :
Late in the summer of 1846, J. R. Hurlbut,
William and Elmer Russell, Anthony Laugh-
lin and myself, all residents of Grant County
visited within the present limits of the town
of Scott. . . . We followed the road by the
left wing of the troops in their pursuit of
Black Hawk and his people; this road led
from the ferry [across the Wisconsin River]
. . . , up Knapp’s creek, to a spring branch
coming in from the northwest, following the
branch up and out onto the ridge, to about
the center of section 14, and thence west
through sections 15, 16, 17 and 18, and to
the Kickapoo.10 This road was used by the
earlier settlers of Scott and adjoining towns
in moving in, and is now the main thorough¬
fare, crossing the town east and west. . . .
When we reached the high lands, two or
three days after, our dogs struck a bear trail
and followed until a little ‘too fresh,’ for
they overtook the animal, and one of them
being part bull, had more courage than dis¬
cretion, and consequently, was badly used
up. We found a small cabin near the top of
the ridge, which had been occupied, we
afterwards learned, by William and Randolph
Elliott while hunting, and perhaps by others;
here we spent the night. The next day we
looked over the land, noting the quality of
soil and timber, etc. and then left, favorably
impressed with what we saw. Three years
later Hurlbut became the first permanent
settler of the town. I came back with my
family in 1855. 11
Charles Bannen knows well the history of
his area and speaks knowledgeably of the
early settlers, some of whom he knew per¬
sonally. Mt. Zion itself was established in
1881. Even today, the town is small, con¬
sisting of a few modest buildings near a
crossroads. Mt. Zion is served by the Bosco-
bel School District and the Gays Mills Post
Office. Mt. Zion guards the descent from the
ridge country of Crawford County into Mari¬
etta Valley and the Wisconsin River Valley;
today, there is little significance to such a
location.
Like the larger population of Southwest¬
ern Wisconsin, the immediate environs of
Mt. Zion are inhabited by various ethnic
groups. Along Mt. Zion Ridge, on which
Charles Bannen lives, most of the farms are
worked by Irish-Americans and Anglo-
Americans; in Crow Hollow, the farms are
worked by German-Americans. However,
Irish-Americans are found in relatively
greater numbers in Scott Township than in
most areas of Southwestern Wisconsin. As
early as 1860, twenty-one percent of the
families in the township were Irish-born, a
figure exceeded only by the twenty-four per¬
cent in Seneca Township.12 The history of
Scott Township seems to be marked by a
balance maintained at times by the Anglo-
American Methodists and the Irish-Ameri-
can Catholics, of which group Charles Ban¬
nen is a member.
Irish-American Catholicism is central to
1980]
The Folk Songs of Charles Bannen
171
the musical tradition of Charles Bannen. He
represents the third generation of his family
to live in the United States. He is well aware
of his roots in Ireland and speaks with great
pride of his Irish heritage; in October 1977,
Bannen and his wife visited Ireland with the
hope of gaining a better sense of that heri¬
tage. Parts of his family history have passed
to Bannen both by means of oral tradition
and through the efforts he has made to re¬
construct that family history.
Many Irish immigrant families in the nine¬
teenth century remained for a time in the
large cities of the East upon their arrival to
the United States.13 Both the Bannens and
the O’Kanes, Charles Bannen’s paternal and
maternal ancestors, demonstrated unusual
immigration patterns because they moved
Table 1. The Active Core of
A-Bummin’ the Railway Train
After the Ball
The Baggage Coach Ahead
Barbara Allen
Barney McCoy
Because We Were Poor
Beyond the Sunset
Blue Tail Fly
Bonny Doon
Boston Burglar
Boston Theater
Danny Boy
Dear, Little Shamrock
Down in Front of the Saloon
Galway Bay
The Green Hills of Atram
Jingle Bells
Just as the Sun Went Down
Kickin’ Mule
Kitty Rells
Leaving Dear Old Ireland
The Letter Edged in Black
Listen to the Mockingbird
Little German House Across the Sea
Little Homes of Ireland
Little Old Sod Shanty in the West
Little Peter
McCarthy’s Mare
Miss Fogarty’s Christmas Cake
Naming the Boy
Odd Fellows’ Hall (Cleaning Out Odd Fellows’
Hall)
westward immediately and settled in the area
of Southwestern Wisconsin which is still
farmed by their descendants.14 It is, perhaps,
because his ancestors did not remain in the
East and therefore were not subjected to
major anti-Irish prejudice that the Irish-
American songs in Bannen’s repertoire are
almost devoid of references to anti-Irish
sentiments in the New World.15
Despite its strength, the Irish-American
aspect of Charles Bannen’s musical tradition
is but one aspect of that tradition. Bannen
has always been an inveterate song-monger;
his repertoire has continually absorbed new
styles and genres. An examination of the
songs that make up the active core of Ban¬
nen’s repertoire (Table 1) evidences the
diversity of musical sources from which
An Old-Fashioned Photograph
Old Hamburger (fiddle tune in scatted version)
O’Shaugassy on the Railroad
Out in the Gloomy Night, Sadly I Roam
Over the Waves (scatted version)
Pat Malone
Put Me in My Little Bed
Rose of Tralee
Redwing
Sailor’s Grave
School Days
Schottische (fiddle tune in scatted version)
Seamus O’Brien
Sherman’s March to the Sea
Ship That Never Returned
Soft Were the Mountains
Some Twenty Years Ago
Sparkin’ Peggy Jane
Streets of Laredo
Sweet Bunch of Daisies
Sweet, Sunny South
Tell ’Em That You’re Irish
The Three Leaves of Shamrock
Two Step (fiddle tune in scatted version)
Way Down in Maine
When It’s Springtime in the Rockies
When You Have Fifty Cents
Who Threw the Overalls in Mrs. Murphy’s Yard?
The Wreck of the Old 97
Young Charlotte
Charles Bannen’s Song Repertoire.
172
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Bannen has drawn his songs. In part, this
diversity is due to the dispersion of his
family throughout culturally diverse South¬
western Wisconsin. Furthermore, the diver¬
sity has resulted from contact with the ple¬
thora of music styles that the mass media
offers to the American public. However,
most important as a catalyst for the diversity
of Bannen’s musical tradition has been his
development of a performance style which
facilitates incorporation of different musical
styles as well as different musical vocabu¬
laries into his music.
Charles Bannen’s musical training was
mostly rote-learning from his father and
other relatives. His inability to read notes at
times frustrates him. Nevertheless, Bannen
has an insatiable desire to understand and
learn music. This desire has resulted in a
carefully designed music theory stamped
with the musical personality of Charles
Bannen. The reed organ that Bannen plays
is an indispensable part of his performance
style. Despite the few lessons he had with a
local teacher, Bannen learned most of his
organ technique from his father. The tech¬
nique was acquired as he repeated the chord
patterns used by his father until he learned
which chords “sounded good” with certain
songs. The harmonic patterns learned by
Bannen could be used to accompany most
hymns; nevertheless, the patterns are used
by Bannen so that the songs assume new
versions.
Some of the songs entered the Bannen
family repertoire from printed sources whose
origins were not in Southwestern Wisconsin.
The most important of these sources was
the Renfro Valley Bugle, a small newspaper
containing song texts, printed monthly in
Renfro Valley, Kentucky. Renfro Valley is
a well-known center of the country music
business which, in addition to supporting
the Renfro Valley Bugle, has, for a number
of years, sponsored road shows and radio
broadcasts.16 The Renfro Valley Bugle pub¬
lishes material ranging from gospel to coun¬
try and western; however, some issues, for
example those published near St. Patrick’s
Day, are occasionally devoted to Irish-
American texts, perhaps in deference to the
sizable Xrish-American population in the
southern mountains. A second major written
source has been the New York publishing
firm of H. J. Wehman. The Wehman firm,
which no longer exists, was known as a pub¬
lisher of Irish-American broadsides, or single
sheets of printed song texts. Several of the
songs in Bannen’s repertoire initially ap¬
peared in print in broadsides published by
Wehman; for example, one of Bannen’s fa¬
vorite Irish-American songs, “Because We
Were Poor,” appeared as a broadside with
the titles, “The Irish Immigrant” or “I Left
Ould Ireland Because They Were Poor,” and
in a different version in Wehman’ s Irish Song
Book.17
Songs and tunes entered the repertoire of
Charles Bannen from the many dances he
attended and at which he often played. Not
only did these dances provide an exposure
to American fiddle tunes, but they also
brought Bannen into contact with ethnic
groups other than his own. Very often the
fiddlers at the dances were German-Ameri-
cans, for they were generally known as the
best fiddlers in the area. Several of the tunes
in Bannen’s repertoire are versions of Ger¬
man fiddle tunes which he sings with scat
syllables. At such ethnically mixed dances
Bannen danced with and courted his wife,
Emma, a Bohemian-American from a con¬
tiguous area of Southwestern Wisconsin.
Popular music and country music were
also absorbed into Bannen’s repertoire.
Some country and western songs were taken
from the Renfro Valley Bugle. The currency
of both popular and country songs was un¬
questionably increased through the influence
of radio and television as well as by Ban¬
nen’s frequent performances in diverse set¬
tings.
1980]
The Folk Songs of Charles Bannen
173
Charles Bannen is more than a simple
bearer of tradition; he is a performer who
can step out of a single tradition and reshape
musical materials so that they will speak
more specifically for him and the changing
contexts of his performance. When learning
new songs, he not only memorizes the words
but writes them down, copies them, edits
them when he feels it is necessary, and
chooses which ones to perform under given
conditions. He asserts his personality not
only by recreating former versions (one cri¬
terion for the role of tradition in a folk
setting), but by creating new versions and
combinations of music. Bannen’s role as a
performer is essential to his ability to em¬
brace the various traditions present in South¬
western Wisconsin and to represent this
pluralistic culture in his musical repertoire.18
Whatever their sources, Charles Bannen
invariably accompanies his songs with an
organ style which is derived from a rural
hymn tradition. Although he is Catholic,
Bannen is called upon to sing at the churches
of other denominations in Southwestern Wis¬
consin, usually for funerals or social gather¬
ings. Chord patterns seldom waver from a
simple tonic— subdominant-— dominant- —
tonic pattern; chords in such a pattern are
built on the notes of the common, seven
note scale as follows: first, fourth,, fifth, and
back to first. Occasionally a supertonic or
dominant of the dominant will precede the
dominant in a cadential pattern; the super¬
tonic and dominant of the dominant are
respectively minor and major chords built
on the second degree of the seven note scale.
These harmonic patterns are among the most
basic found in the music of Europe and the
United States. However, the patterns often
do not account for the simplicity and/or
complexity of some of the songs performed
by Bannen.
Often, Bannen sings songs from which
only pentatonic (five note) or hexatonic
(six note) scales may be abstracted; yet his
accompanying patterns imply a heptatonic
(seven note), diatonic (using whole steps
and half steps) scale structure. The conflict
between modal, non-heptatonic scales and
the heptatonic scale which is often necessary
when instruments accompany a folk tune is
common in the history of folk and country
music in the United States.19 In some in¬
stances, the conflict has been resolved by
simply expanding the five note scale to in¬
clude seven notes. This technique of scale
modification was especially common during
the 1920’s and 1930’s when rural singers,
like the Carter Family, recorded old ballads
for the commercial record industry.20 In
other instances, the conflict of five note
scale versus seven note harmonic system was
not resolved or only incompletely resolved.
Such an incomplete mixture of musical styles
was probably common in rural areas of the
United States during the nineteenth century.
To understand oral music traditions in the
nineteenth century, we are forced to rely on
scattered accounts, which tend to support a
hypothesis that the syncretism of musical
styles often existed in the type of incomplete
state of resolution described above.21 Writ¬
ing in 1934, Charles Ives speaks of the ex¬
periences his father, an observant band
leader, had while his band was camped in
the South:
When Father was in the Civil War, a negro
boy, whose mother did the washing for the
band, would stay around the tent while the
band was practising, and Father said that the
boy would stand by him whistling and hum¬
ming the airs and tunes the band would play.
And [Father] found quite often that he
would change the melody by leaving out
the 7th of the scale and sometimes the 4th —
for instance, if the tune ended lah-te-doh
upward, he would sing either lah-lah-doh
or lah-doh-doh. . . . The negroes took many
of the phrases, cadences (especially plagal
— they liked the fah chord), and general
make-up, and the verse and refrain form,
and the uneven way many of these hymns
174
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
were sung rhythmically, especially the chor¬
uses. . . . The Gospels used the 4th and 7th
sometimes, but the negroes were still too
near Africa and the oriental five-note scale
to get these.22
The conflict of scale structure was char¬
acteristic not only of the oral traditions of
black and white singers and musicians in the
nineteenth century. It also lay at the root of
the rural hymnody traditions which were
found among the fundamentalist sects of the
southern mountains. In describing the tradi¬
tions of the southern “fasola” folk, or
shaped-note hymn-singers, Jackson describes
processes similar to those observed by Char¬
les Ives’ father during the Civil War:
Another important modal-melodic peculi¬
arity of the old songs, one whose existence
seems nevertheless to have been completely
ignored by the fasola folk themselves, was
the use of gapped scales, that is, melodic
progressions which avoided or skipped regu¬
larly certain notes in the diatonic scale with
which we are familiar, the one which is con¬
veniently represented by the white keys on
the piano. The simplest note avoidance in
the major modes was that of the fourth, or
E flat in the scale of B flat major. In skip¬
ping this note the fasola singers produced
what are called six-tone or hexatonic melo¬
dies. Another skip was that of the seventh,
or A natural in the scale of B flat major.
When both four and seven are avoided we
have a five-note or pentatonic scale.23
The points of melodic conflict which the
excerpts from Ives and Jackson described
are most often the fourth and seventh de¬
grees of the scale. These are the same points
of conflict which can be found in the songs
of Charles Bannen. For example, when Ban-
nen sings a song which lacks a fourth scale
degree, he still uses harmonic patterns which
utilize chords built on a fourth degree. The
process which is involved is exactly the same
as that used in the camp meetings of the
South in the nineteenth century and later
taken into hymn traditions which would
reach the Midwest in the last part of the
nineteenth century. The well-known com¬
poser of hymns, Ira D. Sankey, also had
problems dealing with the fourth in his four-
part harmonizations of hymns.24 Like the
folk singer, Sankey often treated his melody
as though it were autonomous from the ver¬
tical harmony of a hymn; Charles Bannen
certainly conceives of music in this fashion.
Such a distinction between melody and har¬
mony provides a sharp contrast with the
nineteenth-century art and popular music
of urban centers in which melodic and har¬
monic functions are intertwined. Thus, it is
my assertion that Charles Bannen’s unfamil¬
iar use of the fourth degree as well as other
degrees of the scale, like similar use by Ira
Sankey and some other hymn composers, is
not the result of an incorrect interpretation
of nineteenth-century music theory; on the
contrary, it demonstrates a melodic and har¬
monic independence which was not present
in the art music of the nineteenth century.
Charles Bannen and his family have
copied the texts of many of their songs into
a volume they called the Old Bannen Song
Book . The Old Bannen Song Book exists in
two parts. The first part contains primarily
“old songs” and Irish-American songs; the
second part contains the “new songs.” There
is no doubt that Charles Bannen prefers the
“old songs,” for he sings almost entirely
from the first part. The Old Bannen Song
Book contains one “hundred sixty-some
odd” songs of which I have now recorded
sixty-two over the past three years.25
Elements of both stability and flexibility
interact in the songs of Charles Bannen. By
a close look at different performances of one
of his favorite songs, “Pat Malone,” it is
possible to understand which elements are
stable and which elements are flexible in
Bannen’s tradition. “Pat Malone” is a song
Bannen sings wherever he performs. He is
known for his performances of “Pat Malone”
and the song has become a local favorite be¬
cause of these performances.26 Whenever he
1980]
The Folk Songs of Charles Bannen
175
sings “Pat Malone,” he recounts the tale of
that Irishman before singing the song:
See this Irishman, Pat Malone, had a life
insurance and they was hard up, pinched for
dollars. And his wife tried to tell her hus¬
band that if he lay down and pretended to
be dead awhile ’cause she could get the in¬
surance check. Now, this is far-fetched, see.
Insurance check, why that’d relieve their de¬
pressed condition. So, finally, old Pat got
right down and laid aside his work. He lay
down pretendin’ dead and in come the Irish
for a wake. Naturally, neighborhood friends
and all. And some of those devils brought
in some liquor, whiskey and stuff. They was
all passin’ the bottle around and finally old
Pat was layin’ there and he could smell that
whiskey and he wanted some. When he got
some liquor in him, he wouldn’t keep still
and he’d just talk, talk, talk all the time. He
was supposed to be dead but he wasn’t mind¬
ing’; he wouldn’t keep quiet!
The tale of Pat Malone is inextricably
bound to the song itself. Commentary is
added between the verses as well as before
and after the song.
The two performances of “Pat Malone”
which will be examined here were recorded
in September and October of 1977; the Sep¬
tember performance was not accompanied
by the organ, whereas the October perfor¬
mance employed accompaniment (see Figs.
2 and 3). Variants between the two perfor¬
mances of “Pat Malone” are of two sorts.
The first is the result of the differences
caused by the accompaniment or lack there¬
of. The second is a result of the melodic
restructuring and flexibility which is wide¬
spread in Bannen’s melodic vocabulary.
Of the two performances, the unaccom¬
panied version more clearly demonstrates a
seven note scale. The melody of the accom¬
panied version has essentially six tones,
lacking the seventh note, or leading tone, of
the scale throughout much of the song.
When the leading tone does occur, Bannen
demonstrates instability by singing it out-of¬
tune. Unlike many of his accompanied songs,
the accompaniment of “Pat Malone” does
not serve to tie Bannen to a hymn-oriented
melodic structure, but instead frees him from
the necessity of using a seven note scale
throughout the song.
Metric differences between the choruses
of the two versions are easily seen; whereas
the meter of the unaccompanied version
shifts from four beats per measure to two or
three beats per measure at the ends of in¬
ternal phrases, the meter of the accompanied
version remains in four throughout. The
reason for this is obvious: the organ accom¬
paniment serves to maintain constant meter.
Rhythmically and melodically, differences
tween the versions seem restricted to a sin¬
gle beat and seldom demonstrate consistency
with regard to the setting of individual words
or larger phrases to music. The overall shape
of phrases and the initial and final notes of
each phrase are in most cases the same.
Whereas melodic motion may differ slightly
within a phrase, phrases are generally arched
or falling in overall shape. The comparison
of two performances of “Pat Malone”
clearly demonstrates the freedom and flexi¬
bility in the performance style of Charles
Bannen. Yet, despite the freedom found in
the use of smaller units, the larger frame¬
work of “Pat Malone” makes it clear that
both performances represent the same song.
It is not unusual for Bannen to combine
tunes from several songs or several versions
of the same song in one performance. Ban¬
nen’s version of the well-known cowboy
song, “Streets of Laredo,” demonstrates this
curious problem of tune identification: the
first verse appears to be taken from a differ¬
ent song than the three subsequent verses.
The first verse differs from the other verses
both in melodic shape and rhythmic com¬
plexity. The lines of the first verse encom¬
pass a melodic shape which falls from the
initial note of the line, whereas the lines of
the other verses rise from the initial note.
Furthermore, the harmonic implications of
176 Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters [Vol. 68
PAT MALONE
til he smelled the whiskey at the wake.
Chpru!
Then, Pat Ma-lone for-got that he was dead. He raised
up and shouted from the bed, "If this wake goes on a
mi-nute, the corpse he must be in it. You’ll have to get me
e
drunk to keep me
dead .
Notational conventions: Bruno Nettl, Theory and Method in Ethnomueicology,
(New York: Free Press, 1964), p. 107.
Fig. 2. “Pat Malone”: Music and text version of Charles Bannen, September 1977,
transcribed by Philip V. Bohlman.
1980]
The Folk Songs of Charles Bannen
111
the first verse of Barmen’s “Streets of La¬
redo” are different from those of the last
three verses. “Streets of Laredo,” also called
“The Cowboy’s Lament” or “Tom Sherman’s
Barroom,” is one of the most widely circu¬
lated songs in North America; thus, it is
probable that Bannen has another version
of the song, or perhaps a completely differ¬
ent song, in mind when he begins “Streets of
Laredo.” The ease with which the two ver¬
sions are combined within a single perfor¬
mance demonstrates Bannen’s ability to com¬
bine music from different sources into a
newly created version.
Verse 1
Times were hard in Irish town and ev’rything was cornin’ down,
and Pat Malone was pushed for ready cash.
When his wife spoke up and said, “Now, dear Pat, if you were dead,
that twenty thousand dollars we would take.”
So, Malone lay down and tried to make out that he had died,
until he smelled the whiskey at the wake.
Chorus
Then, Pat Malone forgot that he was dead.
He raised up and shouted from the bed,
“If this wake goes on a minute, the corpse he must be in it.
You’ll have to get me drunk to keep me dead.”
Verse 2
So, they gave the corpse a sop, afterwards they filled him up
and laid him out again upon the bed.
And before the mornin’ grey, ev’rybody felt so gay,
they forgot the corpse had played off dead.
So, they took him from the bunk, still alive but awful drunk,
and placed him in the coffin with a prayer.
Says the driver of the cart, “But it I’ll never start,
until they see that someone pays the fare.”
Chorus
Then, Pat Malone forgot that he was dead.
He raised in the coffin and he said,
“If you dare to doubt me credit, you’ll be sorry that you said it.
Drive on boys or the corpse will punch your head.”
Verse 3
So, the fun’ral started out on a cemetery route,
and the neighbors tried the widow to console,
till they stood beside the base of the lone, last resting place
and quickly lowered Patrick in the hole.
Now, Malone began to see, just as plain as one, two, three,
that he forgot to reckon on the end.
And as the clods began to drop, he kicked off the coffin top,
and to this earth he quickly did ascend.
Chorus
Now, Pat Malone forgot that he was dead,
and from the cemetery quickly fled.
He came nearly going under. It’s a lucky thing by thunder,
that Pat Malone forgot that he was dead.
178
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Final
Chorus
Chord
Changes
® Now, Pat Ma- lone forgot that he was dead, and from the
G Major: (I) IV IV I I IV V
September 1977
Stem
dt
% =1 \ \ \ n a r 1
L/5- 'O'
a
5
2=7
q i — 5
^ ce-^?^6- te- ry quickly fled. He came near-ly go-ing under. It's a
is
i -j-n
f — *
ce- me- te- ry quickly
V
fled. He came near-ly go-ing under. It’i
II I I
September 1977
jin- j 1 n
r - r
$ lucky thing by thun-der that Pat Ma-lone for-got that he was dead,
October 1977 ^3
a n ■ n r\ 1 j P u r jfini j. ^
8 lucky thing by thunder that Pat Ma-lone forgot that he was dead,
IV IV V V I
Fig. 3. Comparison of two versions of “Pat Malone.”
A particularly striking case of melodic
and harmonic conflict can be found in Ban¬
ners version of “Barbara Allen,” Child
#84. “Barbara Allen” is the only song in¬
cluded by Francis James Child in The En¬
glish and Scottish Popular Ballads 28 which
is actively sung by Bannen. Such a situation
is not unusual, for the Child ballads are not
widespread among most Irish groups. How¬
ever, because Bannen has chosen to include
“Barbara Allen” in his repertoire, it pro¬
vides one of the clearest examples of the
mixture of traditions represented by his
music.
The story of “Barbara Allen” is simple
and representative of a type of love story
which is found in many Child ballads. Sweet
William comes to court Barbara Allen, but
is shunned. With his love unrequited, Wil¬
liam wastes away and is about to die when
Barbara Allen decides to return his love.
She is too late and when William dies, Bar¬
bara Allen soon dies of a broken heart. The
ballad ends with the rose from William’s
grave entwining with the briar from Barbara
Allen’s.
The version of “Barbara Allen” sung by
Charles Bannen is the most common found
1980]
The Folk Songs of Charles Bannen
179
BARBARA ALLEN
Verse 1
a, j M M J- J'l -T3 / iHirr ^l^ff
Child Ballad #84
f=X — ) —
Chord § 1 Twas in the ear- ly month of May that ev ' ry thing was bloomin'.
Changes G.Malpr : I IV V I
3
Sweet William came from a western state and Bar - bry Allen.
II IV ycourted jy
6 'Twas in the ear- ly month of June when spring they were fallen.
K , . IV I IV Suds j
Sweet William marched against his for the love of Bar-bry Allen.
I IV fate V
Fig. 4. “Barbara Allen”: Music and text, Child Ballad #84, version of Charles Bannen,
October 8, 1977, transcribed by Philip V. Bohlman.
Verse 1
’Twas in the early month of May
that everything was bloomin’.
Sweet William came from a western state
and courted Barbry Allen.
Verse 2
Twas in the early month of June,
when spring buds they were fallen.
Sweet William marched against his fate
for the love of Barbry Allen.
Verse 3
He sent his men unto the town
where Barbry was a-dwellin’.
“See my master dear he has sent for you,
yer name be Barbry Allen.”
Verse 4
Then slowly, slowly she got up
and slowly she came nigh him,
and all she said when she got there,
“Young man, I think you’re dyin’
Verse 5
Don’t you remember in yonder town,
when we were at the tavern?
You gave a hand to the ladies all around
and slighted Barbry Allen.”
Verse 6
“Yes, I remember in yonders town,
in yonders town a-drinkin’.
I gave a hand to the ladies all around
but my heart to Barbry Allen.”
Verse 7
When she was on the highway home,
she spied his corpse a-comin’.
“Oh, lay down, lay down that corpse of clay
that I may look upon him.”
Verse 8
The more she looked, the more she mourned,
till she fell to the ground a-cryin’.
“Oh, pick me up and carry me home,
I am now a-dyin’.”
Verse 9
They buried her in the old churchyard
and William close a-nigh her.
’Pon William’s grave there grew a red rose
and on Barbry’s grew a briar.
Verse 10
They grew to the top of the old church wall,
till they couldn’t grow any higher.
They leapt and they twined in a true lovers’ knot,
and the rose around the briar.
180
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
in the United States.29 In this version the text
is primarily iambic (although the prosody
does not make this clear) and is divided into
quatrains which usually have an ABCD
musical representation. The pentatonic scale
used by Bannen is modally major, can be
produced by playing the black notes of a
piano, and, lacking the fourth and seventh
degrees of the scale, is one of the most com¬
mon five note scales found in British-Ameri-
can folk song.30
Of the ten verses sung by Bannen in Oc¬
tober 1977 (Fig. 4), he accompanies him¬
self on the reed organ for only four verses.
Seemingly, Bannen’s performance was en¬
cumbered by the organ accompaniment. The
encumbrance results from the difficulty of
fitting chords derived from a diatonic har¬
monic system against a pentatonic scale.
Bannen’s most obvious difficulty is his at¬
tempt to harmonize the melody with chords
built on the fourth scale degree even though
that degree is not found in the melody. At
some places, for example in the initial mea¬
sures of verses two and four, he attempts to
harmonize the third degree of the scale (B)
with a chord built on the fourth degree (C).
The result is a harmony which sounds glar¬
ingly “wrong” and the singing of the third
degree out-of-tune or off-pitch. Furthermore,
Bannen unconsciously adjusts the scale of
“Barbara Allen” to make more diatonic
sense with the accompaniment by the occa¬
sional introduction of a seventh degree into
the melody; this note, also, is sung out-of¬
tune.
In very simple terms, Charles Bannen has
created a melody which contains “blues
notes.” Blues notes are scale degrees, espe¬
cially the third and seventh degrees of the
scale, which sound out-of-tune. They were
common in the music of rural, southern
blacks and are part of a style of singing
which evolved into jazz during the first part
of the twentieth century. Yet, it becomes
clear upon examining the musical style of
Charles Bannen that he, too, uses blues notes
in singing. In his case, the returning of cer¬
tain vocal pitches is a direct result of a mel¬
ody which conflicts with accompaniment;
when the accompaniment is dropped for the
last six verses of “Barbara Allen,” the blues
notes disappear as does the presence of a
seventh degree.
The performance of “Barbara Allen”
points toward the incompatibility of certain
elements in Charles Bannen’s musical style.
It demonstrates the instability with which a
five note melody is realized by hymn-type
harmonic functions. More importantly, it
also demonstrates the means by which differ¬
ent styles converge in the music of Charles
Bannen. Just as the Ocooch Mountains of
Southwestern Wisconsin have acquired a
particular cultural pluralism derived from a
diverse populace, so too has the music of
Charles Bannen come to represent diverse
music traditions. “Barbara Allen” becomes
a way of further examining the manner in
which Irish immigrant, rural hymnody, and
Anglo-American balladry traditions are
brought together by a single performer.
Some elements are shared and others are
eschewed; nevertheless, the musical tradition
of Charles Bannen acquires new directions
and new strength.
CHARLES BANNEN SPEAKS:
A PERSONAL INTERPRETATION OF
MUSIC AND TRADITION IN
SOUTHWESTERN WISCONSIN
Introduction
When Charles Bannen talks about his
music and life in Southwestern Wisconsin,
he does so with a unique eloquence. During
his life, Bannen has been a careful observer
of the changes in the world about him, and
he recounts those changes with the wisdom
of a folk historian. In short, the inner quali¬
ties which contribute to Charles Bannen’s
1980]
The Folk Songs of Charles Bannen
181
Fig. 5. Charles and Emma Bannen, 40th Wed¬
ding Anniversary photograph (Photo courtesy of
Charles Bannen).
aplomb as a performer of folk music also
make him a first-rate storyteller (Fig. 5).
It is only fitting that Charles Bannen
should be allowed to add a few comments of
his own concerning his past and his music.
The following narrative is drawn entirely
from taped conversations that Charlie and
I have had over the past two years. The
words are Charlie’s alone; I have edited and
arranged them so that the story of Charlie’s
family, music, and experiences in rural Wis¬
consin unfolds in an orderly fashion. On oc¬
casion, I have substituted a few words in
parentheses to make sentences flow more
smoothly as they make the difficult transition
from oral to written presentation.
A few names of families and places will
be unfamiliar to those who read the narra¬
tive; places like Tom Price’s farm are not
to be found on most maps of Wisconsin or,
for that matter, of Crawford County. Still,
the use of such nomenclature best describes
the sense of community which lies at the
heart of a rural area. The world may be
filled with families similar to those described
by Charles Bannen; but only through his
understanding of the ways in which these
people contribute to the web of life in South¬
western Wisconsin can we glimpse the sense
of community which is so important for the
maintenance of the traditions in Bannen’s
life. And, perhaps, this glimpse of the peo¬
ple and places in the world of Charles Ban¬
nen will serve to remind us all that history
and tradition ultimately grow from the inter¬
action of human beings with other human
beings on stages as remote and intimate as
the parlor in old Bill Hudson’s farmhouse.
P.V.B.
Ancestral Emigration from Ireland and
Homesteading in Southwestern Wisconsin
Well now, Grandma Bannen, she was a
Kelly girl and she came from Offaly County
in Ireland from the little village they call
Birr, and it was right along in the bend of
the Shannon River. The O’Kane side of me,
my mother’s people, they came from Cork,
pretty well south.
The old grandparents on the O’Kane side
got onto a sailboat — wasn’t a very big one —
and the ocean was more or less rough and
the wind was the wrong direction part of the
time. They had to take down their sails and
just drifted. It took ’em six weeks to get
across the sea from Ireland to the United
States. And they landed on the east coast,
of course, of the United States.
After a while they decided to get into a
covered wagon and come west to take up
land. The government was giving away the
land, posted it. So they was ridin’ along and
my grandma pretty soon said sometime she
had to have her first baby girl. And they got
out of the covered wagon and she lay down
by a big log by the sawmill site and had her
first baby girl. In due time they got back in
their wagon and took off again. They landed
in Marietta Valley back of Tom Price’s farm,
right close by here.
I can remember my grandmother on my
father’s side very much. I used to sit on her
182
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
knee when I was a little kid. We’d go over
there; she’d come over to our house. I’d seen
her and I’s three or four when she died. But
I never seen my grandparents on my
mother’s side. They died before I was even
born.
Absorbing Musical Traditions as a Youth
One time OF McDaniel and her husband,
John, and her son, Johnny that married
Blanche Gray, came over to Hudson’s one
day in the winter with teams and sled. I was
a little kid — oh, ’leven years old and my
sister was about nine or so — and anyway,
after dinner OF McDaniel got into the organ
in the front room. And, of course, old Bill
Hudson liked to hymn-sing, sing the hymns.
That was my uncle by marriage. It was
Maggy Hudson’s house; Will’s, see.
And finally OF played for quite a little
while. Then, Aunt Maggy, my own aunt, she
set at the organ and they all sang. But she
could read notes pretty good. Then, finally
my pa got down into the organ and he could
play the chords, and they all sang for a while.
Oh, I bet they sang around for about two
hours. But, I was a little kid sittin’ on a chair
and I listened — oh, a lot of them was hymns
too.
Pretty soon after a while, why Hudsons
— -when I was a kid around thirteen or so —
they got one of these round records: Edison,
you pushed on a little cylinder. And I went
up there one wintertime in the afternoon.
Of course, they was proud as the dickens of
their Edison phonograph. They sit on there
different hymns that I have heard the old
stock sing; had a big horn on it. And any¬
way, Aunt Maggy watched me to see if I
recognized a lot of those songs. Of course,
I did! She could read my expressives on my
face; see that I was interested. I enjoyed the
records very much. Course, that was way
back there, a long time ago.
Grandmother Bannen lived about three
miles from here. Hudsons would go there
for Christmas dinner, and we’d go there for
Christmas dinner. Aunt Mary McCormick
and her children would go there, and some¬
times a neighbor or two around. Then after
dinner, when they’d get done with the meal,
they’d go in the front room. There’s so
many of ’em that the chairs was all taken
and the front room was a fair-sized room,
too.
I guess pa was at the organ. There was
something like a half-a-dozen of ’em singing,
and there was no place for me to sit, no
chair. So, I’d sit on Lee McCormick’s knee
while they’s performin’ for awhile. You see,
there was quite a bunch of them when they
all got together.
Mother’s sisters were good singers: Mrs.
Grant Burton, Marian Moran way out west,
and Maggy Mulhaire way out west, and Kate
that married old Tom McKnight, Civil War
guy. Old Tom played the fiddle, and he was
a brother to that lady that married old John
McDaniel, Olive, that was such a dandy, nice
singer and organ player. Old Will Hudson
used to sing with her at the funerals at Mt.
Zion so many times. OF McDaniel was an
awful nice singer. She was musical!
Well now, Mrs. OF McDaniel played the
chords similar to what I’m doing. (Her niece,
Maud) could read notes nice, too. She’s the
one I took music lessons under, what little
I got. Maud had a little organ about like
(mine), she taught me on. Margaret, my
sister, though, she went down there for three
different seasons under Maud McDaniel.
And she could read notes and do a pretty
nice job at one time. But then she kind of
lay down on the job and then she got rusty.
Well now, (as schoolchildren we sang
from) those old yellow-covered songbooks
— I’ve got one if I dig a while. The teacher
would lead usually. And sometimes the
teacher (was) Mina Brown, Mina Childs
she was; she taught over there at the Coal¬
burn school when I was a chunk of a kid.
Sometimes in the Christmas program she’d
ask me to take the lead in the program, sing¬
ing on the stage there. Sometimes she’d ask
1980]
The Folk Songs of Charles Bannen
183
my sister, Margaret, to take the lead and
sing.
I’s a little boy and other children would
take flowers— would pick ’em out of the
woods little ’head of time and keep ’em
down cellar. When Decoration Day would
come, we’d place ’em on the old soldiers’
graves, here and there. My sister and I was
the main program, entertainers in singin’
different war songs and things. And usually
they had Maud McDaniel on the organ and
played for us. Generally we’d have to prac¬
tice ahead.
Musician and Performer
Well, I’d sing the songs when pa got
home. We’d milk cows that evening and he’d
come home with some of them same hymns.
Oh my, I’ve heard my father sing! We’d be
milkin’ cows and so on. One of the sisters
got large enough, she would help milk too;
course, I was milkin’ then and we was
milkin’ by hand. And we children would
sing right along with pa. But I can start
dance tunes that I never heard a word of
what would go with them: all kinds of ’em,
off the violin. I can just hum ’em by the
dozen: different ones played over at the
house dances all over the country. We’d help
pa sing as we was all milkin’ cows in the
barn. And ma sang on some occasions. But
he sang three-fourths of the time and ma,
now and then. But mother’s sisters, most of
them were right good singers. She sang too,
but she couldn’t play the organ; dad could
play the organ.
It’s about fifty-five years old, the old organ
is. We bought it from Emmett Haggerty here
at Mt. Zion. Mrs. Bill Campbell really was
the owner of it. But she borrowed her some
money from her cousin, Emmett, and so he
sold the organ to get nearly even as he could.
We had it repaired; the bellows was leakin’
and we fixed it up so it sounds pretty fair
now. We had another old organ. It gave out,
so we just tossed it out. Then we got this
one; it’s a better machine (Fig. 6).
Fig. 6. Charles Bannen at his organ
(Photo courtesy of Charles Bannen).
When you’re picking out the keys you
play on, if they’ve got sharps and flats on,
you know what chords use the sharps and
flats. If it’s C, you don’t use any sharps and
flats. Now this is the way my pa and I kinda
studied things out from our own experience.
If they use a certain amount of these sharps
and flats then you know they’re either F or
A or some of those. These black fellows are
halfway between the white ones as a rule on
some of the things. Some of them chords
I don’t use very much. Now some pieces,
you know you got to try them out. You can
feel them out here (on the organ) first.
And then you can try it with a FJf, you
can try G or C, or whatever sounds nicest
to you.
Oh, fiddle’s just lovely! That’s tops in
waltz music or any other dance music; pro¬
viding they keep time. But a lot of our old
fellows that picked it up by ear, they get into
such bad habits and they don’t quite finish
out the last measure so many times. And
they’ll throw you out of step when you’re
waltzing so bad. Or if they hold it over extry
long, it’ll raise the divil too, you know, the
last measure.
One time I was down to a house close to
Barnum, down there this side of Barnum in
184
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
a house dance in a farmhouse. And they had
lamps, of course; they didn’t have electricity
yet. They had a great big old piano, and it
was a pretty good piano. Anyhow, this Ward
had some young fellow playin’ the guitar;
he wanted a rest. So, they wanted to get me
on the piano there to second for this chunky,
short Ward. Oh, he was just as ruthless as
he could be on the violin; but that’s all right.
Anyway, he played a waltz and I was a-
followin’ him the best I could.
After one of the rest beats I says, “Say,
gentleman, you aren’t a-finishin’ out your
last measure on those waltzes. You’re puttin’
your dancers all out of step.”
“Oh, am I?” says he.
And so he got up and he placed his foot
on that piano seat-bench right behind me.
Now I was a-workm’ away like a good fel¬
low and the rosin off that fiddle was goin’
right down the back of my neck. I kept still.
I didn’t howl. He did do a lot better when
he watched the chords. He held his measure
out where he should. Course, I was just a
kid and he was a middle-aged man. Maybe
that wasn’t quite proper. Oh yah, I helped
him out! You know, he was so loud and he’s
right back of my head there, sawin’. Oh,
almost unbearable!
One fellow asked me — he played the fid¬
dle, Will Miller over here, he was on the
Tim Freight land in the Hard Times. The
land, they took that away from most people
and he rented it from the manager of the
land bank in this area, down around Steuben.
He played fiddle for house dances too. But,
he done a sweet job, though, that Will Miller
did. Old Will Miller was a pretty sharp old
boy now on the violin. He knew that I’d
been down someplace to a dance where this
Ward had played. And he asked me, “What
kind of a job did Mr. Ward do playin’ the
violin?”
Well, I told him, “He was like the Irish¬
man on the railroad. He was on again, off
again, gone again, Finnegan.” I told him
about helpin’ him straighten him up when I
was helpin’ play the piano. And he just
laughed like a good fellow. But he has heard
him play somewhere, sometime. He knew
that he was kind of punky at it.
The House Dance as a Social Institution
in Rural Wisconsin
Oh, my! I loved house dances. I learned
square-dancing when I was between sixteen
and seventeen years old. I was just as green
as they made ’em, and I didn’t know how to
square dance. But, I danced with the old,
middle-aged ladies that knew how so well.
It wasn’t very long till, oh my Lord, I could
just dance as nice as any of ’em.
Walter Shield who lived on the Hudson
farm called a lot. Mike Coyne called, down
over the hill. Mike Monahan called some,
and Hank O’Kane called some now and
then. Well, they’d have lots of square dances.
’Bout every third dance would be a square
dance, and sometimes the crowd’d be so
thick that they’d have to call numbers for
the next ones to dance. You know the
house’d be stuffed! There wasn’t room
enough on the floor if they all got on the
floor, and they’d call numbers so part of ’em
would dance one whirl and part of ’em
would dance the other whirl. They had to
do it so the crowd would have a fair shake
at it. That’s the way that was.
Dances were held usually ev’ry other Fri¬
day night through this area. Sometimes in
the moonshine days they’d bring liquor, and
it just messed up the dancin’ bad, though,
when they done that. Oh they’d fight some¬
times. Oh, my! Some of these Irish made
moonshine up here a ways. But Steuben had
’em by the bushel down there.
Joe Coyne, the whole Coyne family be¬
fore Joe got married, was over here where
the old Mike Ferrick place just over to the
barrel of the hill where Dowling lives now.
Well they had a nice square house there,
nice big square house. The Coynes were
great fellows to dance. The mother was
keepin’ house for ’em; none of ’em got mar-
1980]
The Folk Songs of Charles Bannen
185
ried yet. Oh, they’d have a dance about ev’ry
once-a-month, generally, and ev’rything
went off pretty nice though. They generally
had old Dean Powers play the violin, and
they had one of these self-player pianos
there.
Emma, my wife, she lived over here on
the Hudson place where Emil Mindham did,
and we lived here. Used to dance with her
once-in-a-while at the dances around. And
one time she started after me and she caught
me.
The Bannen Song Tradition and the
Old Bannen Song Book
Well you see, I once sent to a music place,
where they put out poems and songs, at
Renfro Valley, Kentucky. They come once-
a-month, and they’d have different poems
certain times: different old songs. Those that
I didn’t have the chords of that I’d heard in
my young days; and when those words would
appear in that cute little paper, why, I’d
think a while and here would come that
tune in my head and I could just play it
right over those words; just like nothing!
Fd heard a lot of that stuff way back.
Songs in the Old Bannen Song Book were
picked up all over. My Aunt Maggy Hudson
was my dad’s sister. She taught at North
Clayton at one time. I remember Mary Mc¬
Cormick’s little sister taught other places.
Uncle Will Bannen was the younger one.
He taught school at Senicky (Seneca), Bell
Center, all over, too. And they brought home
songs.
The Daughertys was Irish. The Daugher-
tys, one of them girls, I don’t know whether
’twas Nan or which one of ’em, could play
the organ. And they knew a lot of songs.
Some of these songs the Bannens got out of
those old Daugherty books, too. They was
back-and-forth. They lived just a hundred
rods apart. Sometimes they’d play the organ
and sing; sometimes they’d dance.
Oh, I’ve heard songs. One time in the
Hard Times in the thirties, there was a cou¬
ple of fellows in town, they’s younger men,
from out of a train. They rode the freight
cars west trying to get a job. These were
coal miners and one of ’em was a nephew
to old Jack Lester. My Uncle Richard Ban¬
nen was always after help, more or less, so
he brought out these two fellows to his place.
They worked for fifty cents a day and their
board. They were acquainted and more or
less coal miner pals. One of ’em was Ger¬
man, a relation of old Jack Lester’s nephew.
The other one was an Irishman, McDonnell.
That McDonnell, oh he could sing miners’
songs that wasn’t fit for an ole pig to listen
to!
Generally speaking, in my opinion, of
course I don’t know too much about it, the
old music suits me better because I’ve heard
it. And some of the later pieces, oh, there’s
nothin’ to ’em. They jumble up; you’re
speaking one word or one line over and
over and over again. Gets too tiresome to
me. It doesn’t sound like music.
Well, up here at Mt. Zion about two
months ago or thereabout, Emily Yonash
sang with me, and Grla May Brown played
the piano for us. You know that schoolhouse
with a big room there— was big too, but oh
was it crowded, my, my! It was so crowded
that people just got back to their cars and
away they went. It was too bad! We’d a-
made a lot more money if they had suitable
rooms. We was gonna raise money for North
Crawford and ambulance-bus for Boscobel
area. First I sang “Dumb Wife.” Then I
went for “Pat Malone.” And, oh my, they
did have an awful spell then!
Acknowledgments
Material from this study was presented to
the Midwest Chapter of the Society of Eth-
nomusicology, at the University of Minne¬
sota, May 13, 1978. A version of Charles
Bannen’s narrative appeared in the Ocooch
Mountain News , IV, 8 (August, 1978), pp.
22-25. I would like to thank Charles Ban¬
nen, Larry W. Danielson and Bruno Nettl
186
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
of the University of Illinois at Urbana-
Champaign, Janies P. Leary of the Univer¬
sity of Kentucky, Paul H. Hass of the State
Historical Society of Wisconsin, and Edward
D. Ives of the University of Maine, all of
whom offered valuable suggestions after
reading previous versions of this study.
Notes
1 Ben Logan, The Land Remembers (New York:
Avon Books, 1976), p. 7. In The Land Remembers,
Ben Logan recounts the experiences of his child¬
hood which was spent in northern Crawford
County.
2 Ibid., pp. 141-142. The brackets are mine.
3 Two theoretical, and rather different, discus¬
sions of cultural pluralism are Milton M. Gordon,
Assimilation in American Life (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1964), and Horace M. Kallen,
Cultural Pluralism and the American Idea: An
Essay in Social Philosophy (Philadelphia: Univer¬
sity of Pennsylvania Press, 1956). For anthropo¬
logical interpretations of the process of pluralism
see especially Julian H. Steward, Theory of Cul¬
ture Changes The Methodology of Multilinear
Evolution (Urbana: University of Illinois Press,
1976); and Frederik Barth, ed., Ethnic Groups and
Boundaries: The Social Organization of Culture
Differences (Boston: Little, Brown and Company,
1969). Two recent studies of German settlement
in Wisconsin that assume pluralistic stances are
Kathleen Neils Conzen, Immigrant Milwaukee,
1836-1860: Accommodation and Community in a
Frontier City (Cambridge: Harvard University
Press, 1976); and Philip Vilas Bohlman, “Music in
the Culture of German-Americans in North-Cen¬
tral Wisconsin,” M.M. thesis, University of Illinois,
1980.
4 1 borrow this term from Larry W. Danielson,
“The Ethnic Festival and Cultural Revivalism in
a Small Midwestern Town,” Ph.D. dissertation,
Indiana University, 1972.
5 See B. Eugene Griessman, sub-editor, “The
American Isolates,” American Anthropologist,
LXXIV, 3, (June, 1973), pp. 693-734; also Saundra
Keyes Ivey, “Ascribed Ethnicity and the Ethnic
Display Event: The Melungeons of Hancock
County, Tennessee,” Western Folklore, XXXVI,
1 (Jan., 1977), pp. 85-107.
6 Danielson, Op. cit.
7 Ivey, Op. cit.
8 In the masthead of the Ocooch Mountain
News, “Ocooch” is defined as “one form of a
Winnebago word meaning ‘place you go to shoot
fish.’ The name was used in the 19th Century to
refer to the hills of SW Wisconsin.”
9 Halsey Rinehart, “Geology,” Ocooch Mountain
News, III, 5 (May, 1977), pp. 28-29.
10 This road, the present County W, runs through
the middle of Charles Bannen’s farm.
11 Excerpted from Anonymous, compiler, History
of Crawford and Richland Counties, Wisconsin
(Springfield, Ill.: Union Publishing Co., 1884),
p. 699. The brackets are mine.
12 Sister M. Justille McDonald, History of the
Irish in Wisconsin in the Nineteenth Century
(Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of Amer¬
ica Press, 1954), p. 280.
13 Ibid., pp. 9-10.
14 Joseph Schafer, Four Wisconsin Counties,
Prairie and Forest (Madison: State Historical So¬
ciety of Wisconsin, 1927), p. 88, discusses the usual
pattern of Irish immigration to Wisconsin.
15 See Robert L. Wright, ed., Irish Emigrant Bal¬
lads and Songs (Bowling Green: Bowling Green
University Popular Press, 1975), for an excellent
compendium of Irish-American songs. For a nine¬
teenth-century description of anti-Irish sentiment
and its effects on Irish immigrants, see the June
10, 1887 letter from Dr. P. O’Connell of Chicago
to Archbishop Croke of Cashel in Arthur Mitchell,
“A View of the Irish in America: 1887,” Eire-
lreland, IV, 1 (Spring, 1969), pp. 7-12.
16 Bill C. Malone, Country Music, U.S.A.: A
Fifty Year History (Austin: University of Texas
Press, 1968), p. 194.
17 Wright, Op. cit., p. 606. The broadside is
without imprint; a copy can be found in the New¬
berry Library in Chicago.
18 A folk musician as a performer and creator
of folk materials has been the subject of several
recent studies: Henry Glassie, ‘“Take That
Night Train to Selma’: An Excursion to the
Outskirts of Scholarship”; Edward D. Ives, “A
Man and His Song: Joe Scott and ‘The Plain
Golden Band’ ”; and John F. Szwed, “Paul E.
Hall: A Newfoundland Song-Maker and Com¬
munity of Song” in Folksongs and Their Makers
(Bowling Green: Bowling Green University Popu¬
lar Press, 1970); and Almeda Riddle, A Singer and
Her Songs: Almeda twiddle's Book of Ballads,
Roger D. Abrahams, ed., and George Foss, music
ed. (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University
Press, 1970). Edward D. Ives, Joe Scott: The
Woodsman-Songmaker (Urbana: University of Il¬
linois Press, 1978) is one of the most painstaking
and poetic examinations of such a folk creator.
The interpretation of folklore as a “process of
performance” increasingly characterized the studies
of a number of American folklorists in the late
1980]
The Folk Songs of Charles Bannen
187
1960’s and early 1970’s. Two diverse anthologies
concerning the performance aspects of folklore
are Americo Paredes and Richard Bauman, eds.,
Toward New Perspectives in Folklore (Austin:
University of Texas Press, 1972); and Dan Ben-
Amos and Kenneth S. Goldstein, eds., Folklore:
Performance and Communication (The Hague:
Mouton and Co., 1975).
19 Malone, Op. cit., pp. 9-10. For a theory which
asserts a relationship among the modes of pen-
tatonicism of African, Anglo-Irish, and Native
American music, see Bence Szabolcsi, A History
of Melody, trans. by Bynthia Jolly and Sara Karig
(London: Barrie and Rockliff, 1965 [Budapest,
1950]), especially pp. 226-228; it is my opinion that
this theory must be regarded with a degree of
circumspection, for it is based on limited historical
and ethnographic considerations concerning the
settlement of North America.
20 Malone, Op. cit., p. 66.
21 See Richard A. Waterman, “African Influ¬
ence on the Music of the Americas,” Acculturation
in the Americas, Sol Tax, ed. (Chicago: Proceed¬
ings of the 29th International Congress of Ameri¬
canists, 1952), 2: pp. 207-218, for the types and
patterns of musical syncretism, or hybridization,
which have characterized some styles of American
music.
22 Charles Ives, Memos , John Kirkpatrick, ed.
(New York: W. W. Norton, 1972), pp. 53-54; the
parentheses are added by Charles Ives; the brackets
enclose the editorial additions of John Kirkpatrick.
23 George Pullen Jackson, White Spirituals in the
Southern Uplands : The Story of the Fasola Folk,
Their Songs, Singings, and “ Buckwheat Notes,”
(New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1965 [1933]),
p. 161.
24 See, for example, P. P. Bliss and Ira D. San-
key, Gospel Hymns and Sacred Songs (Chicago:
Biglow and Main; and, Chicago: John Church
and Co., 1875); the hymn, “Yet There Is Room”
(No. 81), is a prime example.
25 Recordings of Bannen’s songs are deposited in
the Archive of Ethnomusicology, University of
Illinois, Collection No. 195.
26 For another Version of “Pat Malone” see
Harry B. Peters, ed., Folk Songs out of Wisconsin
(Madison: State Historical Society of Wisconsin,
1977), p. 300.
27 Francis James Child, The English and Scottish
Popular Ballads, Vol. II (New York: Dover Pub¬
lications, Inc., 1965 [1885]), pp. 276-279.
28 Charles Seeger, “Versions and Variants of the
Tunes of ’Barbara Allen,’ ” Selected Reports in
Ethnomusicology, I, 1 (Los Angeles: Program in
Ethnomusicology, Department of Music, Univer¬
sity of California, Los Angeles, 1966), pp. 120-
167. Seeger suggests that Version II of “Barbara
Allen” may stem most directly from Ireland and
Scotland, and not from England; this is largely
speculation on Seeger’s part.
29 Bertrand Bronson, The Singing Tradition of
Child's Popular Ballads (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1976), pp. 221-228; and Mieczy-
slaw Kolinski, “‘Barbara Allen’: Tonal Versus
Melodic Structure,” Ethnomusicology, XII, 2
(May, 1968) pp. 208-218, and XIII, 1 (Jan., 1969)
pp. 1-73.
THE LATE WISCONSINAN GLACIAL LAKES OF THE
FOX RIVER WATERSHED, WISCONSIN
Jan S. Wielert
Geology Department
University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh
A bstract
The pre-Woodfordian Fox River flowed through the Marquette bedrock
valley to the Wisconsin River. This river was dammed by glacial deposits during
the maximum glacial advance of Woodfordian time.
During the Woodfordian and Greatlakean recessions and lesser advances,
glacial lakes formed in the Fox River watershed as glacial ice blocked drainage
to the north through Green Bay. As the ice retreated, successively lower outlets
were exposed, first at Portage and later through the Neshota and West Twin, Ke¬
waunee, and Ahnapee Rivers. The Manitowoc River may have also served as a
spillway for waters from the glacial lake.
During glacial advances, lake levels were stable or changed only slowly. Dur¬
ing glacial recessions, lake levels changed quickly and perhaps catastrophically.
Erosion and alluviation within the outlets of the glacial lakes were more pronounced
during times of glacial recession than during times of glacial advance.
The extent of each glacial lake associated with each outlet is illustrated. A
change in terminology is proposed to define more specifically the extents and out¬
lets of the glacial lakes.
Introduction
Deposits of lacustrine sediment have been
recognized in the Fox River watershed for
125 years. These deposits have traditionally
been interpreted as having formed in glacial
lakes. Studies of the glacial lakes of the area
have proceeded concurrently with studies of
regional glaciations. The years of investiga¬
tion have produced terminology which is in
part confusing, poorly-defined, and out-of-
date.
This paper presents an historical perspec¬
tive of studies of the glacial lakes of this
area, describes current hypotheses and ob¬
servations which apply to the topic, and
suggests simplifications in terminology.
Study Area
The area of study includes the Fox River
watershed and those channels that served as
drainage ways for water that was present in
the watershed at times of glaciation (Fig. 1).
The Fox River watershed of northeastern
Wisconsin is irregular in shape, reaching to
nearly 46° latitude at its northward extent,
43° 30' latitude to the south, 89° 45' longi¬
tude to the west, and 87° 45' longitude to
the east. The rivers that may have discharged
waters from the watershed during glaciations
are the Wisconsin River near Portage, the
Rock River, the Manitowoc River, the Ne¬
shota and West Twin Rivers, the Kewaunee
River, the Ahnapee River, and the strait at
Sturgeon Bay (Fig. 1).
Lobation of Glaciers
Two glacial lobes, the Green Bay Lobe
and the Lake Michigan Lobe (Fig. 2), are
related to the history of the glacial lakes. At
several times during the Pleistocene, the
Green Bay Lobe, an extension of the larger
Lake Michigan Glacier, moved up the north-
188
1980]
The Late Wisconsonian Glacial Lakes
189
Fig. 1. Area of study in northeastern Wisconsin.
190
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Fig. 2. Location of glacial lobes in northeastern
Wisconsin (from Martin, 1932).
Table 1. Time terms used in this paper
(previously-used terms in parentheses).
ward sloping Fox River watershed from
Green Bay. Initially, the ice was contained
on the east margin of the watershed by the
Niagara Escarpment, a cuesta of dolomite
extending from the tip of the Door Penin¬
sula southward through eastern Wisconsin.
Ice of the Lake Michigan Lobe eventually
merged with the ice of the Green Bay Lobe
along the Kettle Moraine area. Ice of the
Green Bay Lobe spread south and west, at
times covering the entire Fox River water¬
shed.
Time Terms
The time terms used in this paper are pre¬
sented in Table 1. During the Holocene and
Twocreekan intervals, ice was not continu¬
ally present in Wisconsin. During the later
portion of the Greatlakean subage, Wiscon¬
sin was ice-free. The Woodfordian subage
was a period of glaciation when fluctuations
in the glacial margins may have rendered
Wisconsin free of ice for short periods.
Cary and Tazewell were for many years
used as subdivisions of the Wisconsinan age,
but are no longer recognized. The term
Valderan has been a source of confusion in
the literature and the term Greatlakean,
suggested by Evenson and others (1976),
is being used in this paper. The previous
common use of these terms warrants their
recognition in this paper.
Previous Studies
The initial report bearing on the glacial
lakes of the Fox River valley was that of
Charles Whittlesey (1849). This report,
part of David Dale Owen’s Report of a
Geological Survey of Wisconsin, Iowa , and
Minnesota (1852), noted widespread exis¬
tence of “loose diluvial material” throughout
much of the Great Lakes area. He noted
extensive “red clay” deposits throughout the
valleys of Lake Winnebago, the Fox River,
and Wolf River. He attributed the red clay
to inland lakes. The distribution of the red
clay deposits in the Fox River valley was not
specified, but stratigraphic sections taken
from well records included red clay at Fond
du Lac, Oshkosh, Green Bay, and Grand
Chute. In addition red clay deposits were
1980]
The Late Wisconsonian Glacial Lakes
191
described from Appleton, Shawano Lake,
and the falls of the Wolf River.
General G. K. Warren (1876) mapped
the approximate extent of the red clay in the
Fox River valley. He regarded it as sediment
of a previously larger Lake Winnebago;
he believed that the lake had drained past
Portage to the Wisconsin River.
T. C. Chamberlin (1878) described the
red clay deposits as occurring within the
Green Bay valley and extending a few miles
south of Fond du Lac, up the Fox River
beyond Berlin, and up the Wolf River be¬
yond Shawano. He concluded that the red
clay represented a subaqueous deposit that
was the result of former higher lake levels
of Lake Michigan and Green Bay. To ac¬
count for differences in the elevations of
red clay, he postulated crustal movements
associated with or following deposition of
the clay. Chamberlin described a second
stratigraphically-higher red clay deposit that
is restricted to areas adjacent to Lake Michi¬
gan north of Manitowoc. He suggested the
lower red-clay deposit formed at a higher
lake level of Lake Michigan and Green Bay
following a glacial retreat. When lake levels
then dropped and rose again, the upper red
clay unit was deposited only in the Lake
Michigan basin. Finally lake levels again
dropped. The source of the red clay was
thought to be the underlying coarse “bowlder
clay.” Through shoreline erosion the fine
material within the “bowlder clay” was
washed out, providing the sediment for the
subaqueous red-clay deposits.
T. C. Chamberlin (1883) reiterated these
observations and hypotheses and added that
the lakes may have gradually formed as the
ice retreated, producing great fringing lakes
along the border of the glacier. He also
noted that at some point the meltwater from
the Green Bay Lobe was probably dis¬
charged through the Wisconsin River valley.
He observed that there had been many im¬
portant channels of discharge crossing drain¬
age divides that now appear as extinct
channels.
Aware of glacial discharge channels from
other known glacial lakes, Warren Upham
(1903a) visited Portage. He suggested that
the northern part of the Fox River valley
had at times been blocked with glacial ice
and that at these times the lowest point in
the Fox River divide had been in the vicinity
of Portage. He speculated that water from
the glacial lake in front of the Green Bay
Lobe had discharged into the Wisconsin
River through this divide. Upham found the
Fox River above Portage to be decidedly
underfit. The river was found to be 10 to 15
m wide and 30 cm deep, while the valley
was over 300 m wide and 10 m deep. He
concluded that the existing Fox River oc¬
cupied the ancient eroded channel of a larger
river that flowed in the opposite direction.
Upham wrote (1903a p. Ill):
when Warren and Chamberlin thus de¬
scribed the region of the Fox river, lake
Winnebago, and Green bay, the effect of the
barrier of the waning continental ice-sheet
to form lakes in basins sloping northerly
toward the receding ice border had not been
fully and generally recognized. Neither of
these writers appealed to the glacial barrier
on the north as the cause of the formerly
greater lakes which they mapped and de¬
scribed; nor did Chamberlin refer to the
southward outlet at Portage, near the head
of the Fox valley, but rather ascribed this
entire lacustrine tract to an expansion of
lake Michigan when the lake Winnebago
region was much depressed below its present
altitude.
It was now apparent that meltwaters from
the Green Bay Lobe were periodically re¬
stricted to the Fox River valley and did not
merge with those of the Lake Michigan
Lobe. For at least a time there had been two
distinct glacial lakes. The lake in front of
the Lake Michigan Lobe previously had
been named “Glacial Lake Chicago.” Up-
192
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
ham proposed “Glacial Lake Nicolet” for
the glacial lake that had existed in front of
the Green Bay Lobe.
The separation of the two glacial lakes
made unnecessary Chamberlin’s hypothesis
of localized crustal movement to account for
the differing elevations of red clay in the
two lake basins. Upham noted that as the
ice receded, the two ice-marginal lakes would
eventually merge and assume the same level.
The elevation of the floor of the channel that
served as the outlet at Portage was estimated
to be 780 feet above sea level. Upham also
suggested that the red clay was partially re¬
worked red till rather than a sorted frac¬
tion of Chamberlin’s “bowlder clay.”
Upham (1903b) later altered his pro¬
posed name to “Glacial Lake Jean Nicolet”
to distinguish it from “Glacial Lake Nico¬
llet,” named for Joseph Nicollet, the name
previously assigned to a glacial lake that had
existed in Minnesota.
Weidman (1911) recognized seven an¬
cient shorelines in the Green Bay area and
ascribed these to previous shorelines of
“Glacial Lake Jean Nicolet.” Weidman as¬
cribed the highest two shorelines, at eleva¬
tions of 800 and 830 feet above sea level,
to the Portage outlet. The lower five eleva¬
tions, at 600, 620, 650, 675, and 730 feet
above sea level, were thought to be related
to changes in the elevations of outlets of
Lake Chicago and later stages of Lake
Michigan.
Alden (1918) noted numerous deposits
of sand and gravel in the Fox River basin at
elevations approximately 800 feet above sea
level. These he believed to represent shore¬
line deposits of water ponded in the basin
after the retreating ice front had opened
the outlet at Portage. Alden wrote (1918
p. 324-325):
on the east this glacial lake was limited
by the steep slope of the Niagara escarp¬
ment, and south and west of Fond du Lac
by the red till ridge. The site of Fond du Lac
was thus submerged beneath 40 to 60 feet
of water. The upper part of the ridge just
south of Eureka, as well as other ridges
between Fox River and Lake Poygan, in
Rushford and Poygan townships, must have
stood as islands in the lake. Farther west and
southwest, in Waushara and Marquette coun¬
ties, the water submerged much of the low¬
lands now occupied by the extensive
marshes. North and west of Oshkosh the
lake waters extended far up the valleys and
spread widely over the intervening lowlands,
submerging considerable parts of Marinette,
Shawano, Brown, Outagamie, Waupaca,
Winnebago, Green Lake, Marquette, and
Columbia counties.
Alden recognized that the red clay was
derived from a red till that he believed to
have been related to the final glacial advance
in northeastern Wisconsin. Alden also noted
that glacial lakes of similar extent were de¬
veloped during the retreat of the earlier
( Woodfordian-Cary ) glacier and with both
the advance and retreat of the glacier that
deposited the red till. Alden was not satis¬
fied with the name “Glacial Lake Jean
Nicolet,” and suggested that this name be
applied only to the stage at which the Por¬
tage outlet was active. Alden suggested that
a lower outlet was probably present provid¬
ing drainage across the Door Peninsula after
additional retreat of the glacier. This pro¬
posed outlet channeled the water across the
Door Peninsula and into Glacial Lake Chi¬
cago.
F. T. Thwaites suggested in a 1927 un¬
published work that the name “Glacial Lake
Jean Nicolet” be discarded, and that the name
“Early Lake Oshkosh” be applied to the
lake at times when the Portage outlet was
active, and the name “Later Lake Oshkosh”
be applied to lower levels of glacial waters
in the same basin, presumably when some
lower outlet was discharging waters from
the lake (Ellsworth and Wilgus, 1930).
Martin (1932) recognized the Portage
outlet of Early Lake Oshkosh, but proposed
1980]
The Late Wisconsonian Glacial Lakes
193
an apparently higher outlet that channeled
water down the Rock River beginning near
Fond du Lac. Martin described possible
shorelines of Lake Oshkosh at elevations of
755, 800, and 830 feet above sea level.
Thwaites (1943) concluded that the high¬
est water level of Lake Oshkosh could not
have reached the elevation of 822 feet above
sea level and suggested a maximum lake
level of between 800 and 820 feet above
sea level for Lake Oshkosh at times of dis¬
charge through the Portage outlet. Thwaites
concurred with Alden’s view that Lake Osh¬
kosh existed during the recession of the
Woodfordian (Cary) Glacier as well as at
the times of the advance and recession of
the Greatlakean Glacier. Five figures in
Thwaites’ publication show portions of
Lake Oshkosh at various times.
Thwaites continued to distinguish Early
Lake Oshkosh from Later Lake Oshkosh,
but applied the name “Later Lake Oshkosh”
to a stage when lake waters were discharging
at Portage. He described a beach deposit of
Later Lake Oshkosh at Little Chute at an
elevation of 815 feet above sea level, imply¬
ing a Portage outlet. He seems to have ap¬
plied the name “Early Lake Oshkosh” to
lakes associated with the Woodfordian
(Cary) glacial recession and the Greatlakean
glacial advance. The term “Later Lake Osh¬
kosh” seems to be applied in this context to
lakes associated with the maximum extent
and subsequent regression of Greatlakean
ice. This represents an apparent change in
definition from Thwaites’ previous (1927)
work.
Thwaites (1957) postulated a glacial lake
in the Fox River lowlands in advance of the
Woodfordian Glacier based on well records
from Preble and Allouez. He applied the
name “Early Lake Oshkosh” to the glacial
lakes that existed in the same lowlands dur¬
ing the recession of the Woodfordian Gla¬
cier and during the subsequent advance of
the Greatlakean Glacier. The name “Later
Lake Oshkosh” was again reserved for the
lake as it existed during the Greatlakean
glacial maximum and throughout the follow¬
ing recession.
In addition, he indicated that the history
of drainage of Early Lake Oshkosh across
the Niagara Escarpment was unknown but
implied that the Portage outlet was used
during the high water level of Early Lake
Oshkosh.
The first outlet of Later Lake Oshkosh
was in the vicinity of Portage at an esti¬
mated elevation of 800 feet above sea level.
The second outlet proposed by Thwaites
was through a sag in the Niagara Escarp¬
ment near the north end of Lake Winnebago
and from there down the Manitowoc River
to Lake Michigan. The elevation of this
divide was estimated to be 800 feet above
sea level, nearly the same elevation as the
Portage outlet. The next outlet was through
the Neshota and West Twin River at an esti¬
mated maximum spillway elevation of 765
feet above sea level. The Kewaunee River
with an estimated divide elevation of 682 feet
above sea level served as the next outlet. The
Ahnapee River with a spillway elevation 640
feet above sea level was the next outlet. This
outlet was active until retreating ice opened
the strait at Sturgeon Bay, at which point
the water levels of Lake Oshkosh and Lake
Michigan merged.
Thwaites postulated rapid lowering of
lake levels as each succeedingly lower outlet
was opened. Erosion within the spillways
had, in places, eroded the channels down to
bedrock. Thwaites attempted to compute
discharge rates for three of the outlets. This
computation requires data on channel depth,
channel slope, bottom roughness, and chan¬
nel width. Only channel width was directly
measurable. Stream velocities for the Ne¬
shota and West Twin, Kewaunee, and Ahn¬
apee spillways were estimated to range from
1.2 to 1.6 m/s once grade was established.
Initial velocities were thought to be higher.
194
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Computed discharge values ranged from
4000 m3/s to 5000 m3/s. Again initial dis¬
charges would be expected to be greater.
Pauli and Pauli (1977) recognize spill¬
ways of Glacial Lake Oshkosh at Portage,
the Manitowoc River, the Kewaunee River,
and the Ahnapee River. They fail to note
the Neshota and West Twin spillway.
Outlets of the Glacial Lakes
The preglacial drainage of the study area
has been postulated by Stewart (1976) to
have been through the Marquette-Wisconsin
system. He suggested that this system was
dammed by glacial deposits during the maxi¬
mum advance of Woodfordian ice. As such,
Glacial Lake Oshkosh probably was not
present until this damming was accom¬
plished. While it appears likely that the first
Lake Oshkosh formed during the recession
of the Woodfordian Glacier from its maxi¬
mum extent, the possibility remains that an
earlier glaciation may have blocked the Mar¬
quette-Wisconsin system, producing a pre-
Woodfordian series of lakes.
Both Gold th waite (1907) and Thwaites
(1957) recognized that postglacial isostatic
uplift had raised beaches along Lake Michi¬
gan north of Two Rivers. For example, the
beach of Lake Algonquin, a high-water stage
of Lake Michigan, is present at an elevation
of 610 feet above sea level at Two Rivers
and occurs at an elevation of 670 feet above
sea level at Detroit Harbor. This represents
an uplift of 60 feet in approximately 90
miles. Little evidence exists to suggest that
isostatic uplift was significant south of Two
Rivers.
A significant part of the Fox River water¬
shed lies north of the latitude of Two Rivers,
and some evidence of the effects of isostatic
rebound might be expected to be present in
the watershed. Thwaites (1943) explored
this possibility and concluded that there was
little definite evidence of tilting of shorelines
in the region. He believed that postglacial
earth movements were probably confined to
a region farther to the north. The factor of
isostatic readjustment must be considered to
have potential importance in the history of
Table 2. Elevations of locations of outlets proposed as spillways for Glacial Lake Oshkosh.
1980]
The Late Wisconsonian Glacial Lakes
195
the glacial lakes even though no evidence of
this process has yet been demonstrated in
the area.
Six outlets for Glacial Lake Oshkosh have
been suggested by previous authors. They
are, from highest divide elevation to lowest,
the Rock River outlet south of Fond du Lac,
the Manitowoc River outlet, the Portage
outlet, the Neshota and West Twin River
outlet, the Kewaunee River outlet, and the
Ahnapee River outlet (Table 2).
Rock River Outlet
The only previous study to propose the
Rock River as a spillway for Lake Oshkosh
was that of Martin (1932). The proposed
outlet was in the vicinity of the Niagara
Escarpment north of the Horicon Marsh.
The topographic map indicates three poten¬
tial locations for such an outlet, each with
a divide elevation approximately 885 feet
above sea level.
The region of the Fox River watershed
south of Fond du Lac is surrounded on the
east, south, and west by divides (Fig. 1).
At various times during glaciation, ice-
marginal lakes probably formed in this area
as glaciers to the north closed the area, each
time producing a lake within this small em-
bayment of the watershed. At these times
water probably discharged to the Rock River
system through one or more of the divide
locations described.
This area was probably isolated before
advancing ice reached the Portage outlet
and after receding ice cleared the Portage
oudet. At each time this small lake was
present, it appears likely that a larger Lake
Oshkosh still existed to the west and con¬
tinued to discharge through the Portage
outlet. For this reason the Rock River out¬
let is not considered by this author to repre¬
sent a primary outlet of Lake Oshkosh.
Manitowoc River Outlet
The lowest point in the divide between
the Fox River watershed and the Manitowoc
River is at approximately 815 feet above
sea level. Although a slight topographic sag
is present in the divide area, no distinct
channel is present. The Portage outlet, far
to the southwest, has a divide elevation of
780 feet above sea level, and considerable
evidence exists to suggest that at an earlier
time the divide elevation may have been 800
feet above sea level. Since an advancing gla¬
cier would cover the Manitowoc River out¬
let before approaching the Portage outlet,
and since the Portage outlet would be open
before the retreating glacier opened the
Manitowoc River outlet, it appears that this
outlet could not have served as a spillway
for Lake Oshkosh.
A number of possibilities exist through
which this outlet may have been active. Dur¬
ing the late Woodfordian glaciation, retreat¬
ing ice made several minor readvances, de¬
positing considerable thicknesses of glacial
debris in the general area of the divide.
Prior to that time, the elevation of the
divide area may have been considerably
lower. If Lake Oshkosh existed prior to the
maximum extent of the Woodfordian Gla¬
cier, the divide elevation of the Manitowoc
River outlet may have been lower than the
divide elevation of the Portage outlet. Dur¬
ing the advance of the Woodfordian Glacier
the water from Lake Oshkosh may have
drained through the Manitowoc River val¬
ley until the advancing ice closed the out¬
let. Greatlakean glacial deposits are also
present in the area, but typically occur in
thicknesses of only a few feet, so their ab¬
sence probably would not have been suffici¬
ent to activate this outlet during the Great¬
lakean glacial advance.
The Lake Michigan Lobe was much larger
than the Green Bay Lobe, and it is likely
that any isostatic depression of areas close
to the Lake Michigan Lobe was greater than
any similar depression associated with the
Green Bay Lobe. It is possible that the area
of the Manitowoc River outlet was more
severely depressed than the area of the
196
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Portage outlet. If the isostatic rebound was
slow enough, the retreating ice may have
exposed the Manitowoc River outlet at a
time when it had not rebounded sufficiently
to have a higher divide elevation than the
less-depressed Portage outlet. If this were
to occur, water from Lake Oshkosh would
flow down the Manitowoc River valley un¬
til isostatic rebound raised the elevation of
the Manitowoc River outlet above the ele¬
vation of the Portage outlet, or until further
northward retreat of the ice opened the
lower Neshota and West Twin River outlet.
The role of the Manitowoc River as an
outlet for Glacial Lake Oshkosh must re¬
main problematical.
Portage Outlet
Water from Lake Oshkosh drained out
near Portage through a narrow spillway with
a current bottom elevation of slightly less
than 780 feet above sea level. Water dis¬
charging from Lake Oshkosh through this
valley merged with water of the Wisconsin
River to the south. The Wisconsin River
flows on through another narrow spillway
near Dekorra at Sec. 12, T. 11 N., R. 8 E.
(Poynette 1:62,500). This spillway also has
a current bottom elevation of slightly less
than 780 feet above sea level. Since water
from both the Wisconsin River and Lake
Oshkosh flowed through the Dekorra spill¬
way, the elevation of the floor of the spillway
at Dekorra appears to have acted as a con¬
trol of the levels of water in the Wisconsin
River and Lake Oshkosh above it.
Many writers have noted beach deposits
of Lake Oshkosh at elevations of 800 feet
above sea level. Along the Wisconsin River
above Portage similar topographic breaks
are known to be present. It appears that for
significant periods water was stabilized near
the 800 foot level both in Lake Oshkosh and
in the Wisconsin River valley north of the
Dekorra spillway because there are pro¬
nounced beaches in the Fox River watershed
at 800 feet elevation, and there are large
alluvial deposits along the Wisconsin River
at a similar elevation. Because the Wiscon¬
sin River did not follow its present course
past Portage prior to the Woodfordian reces¬
sion, the 800 foot beaches and alluvial de¬
posits are features that were most likely
formed following the maximum Woodfor¬
dian glacial advance.
Clearly there was an apparent change in
lake level from 800 to 780 feet above sea
level. This change may have been caused
by downcutting of the Dekorra and Portage
spillways during or following the recession
of the Woodfordian Glacier or by a combi¬
nation of isostatic uplift and downcutting of
the Dekorra and Portage spillways during
or following the recession of the Woodfor¬
dian Glacier. In either case it appears that
in more recent times the maximum level of
Lake Oshkosh when waters discharged
through the Portage outlet was approxi¬
mately 780 feet above sea level.
A definite channel from the spillway north
of Portage to the Wisconsin River at 780
feet elevation is not evident, probably be¬
cause of more recent alluviation by the Wis¬
consin River during flooding.
Neshota and West Twin River Outlet
The lowest point in the divide between
the Fox River watershed and the Neshota
and West Twin River is 775 feet above sea
level. From this location the Neshota and
West Twin River flows southwest to Two
Rivers through a valley that is decidedly
underfit. The valley walls are steep and
high. North of Denmark the valley has been
cut more than 30 m below the surrounding
terrain. In many places the valley floor is
flat, suggesting that alluvium partially fills
it.
The well-defined channel, steep valley
walls and flat valley floor suggest that this
outlet was recently active. Thwaites (1957)
noted that in places this valley was eroded
down to bedrock. It appears likely that this
valley repeatedly served as an outlet for
1980]
The Late Wisconsonian Glacial Lakes
197
Lake Oshkosh, most recently during the
recession of Greatlakean ice.
Kewaunee River Outlet
The divide for the Kewaunee River out¬
let occurs south of Dyckesville at an ap¬
proximate elevation of 685 feet above sea
level. The Kewaunee River is decidedly un¬
derfit in a larger abandoned channel. The
channel is as much as 1 km wide and 35 m
deep. The channel floor is flat, suggesting
the presence of alluvial fill. Large rounded
boulders of dolomite, some exceeding 1 m
in diameter, are present in the streambed at
the south edge, Sec. 28, T. 24 N., R. 24 E.
The well-defined channel, abandoned cut-
banks, and flat valley floor of this spillway
suggest that this outlet was recently active.
Thwaites (1957, p. 870) suggests that red
till of probable Greatlakean age is cut by
this valley at Kewaunee, suggesting that this
outlet was active following the recession of
Greatlakean ice. This valley was probably
repeatedly utilized as an outlet for Lake
Oshkosh.
Ahnapee River Outlet
The spillway divide between the Ahna¬
pee River and the Fox River watershed oc¬
curs at approximately 635 feet above sea
level. Although topographic evidence sug¬
gests that this valley must have served as an
outlet for Lake Oshkosh during times when
the channel to the north at Sturgeon Bay
was blocked with ice, there is an absence of
the deep, flat-floored channel of other out¬
lets.
Alden (1918) mapped the highest level
of glacial Lake Chicago, a high-water stage
of Lake Michigan, at approximately 640
feet above sea level. Ancient beaches occur
along the Wisconsin shoreline of Lake Mich¬
igan from Waukegan north to Manitowoc.
Mickelson and Evenson (1975) have shown
that bluffs of Greatlakean till north of Man¬
itowoc do not have evidence of similar an¬
cient shorelines. This led them to conclude
that following the Twocreekan interglacial
times, Lake Michigan was at a level lower
than 640 feet above sea level. Had Lake
Michigan been at the 640 foot level during
the Greatlakean recession, similar beaches
would be expected to be found cut into the
Greatlakean deposits along Lake Michigan.
At times when Lake Michigan water was
at the 640-foot level, this outlet would have
been entirely submerged, and the level of
Lake Oshkosh would have been the same as
the level of Lake Michigan. It is only during
the Greatlakean glacial recession that Lake
Michigan water level was substantially lower
than the divide elevation of the Ahnapee
outlet. This would have been the only time
when major channel erosion was possible.
During this recession it is likely that this out¬
let was active only during the short period
of time when it was free of ice and the near¬
by channel at Sturgeon Bay was still blocked.
The absence of major erosional features
in the Ahnapee River outlet can probably
be attributed to the fact that erosion must
have been active for only a short period
during the Greatlakean glacial recession.
Extent of the Glacial Lakes
Any attempt to describe precisely the
extent of the various glacial lakes in the
Fox River valley is complicated by several
factors. Although it is known from strati¬
graphic studies that there have been several
glacial advances and retreats through the
Fox River watershed, the specific number,
sequence and extents of the glacial advances
within this area are not yet established. Al¬
though several probable outlets for glacial
meltwater have been noted, each outlet may
or may not have been used during a specific
glacial advance or retreat.
Lake levels may have fluctuated as over¬
riding glaciers partially filled the spillways
with sediment, increasing the elevations of
the divides within the spillways. In addition,
when each outlet was active, erosion could
be expected to lower the level of the divide,
198
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
N
Fig. 3a. Glacial Lake Oshkosh at the Portage Fig. 3b. Glacial Lake Oshkosh at the Neshota
level — lake level 780 feet above sea level. and West Twin level — lake level 775 feet above
sea level.
Fig. 3c. Glacial Lake Oshkosh at the Kewaunee Fig. 3d. Glacial Lake Oshkosh at the Ahnapee
level — lake level 685 feet above sea level. level — lake level 635 feet above sea level.
Fig. 3. Approximate extent of Glacial Lake Oshkosh at the Portage, Neshota and West Twin, Kewaunee
and Ahnapee levels. The extent of the Lake at each level is shown as a diagonally-ruled area. The out¬
lines of Lake Winnebago and Green Bay are indicated by dashed lines and Lake Winnebago is also stip¬
pled. Irregular shading denotes the hypothetical location of glacial ice. Letters indicate the location of
cities: P — Portage, O — Oshkosh, A — Appleton, T — Two Rivers, G-— Green Bay, K — Kewaunee and AL-—
Algoma.
1980]
The Late Wisconsonian Glacial Lakes
199
producing lower lake levels in the glacial
lake behind it. Determination of lake levels
on the basis of preserved shoreline deposits
is difficult because the advancing glaciers
overrode and destroyed many of the previ¬
ous beaches.
Finally, there have been no detailed strati¬
graphic studies of the sediment of the glacial
lakes. Indeed, until a fuller understanding
of the history of glacial movements is
reached, study of the stratigraphy may yield
findings that are potentially misleading. For
example, the past practice seems to have
been to identify any buried wood found in
Fox River valley sediment as being of Two-
creekan age. These deposits were assumed
to be correlative with the buried forest de¬
posits near Two Creeks. While the deposits
at Two Creeks are, by definition, Two-
creekan age, no direct correlations have been
made to the similar deposits of the Fox
River valley. The radiocarbon ages of the
samples generally agree, although the range
of experimental uncertainty is such that
some of the samples from the Fox River
valley may be of latest Woodfordian age.
It should be clear that a detailed chro¬
nology of all the glacial lakes that have
existed within the Fox River watershed is
not within the capabilities of science at this
time. It is possible, however, to grossly esti¬
mate the extent of the most recent glacial
lakes.
The procedure used to determine the areas
of the most recent glacial lakes involved
determination of the modern divide eleva¬
tions of the outlets (Table 2). Using 1:
62,500 topographic maps when possible,
these elevations were mapped throughout
the Fox River watershed. In areas where
1:62,500 scale maps were not available,
1 : 250,000 scale maps were used. Four maps
were prepared using this procedure (Fig.
3a, b, c and d).
The extent of each glacial lake is shown
as a diagonally-ruled area. The outlines of
Lake Winnebago and Green Bay are indi¬
cated by dashed lines, and Lake Winnebago
is shaded. Irregular shading denotes the hy¬
pothetical location of glacial ice. The loca¬
tions of the glacial termini are largely hypo¬
thetical and it is acknowledged that glacial
movements would result in modified loca¬
tions of the termini.
The procedure employed fails to compen¬
sate for erosion of divide elevations in recent
time, for possible changes in divide eleva¬
tions due to isostatic readjustment, and for
any differences between current divide ele¬
vations and the somewhat higher level of
water which probably existed in the channel
and lake. While the figures presented here
may be imprecise, they represent a first at¬
tempt to illustrate the extent of the most re¬
cent glacial lakes which were present in the
Fox River watershed.
Draining of the Glacial Lakes
Conditions and events within the spill¬
ways and lake basins of the Green Bay
Lobe differed significantly with the direction
of movement of glacial ice. It is suggested
that during glacial advances, lake levels were
stable, or changed only slowly. During gla¬
cial recessions, however, lake levels changed
quickly and perhaps catastrophically. Ero¬
sion of the presently identifiable spillways
occurred primarily during intervals of glacial
recession.
During glacial advances, lake water
ponded in front of the advancing ice and
water level within the lake rose until it
reached the divide elevation of the next-
higher outlet. At this point the elevation of
the lake surface stabilized, then slowly de¬
creased as a result of slow channel erosion
within the spillway. Eventually the advanc¬
ing ice covered the spillway and lake level
rose again until the next-higher outlet was
reached. During glacial advance it is likely
that the length of time necessary for the lake
level to rise to the next outlet was small in
200
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
comparison to the length of time during
which the lake level was relatively stable
and the outlet was active.
During glacial recession it appears logical
that when a glacier receded past a lower
outlet, this outlet then opened rapidly and
large quantities of water surged through the
spillway as the level of the glacial lake
quickly dropped. When a dam of glacial ice
was breached, the effects could be expected
to be as violent as those related to the
breaching of a modern dam.
A major factor governing the magnitude
of such an event is the amount of water
which must pass through the spillway be¬
fore the lake level stabilizes at the elevation
of the lower outlet. The difference in lake
levels bears consideration. The drop from
the Portage level to the Neshota and West
Twin level represents a drop of only a few
meters, the drop from the Neshota and West
Twin level to the Kewaunee level is about
30 m, and the drop from the Kewaunee level
to the Ahnapee level is about 15 m.
A second factor is the area of the lake
that is drained. Although the change in ele¬
vation from the Portage to Neshota and West
Twin level is small, the area of the lake at
that time was large. The 30 m drop from the
Neshota and West Twin to Kewaunee level
was significant because the initial extent of
the lake was large. The 15 m drop from the
Kewaunee to Ahnapee level was less signi¬
ficant because even at the higher Kewaunee
level the area of the lake was relatively
small.
It is also probable that major erosion of
the spillways occurred during these rapid
drops in lake levels. Because the major
changes in lake volume are associated with
the openings of the Neshota and West Twin
and Kewaunee spillways, it is likely that ero¬
sion would be most severe in these spillways.
Physical effects that suggest rapid drain¬
ing of the glacial lakes appear to be present.
The valley sediment of the Kewaunee River
contains large boulders of dolomite. Some
exceed 1 m in diameter and most are
rounded. These boulders are stratigraphi-
cally near the top of the valley alluvium de¬
posits. The rounded character of the boul¬
ders and their presence in a deposit of flu¬
vial sediments suggest that they were most
likely rounded through fluvial processes.
The existing river is narrow, shallow and
much too small to move these , boulders even
in time of flood. The inability of the modern
stream to move these boulders suggests that
they are relics of a time when the Kewaunee
River had much greater current velocity and
discharge. It seems probable that these boul¬
ders were carried to this location and
rounded during times when the Kewaunee
River served as an outlet for the glacial
lakes. If this interpretation is correct, the
stratigraphic location of the boulders near
the top of the valley deposits suggests that
little erosion or deposition has occurred
within this spillway since it was last the site
of discharge from a glacial lake, and that
the sediment was primarily deposited during
the time that water from Lake Oshkosh
flowed out through this valley. Excellent
examples of the boulders can be seen where
a bridge crosses the Kewaunee River at the
southeast corner of Sec. 28, T. 24 N., R. 24
E., approximately 1 mile south of Slovan.
In summary, both erosion and alluviation
within the outlets of Lake Oshkosh appear
to have been more pronounced during times
of glacial recession than during times of gla¬
cial advance.
A Proposal for Revised Terminology
It is proposed by this author that a re¬
vised terminology be used in future descrip¬
tions of the glacial lakes of the Fox River
valley. It is appropriate to retain the name
Glacial Lake Oshkosh, to refer generally to
all levels of the glacial lake. In addition, it is
proposed that the terms Portage Level, Ne¬
shota and West Twin Level, Kewaunee
Level, and Ahnapee Level be employed to
more fully communicate the respective levels
1980]
The Late Wisconsonian Glacial Lakes
201
and extents of Glacial Lake Oshkosh during
times of discharge through the spillways
named. It is also necessary to propose the
provisional term Manitowoc Level, should
this valley be shown to have been a spillway
of Glacial Lake Oshkosh.
While these new terms are not time-depen¬
dent, and do not therefore represent or imply
sequence, they do impose more specific defi¬
nitions on the extents and outlets of the
various levels of Glacial Lake Oshkosh.
Literature Cited
Alden, W. C. 1918. The quaternary geology of
Southeastern Wisconsin with a chapter on
the older rock formations. U.S. Geol. Survey
Prof. Paper 106. 356 p.
Chamberlin, T. C. 1878. Geology of Wiscon¬
sin. Wisconsin Geol. and Nat. Hist. Survey,
v. 2. 768 p.
— — — -. 1883. Geology of Wisconsin. Wiscon¬
sin Geol. and Nat. Hist. Survey, v. 1. 725 p.
Ellsworth, E. W., and Wilgus, W. L. 1930. The
varved clay deposit at Waupaca, Wisconsin.
Trans. Wis. Acad. Sci., Arts, and Letters.
25:99-111.
Evenson, E. B., and others 1976. Greatlakean
Substage: A replacement for Valderan Sub¬
stage in the Lake Michigan Basin: Quarter¬
nary Research. 6:411-424.
Goldthwait, J. W. 1907. Abandoned shorelines
of Eastern Wisconsin: Wis. Geol. Nat. Hist.
Survey Bull. 17. 134 p.
Martin, Lawrence. 1932. The Physical Geog¬
raphy of Wisconsin. Univ. Wis. Press. 608 p.
Mickelson, D. M., and Evenson, E. B. 1975.
Pre-Twocreekan age of the type Valders Till,
Wisconsin. Geology. 3:587-590.
Pauli, R. K., and Pauli, R. A. 1977. Geology
of Wisconsin and Upper Michigan. Kendall/
Hunt Publ. Co. 232 p.
Stewart, M. T. 1976. Quaternary geology of
the Upper Marquette bedrock valley, East-
Central Wisconsin. Ph.D. thesis, part II,
University of Wisconsin at Madison 83 p.
Th waites, F. T. 1943. Pleistocene of part of
Northeastern Wisconsin. Geol. Soc. Amer¬
ica Bull., 54:87-144.
Thwaites, F. T., and Bertrand, Kenneth. 1957.
Pleistocene geology of the Door Peninsula,
Wisconsin: Geol. Soc. America Bull. 68:
831-880.
Upham, Warren. 1903a. Glacial Lake Nicolet
and the portage between the Fox and Wis¬
consin Rivers. The American Geologist 32:
105-115.
- — . 1903b. Glacial Lake Jean Nicolet.
The American Geologist. 32:330-331.
Warren, G. K. 1876. Report on the transpor¬
tation route along the Wisconsin and Fox
River. U.S. Engineers, Washington.
Weidman, Samuel. 1911. The glacial lake of
the Fox River Valley and Green Bay and
its outlet: Science (n.s.) 33:467.
Whittlesey, Charles. 1849. Geological report
on that portion of Wisconsin bordering on
the south shore of Lake Superior: in Owen,
D. D. 1852. Report of a geological survey
of Wisconsin, Iowa, and Minnesota: Lippin-
cott, Grambo & Co. pp. 425-480.
A RELICT GEOMORPHOLOGICAL FEATURE ADJACENT
TO THE SILURIAN ESCARPMENT IN
NORTHEASTERN WISCONSIN
Ronald D. Stieglitz and Joseph M. Moran
University of Wisconsin-Green Bay
AND
Jeffrey D. Harris
University of Rhode Island
Abstract
A terrace-like bench and accumulations of coarse talus occur at the foot of the
Silurian escarpment in northeastern Wisconsin. Talus slopes, now nearly stabilized,
apparently were formed by ice-wedging and shattering of dolomite. Solifluction
of loose rock materials apparently formed the bench. Absence of talus and bench
forming processes today suggests development during an anomalously severe cli¬
matic episode, probably during the final Wisconsinan glacial recession.
Introduction
In Northeastern Wisconsin, the Silurian
dolomite outcrops along the east shore of
Green Bay forming the bedrock of the Door
Peninsula. In some places northwest-south-
east trending drainageways have cut through
the dolomite and the rock is covered by vari¬
ous glacial deposits. However, for the most
part, the erosional edge forms a prominent
northwest facing escarpment (Fig. 1).
Much of the base of the escarpment is
fringed by a low-level bench which is readily
observable in -the field but generally is not
pronounced on available topographic maps.
On the campus of the University of Wiscon¬
sin-Green Bay the bench is well displayed
varying in width between 8 and 15 meters
and rising an average of 3 to 4 meters above
a somewhat more gently sloping surface of
lake sediments and thin till. The flat upper
surface of the bench is at an elevation of
approximately 220 meters, and the lip of the
escarpment rises to 230 meters producing a
10-meter step. At that point the edge of the
escarpment is approximately 1850 meters
from the shore of Green Bay.
Elsewhere along the Bay shore where the
bench has been observed it is locally nar¬
rower with steeper surface slopes. Talus
blocks, some very large, are usually found
upslope from the bench. The bench may
even be absent where the dolomite is close
to the water or actually forms the shoreline.
And, in many places the bench has been
Fig. 1. Location of study area.
202
1980]
A Relict Geomorphological Feature
203
modified by human activity including farm¬
ing, construction, and quarrying.
Research Objective
In the summer of 1977 we began an in¬
vestigation of the escarpment front. Our
purpose was to gather information on the
morphology and materials of the bench in
order to develop a reasonable hypothesis for
its origin. Our ultimate goal was to place
the feature in the context of the late glacial
or post-glacial history of northeastern Wis¬
consin.
Several modes of origin for the bench
have been suggested informally by various
investigators: 1) Some combination of peri-
glacial processes, 2) ice shove or direct de¬
position from the ice as it spread out of the
Bay, 3) meltwater deposits caught between
the ice and the escarpment face, 4) wash-
over of material from the top of the escarp¬
ment. None of these hypotheses, however,
were documented by field evidence.
Investigation
Our approach was two-fold. First, we took
cores along the face of the escarpment north¬
ward from the UW-Green Bay campus. We
then constructed profiles at a number of
points along the Bay shore. These profiles
taken from 7.5 minute topographic maps—
although generalized — are useful for they
show a progressive steepening of the escarp¬
ment face from profile No. 1 in the south
to profile No. 7 in the north (Fig. 2). The
steepening reflects a regional trend in which
the escarpment becomes more prominent
northward and at least partially buried by
glacial deposits southward.
Coring was only partially successful. Be¬
cause of dry conditions and the limitations
of our equipment, we could not penetrate
the feature to a meaningful depth. Our
trailer mounted soil probe enabled us to
reach a maximum depth of only two meters.
The cores were split, described and samples
analyzed for particle size. Layering was not
apparent and textural analyses of samples
from the upper surface of the bench and
adjoining slopes showed the sediment below
the soil to be rather homogeneous and com¬
posed of red sandy clay.
Inspection of the bench along the escarp¬
ment revealed several places where internal
characteristics are exposed. A particularly
useful exposure occurs at Bay Shore Park
about 10 kilometers north of the campus
where a road has been cut through the dolo¬
mite ledge to provide a boat launching fa¬
cility. There the edge of the escarpment was,
prior to modification, within 10 meters of
Fig. 2. East-West profiles along escarpment front
oriented from south to north (1 to 7).
204
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
Fig. 3. View of escarpment front at Bay Shore Park showing park access road
and truncated talus slope.
the water’s edge and is mantled by a steeply
dipping talus slope (Fig. 3). The free face
of the dolomite rises approximately 8 to 10
meters above the talus and is well jointed.
Large blocks, some the size of houses have
been separated along nearly vertical joint
planes and occur, in various orientations,
downslope. Generally they tilt outward away
from the escarpment at the top (Fig. 4).
Downslope the size of the blocks decreases
over a short distance as they undergo further
Fig. 4. Large wedge block separated from escarp¬
ment front in Bay Shore Park.
separation along joint and bedding planes.
Rectangular blocks are, for the most part,
oriented with their longer axes downslope.
Near the base of the slope, although some
large blocks several meters across remain,
most of the material is much smaller and is
mixed with soil (Fig. 5) . A low scarp formed
Fig. 5. Typical talus blocks in solifluction apron
at base of escarpment in Bay Shore Park.
1980]
A Relict Geomorphological Feature
205
by wave erosion is found locally at the base
of the slope and narrow pebble and cobble
beach deposits occur along the water’s edge.
The Bay Shore Park road has also ex¬
posed the underlying Maquoketa Formation,
a soft incompetent clay-rich unit. The ex¬
posure appears to show drag and deforma¬
tion of beds in the upper part of the Maquo¬
keta. The toe of the slope now has been
truncated and replaced by fill on which the
boat harbor is constructed. North and south
of that point the talus slope extends nearly
to the water line.
Interpretation
Based upon observations of the escarp¬
ment on the UW-Green Bay campus, at sev¬
eral places along its extent, and on the ex¬
posure at Bay Shore Park, we believe that
there are a number of significant factors that
influence the present expression of the bench,
and shed light on its origin. These factors
are:
1) The presence of talus, expanded
joints, and wedge blocks along the escarp¬
ment face. The talus slope is tree covered
and is now nearly stable. There are some
indications of movement (such as tilted
trees) but these appear to be minor adjust¬
ments possibly related to wave erosion of
the toe of the slope. Little new talus is being
added.
2) The presence of the incompetent and
relatively impermeable Maquoketa Forma¬
tion below the dolomite. At Bay Shore Park,
the exposed upper beds of the Maquoketa
are deformed and have shifted downslope.
On campus, the Maquoketa is covered but
the upper contact is marked by a series of
springs and seeps along the escarpment
bench.
3) The relationship of the escarpment
face to the Bay shore. Where the dolomite
is near the shore the slope of the talus is
steeper as only the upper part of the feature
remains. Where the escarpment is situated a
considerable distance from the shore the
feature is broader.
4) The feature appears to be controlled
to some extent by post-glacial relief, and the
thickness of the dolomite beds at the escarp¬
ment edge. Locations of high relief and thick
dolomite exhibit greater volumes of talus
and in some instances larger block failures.
5) Modification of the bench by human
activity. In places buildings have been con¬
structed on the bench and the surface has
been altered by grading. On the UW-Green
Bay campus the escarpment face has been
quarried for lime and building material at
least as long ago as early in this century.
The upper part of the talus slope has been
removed and the feature substantially modi¬
fied.
Based upon our interpretation of these
factors, we propose that the feature origi-
Fig. 6-1. (above) Schematic representation of
original escarpment profile and talus slope.
Fig. 6-2. (below) Schematic representation of
escarpment front modified by severe periglacial
conditions. Note the adjustment of the wedge
blocks and talus overlying the Maquoketa Forma¬
tion.
206
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
nated as a talus slope during severe perigla-
cial conditions (Fig. 6-1. Ice-wedging and
shattering separated talus blocks from the
escarpment face along intersecting vertical
joint planes. In some cases very large blocks
appear to have been aided in their separation
from the dolomite by the failure, along the
upper surface, of the underlying shale. Simi¬
lar talus accumulations and blocks have been
reported from Silurian dolomite in eastern
Iowa by Hedges (1972), and in Ontario by
Straw (1966), and from a much more re¬
sistant quartzite in the Baraboo area of
southern Wisconsin by Black (1964) and
Smith (1949). In each case the features are
thought to be consequences of periglacial
processes operating during severe glacial cli¬
matic episodes.
The next stage in the development of the
fringing bench involved solifluction and
movement of talus and other loose debris
downslope (Fig. 6-2). Originally the base of
the talus slope was developed on the Ma-
quoketa Formation and adjustments appear
to have occurred on that unit. Solifluction
is suggested by the local origin of the angu¬
lar blocks of dolomite, the mixing of soil and
rock, and the distortion of shale layers. The
feature is now nearly stabilized as evidenced
by vegetation and the presence of structures
on the debris-covered talus slope. Move¬
ment of the talus is also suggested by the
finer material downslope forming a well-
defined bench. Where the talus slope closely
approaches the Bay shore the lower part of
the feature is not preserved, perhaps hav¬
ing been eliminated by wave action.
Significance
Features found along the base of the es¬
carpment are significant for several reasons.
If our interpretation of the origin of the talus
and the bench at the base of the escarpment
is correct, periglacial conditions prevailed in
the area during late Wisconsinan time. Black
(1964) has mapped the location of perigla¬
cial features, including block fields, in Wis¬
consin and with one exception they are all
preserved south of the Woodfordian bound¬
ary and were apparently formed under con¬
ditions associated with advance of the ice to
that position. To our knowledge, no peri¬
glacial features have been documented from
northeastern Wisconsin and in fact none have
been reported from Port Huron or younger
materials.
The severe periglacial conditions postu¬
lated for northeastern Wisconsin are con¬
sistent with reconstructions of climate along
the entire ice sheet margin (Pewe, 1973).
Paleobotanical evidence (pollen, primarily)
indicates that Laurentide ice sheet was bor¬
dered by a relatively narrow zone of tundra
or taiga-tundra. And, fossilized remains of
ice-wedges (and an occasional pingo) sug¬
gest that the tundra was sporadically under¬
lain by permafrost. Typically, relic frozen
ground features are interpreted as having
developed either in nonglaciated regions
near the ice front or in drift during deglacia¬
tion. It is reasonable to expect that climatic
conditions responsible for ice-wedge develop¬
ment would also trigger severe talus activity.
This activity would be most pronounced in
outcrops exhibiting a favorable geologic
structure such as the Silurian escarpment.
It appears that if the talus and bench had
formed prior to the last ice advance down
the axis of Green Bay, they would have been
removed or extensively modified by the ice.
However, thick deposits of sand with some
coarser and finer beds or lenses are found
filling major reentrants in the escarpment
that served as drainageways for meltwater.
These elastics are covered by a red till and
either formed during the retreat of Port Hu¬
ron ice or in advance of Greatlakean ice.
This may suggest that the talus escaped de¬
struction by later, thin ice. We have not
found evidence that the sands are younger
than the talus. In fact we have not observed
the two in contact nor any apparent defor¬
mation of the talus by ice.
Following retreat of the ice from the Two
1980]
A Relict Geomorphological Feature
207
Rivers till limit (Evenson and others, 1976),
the waters ponded in Green Bay apparently
drained through a series of progressively
more northerly outlets until the northern
Bay was free of ice. Sometime prior to
11,000 BP temporary stabilization of the
ice front along the Sands-Sturgeon moraine
in Upper Michigan at the northwestern end
of Green Bay (Saarnisto, 1974) may have
coincided with periglacial type conditions in
parts of northeastern Wisconsin. The Sands-
Sturgeon moraine is approximately 120-140
km north of our study area.
Escarpment front features are significant
not only in regional glacial history but also
to contemporary engineering problems.
Much of northeastern Wisconsin, including
the escarpment, is experiencing pressures
from development. A wide variety of struc¬
tures are being built along the base or on
top of the escarpment. Failure to recognize
the presence of buried coarse talus may re¬
sult in differential support for foundations
triggering uneven settling and structural
damage. Furthermore, it is possible that
structures built on top of the escarpment
might be sited on blocks that have separated
from the massive rock along expanded joints.
Because of the conditions described in this
report, such blocks may become unstable
under the proper combinations of load and
water content.
Finally, the features described here supply
evidence of the mechanisms modifying the
escarpment front and causing retreat since
the last glaciation. [These are subjects of
ongoing investigations.]
Literature Cited
Black, R. F. 1964. Periglacial phenomena of
Wisconsin, North-Central United States. In¬
ternational Association of Quaternary Re¬
search, Report 4:21-28.
Evenson, E. B., W. R. Ferrand, D. F. Eichman,
D. M. Mickelson, and L. J. Maher. 1976.
Greatlakean Substage: A replacement for
Valderan Substage in the Lake Michigan
Basin. Quaternary Research 6:411-424.
Hedges, J. 1972. Expanded joints and other
periglacial phenomena along the Niagara
Escarpment. Bulletyn Peryglacjalny, No. 21:
87-126.
Pewe, T. L. 1973. Ice- Wedge casts and past
permafrost distribution in North America.
Geoforum 15:15-26.
Saarnisto, M. 1974. The deglaciation history of
the Lake Superior Region and its climatic
implications. Quaternary Research 4:316-
339.
Smith, H. T. H. 1949. Periglacial features in
the Driftless Area of Southern Wisconsin.
Jour. Geol. 57:196-215.
Straw, A. 1966. Periglacial mass-movement
on the Niagara Escarpment near Meaford,
Grey County. Geographical Bull., Vol. VIII
(4): 369-376.
TYPE C BOTULISM LOSSES AT HORICON NATIONAL
WILDLIFE REFUGE, 19781
R. M. WlNDINGSTAD AND R. M. DUNCAN
National Wildlife Health Laboratory
Madison , Wisconsin
R. L. Drieslein
Horicon National Wildlife Refuge
Mayville , Wisconsin 2
Abstract
Avian botulism was responsible for the death of over 6,000 waterfowl at
Horicon National Wildlife Refuge in Wisconsin in 1978. The outbreak occurred in
early fall on a flooded 250 hectare fallow agricultural area, on the northeast end of
the refuge. The species most severely affected was the green-winged teal ( Anas
carolinensis) , which made up almost 45% of the total birds found. Carcass pick¬
up, mouse toxicity tests, and antitoxin injections of waterfowl are discussed.
Introduction
Avian botulism (also known as “western
duck sickness” and “limberneck disease”)
has been recognized as a major cause of
mortality in wild waterfowl since the early
1900’s (Kalmbach and Gunderson, 1934).
The lethal toxin produced by the bacterium
Clostridium botulinum, type C, affects the
nervous system and affected birds often lose
control of their neck musculature; hence the
synonym “limberneck” disease. The combi¬
nation of high temperature, a shallow aquatic
environment, decaying vegetable matter, and
the presence of C. botulinum may precipi¬
tate an outbreak at almost any time, but
outbreaks generally occur in late summer or
early fall (Rosen, 1971). Lands flooded by
heavy rains or pumping that form large
expanses of shallow waters appear to be par¬
ticularly vulnerable. These bodies of water
create an anaerobic environment with in¬
creased proteinaceous matter that provides
1 A contribution from USDI Fish and Wildlife
Service project 1210-903.02 and 1210-901.04.
2 Current location Trempealeau National Wild¬
life Refuge.
conditions conducive to the growth of the
C. botulinum bacteria and to toxin produc¬
tion. Shorebirds and puddle ducks are the
principal victims of the disease since their
feeding characteristics bring them into the
shallow areas where invertebrates containing
toxin are most abundant. Millions of water-
fowl have succumbed to botulism over the
years in North America (Jensen and Wil¬
liams, 1964). This paper describes losses
from type C botulism at Horicon National
Wildlife Refuge (NWR) in Dodge County,
Wisconsin, in September and October 1978
when over 6,000 waterfowl died.
Area and Methods
Mortality of waterfowl was first detected
on 29 September 1978 by Horicon NWR
personnel patrolling the area by air boat.
The affected site was about 250 hectares of
a flooded fallow agricultural area along
Wisconsin Highway 49 east of Waupun.
The National Wildlife Health Laboratory
(NWHL) at Madison was notified and staff
members began an investigation on 30 Sep¬
tember. Carcass pickup was immediately
initiated to (1) avoid attraction (“decoy
208
1980]
Type C Botulism Losses at Horicon, 1978
209
effect”) of susceptible waterfowl into the
area, and (2) eliminate dead birds as con¬
tributory factors to C. botulinum growth and
as toxin-concentrating sources for the fly
maggots that susceptible birds might ingest
(Duncan and Jensen, 1976). The pickup
of carcasses continued for about 3 weeks
until losses began decreasing by mid-Octo¬
ber. The recovery of moribund and dead
birds was accomplished using 4 airboats, a
canoe, an all-terrain vehicle, a helicopter
and by personnel on foot (Goose Watch III,
1979). These efforts were most intensive
the first ten days of the outbreak and were
reduced when it was evident that mortality
was subsiding (Fig. 1). Necropsies were
performed at the Horicon NWR and at the
NWHL. Standard mouse toxicity tests to
type the botulinum toxin were conducted
by the bacteriology section of the NWHL
according to the procedure of Quortrup and
Sudheimer (1943). The tests involved in¬
oculating 0.5 ml of sera from each bird into
two mice, one of which was protected by
antitoxin. Death of the unprotected and sur¬
vival of the protected mice is considered
diagnostic for type C botulism. Periodic
necropsies performed during the die-off in-
Date (October)
Fig. 1. Daily pick up of waterfowl carcasses at
the Horicon NWR during an avian botulism out¬
break in October 1978.
dicated that mortality from other diseases
was not occurring. Carcasses retrieved dur¬
ing the pickup operations were burned daily.
Sick birds (243 ducks, 24 Canada geese, 22
coots and 2 shorebirds) were housed in
cages converted to “hospital” facilities. Most
of these sick birds received botulism anti¬
toxin to assist in their recovery. Ducks were
injected intraperitoneally with 0.5 ml and the
Canada geese ( Branta canadensis ) with 1.0
ml of the Type C antitoxin. All birds were
Table 1. Number of birds collected during the type C botulism die-off at Horicon NWR
(30 September-23 October 1978)
Sex
6517
210
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 68
allowed to leave the cages when recovered,
except that the Canada geese were physically
released.
Results and Discussion
From 30 September to 23 October 1978,
6,517 waterfowl and shorebirds were incin¬
erated at Horicon NWR (Table 1). Losses
were heaviest early in the botulism die-off
with 61% of the total carcasses retrieved
during the first 5 days (Fig. 1). Carcasses
picked up early in the epizootic were show¬
ing signs of decay, indicating that losses may
have been occurring for as long as 3 to 4
days before the discovery.
Birds that probably were exposed to food
materials most likely to contain toxins of
C. botulinum suffered the heaviest losses.
Green-winged teal (Anas carolinensis), the
species most affected, accounted for almost
45% of all losses (Table 1). Losses among
other dabblers appeared to be proportional
to their numbers present in the area. Wigeon
( Mar ecu americana), blue-winged teal
(Anas discors ), and mallards (Anas platyr-
hynchos ) constituted 30% of the total re¬
trieved. Shovelers (Spatula clypeata), Pin¬
tail (Anas acuta), and Wood ducks (Aix
sponsa) made up less than 5% of the total.
Coots (Fulva americana ) constituted 8.8%
of total losses, while shorebirds accounted
for 6.6% of the total. About 30,000 Canada
geese were using the area when the botulism
outbreak began but the noise and activity
from the pickup operations tended to force
the geese to other areas of the refuge, where
the epizootic was not occurring. The total
number of geese incinerated was 111, or
1.7% of the total waterfowl picked up.
Reported waterfowl losses from this die¬
off exceeded those noted in NWHL and Wis¬
consin DNR files from earlier die-offs in
Wisconsin at Grand River Marsh in 1975,
at Green Bay in 1976 and 1977, and at Hor¬
icon NWR in 1976. However, comparable
botulism losses occurred in 1973 when 5,009
birds were picked up at Horicon NWR and
an additional 5,464 were retrieved at nearby
Lake Sinnissippi that same year (Bell and
Hunt, 1973).
The 1978 die-off subsided by mid-Octo¬
ber with the onset of cooler weather (highs
in mid-50’s and low 60’s) and following
concentrated removal of the carcasses. Daily
pickup of less than 100 birds after 8 October
and of less than 50 after 13 October indi¬
cated that the die-off was indeed subsiding.
Searches of surrounding areas showed that
the die-off was confined to the particular
portion of the marsh described previously.
Total mortality is unknown, but because of
the limited area involved, the majority of the
carcasses probably were retrieved. Also, all
deaths cannot be attributed definitely to
botulism since not all birds were necropsied.
The daily pickup ended on 19 October and
subsequent periodic checks showed that the
outbreak was over by the end of October.
Acknowledgments
We thank all personnel at the Horicon
NWR and at the NWHL for their conscien¬
tious efforts expended during the die-off.
The efforts of Wisconsin DNR in providing
surveillance of nearby wetlands was also ap¬
preciated. Special appreciation is expressed
to J. Toijala for his technical assistance in
the NWHL bacteriology laboratory and to
L. N. Locke for conducting many of the ne¬
cropsies.
Literature Cited
Bell, J. G. and R. A. Hunt. 1973. Chronology
of events — Botulism Type C outbreak —
Horicon Area. Unpublished intradepartmen-
tal report. Wise. Dept. Nat. Res. 10 pp.
Duncan, R. M. and W. I. Jensen. 1976. A re¬
lationship between avian carcasses and living
invertebrates in the epizootiology of avian
botulism. J. Wildl. Disease 12:116-126.
Goose Watch III. 1979. Annual progress re¬
port. Canada goose reduction project in East-
1980]
Type C Botulism Losses at Horicon, 1978
211
central Wisconsin, U. S. Fish and Wildl.
Serv. and Wisconsin DNR, 34 pp.
Jensen, W. I. and C. S. Williams. 1964. Botu¬
lism and fowl cholera, In Linduska, J. P.
(ed). Waterfowl Tomorrow. USDI, Wash¬
ington, D.C. pp. 333-341.
Kalmbach, E. R. and M. F. Gunderson. 1934.
Western duck sickness a form of botulism.
USD A Tech. Bull. 411. 81 pp.
Quortrup, E. R., and R. L. Sudheimer. 1943.
Detection of botulinus toxin in the blood
stream of wild ducks. J. Am. Vet. Med.
Assoc. 102:264-266.
Rosen, M. N. 1971. Botulism, In Davis J. W.,
R. C. Anderson, L. Karstad and D. O.
Trainer (eds). Infectious and parasitic dis¬
eases of wild birds. Iowa State Univ. Press,
Ames. pp. 100-117.
ADDRESSES OF AUTHORS
Richard A. Lillie
Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources
Water Resources Research Section
3911 Fish Hatchery Road
Madison, Wisconsin 53711
Paul F. Meszaros
History and Economics
Mount Senario College
Ladysmith, Wisconsin 54848
David J. Mladenoff
Land Resources Program
Institute for Environmental Studies
70 Science Hall
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Madison, Wisconsin 53706
Joseph M. Moran
Science and Environmental Change
University of Wisconsin-Green Bay
Green Bay, Wisconsin 54302
Edward Noyes
Department of History
University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh
Oshkosh, Wisconsin 54901
T. B. Parkin
Department of Crop and Soil Sciences
Michigan State University
East Lansing, Michigan 48824
Randy D. Rodgers
Kansas Fish and Game Commission
Northwest Regional Office
R.R. 2, U.S. 183 Bypass
Hays, Kansas 67601
Edmund Roney
Speech and Drama Department
Ripon College
Ripon, Wisconsin 54971
J. V. SCRIVNER
Department of Geology
Washington State University
Pullman, Washington 99163
Ronald D. Stieglitz
Science and Environmental Change
University of Wisconsin-Green Bay
Green Bay, Wisconsin 54302
Fannie Taylor
1213 Sweet Briar Road
Madison, Wisconsin 53705
Thompson Webb
4878 Wakanda Drive
Waunakee, Wisconsin 53597
Jan S. Wielert
Science Education Center, Physics Building
The University of Iowa
Iowa City, Iowa 52242
Ronald M. Windingstad
National Fish and Wildlife Health Laboratory
6006 Schroeder Road
Madison, Wisconsin 53711
M. R. Winfrey
Department of Bacteriology
E. B. Fred Hall
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Madison, Wisconsin 53706
Kuang-Ming Wu
Department of Philosophy
University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh
Oshkosh, Wisconsin 54901
THE WISCONSIN ACADEMY OF SCIENCES, ARTS AND LETTERS
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Member, Educational Press Association of America
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1980
PATRON MEMBERS
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Telephone 608 263-1 692
1
AS
36
W7X
NH
Bt
TRANSACTIONS
- of -
the Wisconsin
Academy of
Sciences,
Arts
&
Letters
Volume 69
1981
•ES
TRANSACTIONS
OF THE
WISCONSIN ACADEMY
OF SCIENCES, ARTS
AND LETTERS
Volume 69, 1981
Co-editors
PHILIP WHITFORD
KATHRYN WHITFORD
Copyright ©1981
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters.
Manufactured in United States of America.
All Rights Reserved.
TRANSACTIONS OF THE
WISCONSIN ACADEMY
Established 1870
Volume 69, 1981
MODERN PROPHECY AND THE ACADEMY 1
Reid Bryson
FACTORS AFFECTING WATERFOWL USE AND PRODUCTION
ON MAN-MADE FLOWAGES IN CENTRAL WISCONSIN 4
Guy A. Baldassarre and Lyle E. Nauman
AGE, GROWTH AND TOTAL MORTALITY OF RAINBOW SMELT
IN WESTERN LAKE SUPERIOR 15
W. F. Schaefer, W. A. Swenson and R. A. Heckmann
WETLAND ANTS: INTERNAL MOUND TEMPERATURE AND
HUMIDITY PREFERENCES; LOCATION AND SHAPE OF
MOUNDS AS ADAPTATIONS TO A WETLAND ENVIRONMENT 21
James W. Bruskewitz
THE IMPACT OF NATIVE AMERICANS ON PRESETTLEMENT
VEGETATION IN SOUTHEASTERN WISCONSIN 26
John R. Dorney
HYDROLOGY AND CHRONOLOGY OF A PEAT MOUND IN
DANE COUNTY, SOUTHERN WISCONSIN 37
T. K. Kratz, M. J. Winkler, and C. B. DeWitt
MEASURES OF SYMPATHETIC REACTIVITY IN THE INFANT:
A PILOT STUDY TO ASSESS THEIR FEASIBILITY IN
MASS SCREENING PROGRAMS 46
Michael A. Sloan and Ruth E. Hollinger
FOOD, POPULATION, ENERGY AND THE ENVIRONMENT 50
Peter Dorner
FUEL GRADE ALCOHOL POTENTIAL OF WISCONSIN’S EXPORT
GRAIN AND PROCESS VEGETABLE WASTES 60
George A. Blondin, Stephen J. Comiskey and John M. Harkin
MORAL ASPECTS OF THE ALLOCATION OF
PUBLIC HEALTH CARE FUNDS 73
Ronald A. Cordero
A RECENT DIALECT SURVEY OF SOME TRAITS OF WISCONSINESE 84
Carrie Anne Estill
THE CREATIVE ARTIST AS TRAVELER:
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON IN AMERICA 87
Meredith E, Ackley
RICHARDSON’S ARISTOCRATS: A STUDY IN THE
LIMITS OF FREEDOM 93
Jane Nardin
JAMES JOYCE AND JACOB BOEHME 104
Generose Gabel
THE LABYRINTH: A FOUNDATION OF CHURCH AND
CITY SYMBOLISM 107
Sister Marilyn Thomas
AFRO-AMERICANS IN EARLY WISCONSIN 1 1 3
Barbara J. Shade
EARLY PROBLEMS WITH LITTORAL DRIFT AT
SHORELINE HARBORS ON THE GREAT LAKES 121
James G. Rosenbaum
CHEMISTRY AT THE UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN, 1848-1980 135
Aaron J. Ihde
FURTHER LINKS IN THE CALIFORNIA- WISCONSIN
ASTRONOMICAL CONNECTION 1 5 3
Donald E. Osterbrock
WISCONSIN ACADEMY OF SCIENCES, ARTS AND LETTERS
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Ineva Baldwin, Madison
Reid Bryson, Madison
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Reid Bryson
MODERN PROPHECY AND THE ACADEMY
Reid Bryson
Presidential Address
April 1981
The theme of this meeting has been “The
Sciences, Arts and Letters in the 1980s.”
I have not heard any comments to the effect
that that constitutes a forecast, or prophecy
if you will, for we are only a third of the
way into 1981. Why not? I believe it is be¬
cause this is one of those times in history
when people are interested in analysis and
prediction, and are exposed to prediction
and analysis (some cases instant) every day.
The news this week included discussion of
“leading economics indicators,” measures
which are supposed to have a predictive
capability with respect to the future state
of the economy. The latest issue of Science
contains a discussion of recoverable domes¬
tic petroleum reserves, in the context of pre¬
diction of when the oil will run out and what
our future dependence on imported petro¬
leum will be. With the successful flight of
the “Columbia” we heard repeated “predic¬
tions” (which I question) of space coloniza¬
tion, lunar mining and the like.
Along with many varieties of prediction
in the media we have available, in almost
any magazine we pick up, long articles of an
analytical nature. How systems work and
what they mean must be interesting to large
segments of the population or profit-oriented
publishers would not print so many exam¬
ples. Is this different than the Now genera¬
tion and instant gratification period of the
sixties and early seventies? I think so.
I recently visited the Walt Disney Studios
in California as a consultant on a new set
of exhibits for Disney World. They are
building a very expensive layout called the
“Experimental Prototype Community of To¬
morrow.” It is predictive and analytical.
There is no question, when one looks at the
financial and attendance aspects of Disney
World, but that the people involved in the
production know what “turns on” the Amer¬
ican public as well as huge numbers of for¬
eign visitors. One of my colleagues on this
visit to California was Dr. John Gibbons,
Director of the Congressional Office of
Technology Assessment. He believes that
there is, both in Congress and the general
public, intense interest in analysis of the
world about us and in where things lead us
into the future. At the same time there is a
great deal of anti-intellectualism and a stu¬
pendous amount of misinformation in cir¬
culation. That is where the Wisconsin Acad¬
emy enters the picture, as I shall indicate
later.
I’ve been involved in prediction and scien¬
tific prophesy all my adult life, both short-
range and long-range. My first experience
with operational weather forecasting in 1944
involved a typhoon. Another Air Corps Of¬
ficer, Bill Plumley, and I were assigned to
work at the Navy Weather Central in Ha¬
waii, and our job was to produce a weather
forecast for a fleet air strike against Marcus
Island. We were working with a junior Navy
officer who had been one of my students at
the University of Chicago. We had all day
to make the forecast, but very little data on
which to base the forecast. It was obvious
from the beginning, however, that we had to
decide how a typhoon would move in the
next two days.
During the day we devised a method for
constructing an upper air chart using surface
observations from ships and islands, built a
slide rule to make the calculations, drew the
1
2
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
upper air chart which was needed to estimate
the movement of the typhoon and concluded
that it would not move safely straight west¬
ward, but would curve northward towards
Marcus Island and the fleet. Just before we
were able to send the forecast to the Ad¬
miral, the very senior officer in charge of the
weather central came in — very drunk. He
looked at the forecast for 20 seconds and
said, “Typhoons never recurve at this time
of the year. Change the forecast.” There is
only one answer to a senior officer — “Yes,
Sir!” He was wrong. The typhoon met the
fleet. As I recall about half a dozen aircraft
and crews were lost as a consequence. That
was the beginning of my nearly four decades
of concern with careful analysis and respon¬
sible prediction. It was also a rude introduc¬
tion to what I call anti-intellectualism and
misinformation today.
My next prediction of importance involv¬
ing a typhoon was a much worse case of ig¬
norance or failure to use available knowl¬
edge. I had been following a probable ty¬
phoon across the Pacific for ten days. When
it passed south of Guam it was quite evident
that the “probable” had to be changed to
“certain.” I ordered a reconnaissance by air,
and the aircrew radioed back from the eye
that it was very severe and gave the exact
location. It was clearly beginning to curve
northward and again it was headed towards
a large naval concentration. I immediately
contacted the fleet weather central on Saipan.
They replied, “We don’t believe you.” I re¬
peated the observational facts. They still
didn’t believe but said they would watch. I
found out later that when the Navy aerolo¬
gists finally decided I was right and contacted
the Admiral with the information that the
fleet and the typhoon would rendezvous in
a few hours, he replied, “I don’t believe any
aerologist. Maintain present course.” They
rendezvoused with the typhoon. Four de¬
stroyers were lost along with 250 aircraft,
1700 men and half a cruiser. You may have
read a novel about that storm. It was called
“The Caine Mutiny.” It really happened —
due to anti-intellectualism, misinformation,
and in my opinion a large dose of stupidity.
Years later Prof. John Thomson, a past
president of this Academy, Prof. Robert
Ragotzkie, Dr. James Larsen and I camped
with a group of Eskimos, called the Utkusik-
salingmiut, at the mouth of the Back River
in Arctic Canada. We noticed that the forty
Eskimos included only four able-bodied adult
male hunters and no teenagers who could
replace the hunters if they were lost. One
dead hunter would represent a 25% reduc¬
tion in food supply. When we got back to
Baker Lake, we reported this to the Depart¬
ment of Northern Affairs people who were
responsible for the welfare of the Eskimos.
They said they had not visited the Utkusik-
salingmiut, but that they would.
We flew over the Eskimo camp each year
or so for the next few years and counted the
people. The forty dwindled to seventeen,
then eleven, then none. Later I saw these
same officials and asked if they had visited
that group of Eskimos. They answered, “No,
but we intend to.” Too late. They were gone,
presumably by starvation.
With solid information available, with
simple rational analysis, with fairly obvious
consequences predictable, why do important
events still come as disasters which could
have been avoided?
The Wisconsin Academy of Sciences,
Arts, and Letters was chartered in 1870 to
promote Sciences, Arts, and Letters in the
State of Wisconsin. Sciences, Arts, and Let¬
ters have flourished in the century since, so
much so that constant learning is now neces¬
sary to keep up with the “explosion” of
knowledge, of books, and of art. How many
of the issues that face us today, both in the
state and in the world, were even discussed
when most of us were in school? If we are
to make rational assessments of the issues we
must have the background of knowledge and
the analytical skills which are necessary. If
we are to choose between the variety of pre-
1981]
Bryson — Modern Prophecy and the Academy
3
dictions of the future in order to plot our
own course, we must each have our own in¬
ternal “nonsense detector.” If we are to
know who we are and where we came from
we must understand our heritage and what
our artists and writers are saying. If we are
to comprehend the world around us, we must
understand science as well. If we are to face
the future with wisdom, we must combine
all these in a rational assessment.
The challenge to the Wisconsin Academy
of Sciences, Arts, and Letters is greater than
it was in 1870. Let us mobilize our efforts
to maintain the Wisconsin tradition of an
enlightened citizenry as we face a future of
rapid change, in a crowded world full of
unknowns. With knowledge we can reduce
the uncertainty and make Wisconsin an even
better place to live.
FACTORS AFFECTING WATERFOWL USE AND PRODUCTION
ON MAN-MADE FLOW AGES IN CENTRAL WISCONSIN
Guy A. Baldassarre and Lyle E. Nauman
College of Natural Resources
University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point
A bstract
Factors affecting waterfowl use and production on 3 man-made flowages
(B Flowage, D Flowage, MV Flowage) in central Wisconsin were studied from
April 1975 — August 1976. Production of ducklings on the 3 flowages combined
was 3-8 times lower than reported from natural wetlands in southern Wisconsin.
This overall low production was directly related to poor soil and water fertility.
Flowage soils were acidic; water was very soft, and both were low in nutrient
content. Poor fertility resulted in low invertebrate populations that, on 2 flowages,
were largely unavailable to puddle ducks during the breeding and brood-rearing
periods. However, waterfowl use days on B Flowage were 6 times that of D Flow-
age and 12 times the use on MV Flowage. Further, duckling production on B
Flowage was 25-32 and 4-5 times that of D and MV Flowage, respectively. Soil
and water fertility were not substantially greater on B than on D and MV Flow-
ages, but plant and invertebrate foods were of better quality and more available due
to shallower water levels. Puddle duck production and use of flowages in nutrient-
poor regions can be increased through manipulation of water levels to increase
availability of potentially limiting food supplies to spring migrants, breeding pud¬
dle duck hens, and developing ducklings.
Introduction
Waterfowl habitat in Wisconsin has di¬
minished greatly. Jahn and Hunt (1964)
reported destruction of approximately one-
half of Wisconsin’s original 2,025,000 ha of
wetlands. Bennett (1977) estimated a 3%
annual drainage rate of privately owned wet¬
lands in 13 southeastern Wisconsin counties
while Wheeler and March (1979) reported
a 9% loss in wetland acreage during a 3-
year study in southeastern Wisconsin.
This habitat loss emphasizes the need for
protection and management of remaining
wetlands if present population levels and
recreational uses of Wisconsin’s waterfowl
resources are to continue. The Wisconsin
Department of Natural Resources (WDNR)
owns an estimated 108,540 ha of wetlands
(King 1971) with an acquisition goal of an
additional 72,495 ha at an estimated cost of
$10.5 million (Tyler and Helland 1969).
However, March et al. (1973) stressed that
an investment of this magnitude necessitates
knowledge of current and potential water-
fowl production and use of existing wetlands.
They also stated that increased development
and management of state-owned wetlands
could increase Wisconsin’s duck production
by 50%.
Management of man-made impound¬
ments should proceed only after data regard¬
ing waterfowl use and production potential
have been collected. This study investigated
factors affecting waterfowl use and produc¬
tion on 3 man-made impoundments on state-
owned wildlife management units in central
Wisconsin. Although these units are within
a low density production region (Jahn and
4
1981]
Baldassarre and Nauman — Waterfowl Use and Production
5
Hunt 1964), the factors depressing water-
fowl use and production had not been
studied intensively. Objectives were (1) to
determine waterfowl use, density, composi¬
tion and production; and (2) to examine
soil and water quality, emergent and sub¬
merged vegetation, and invertebrate popula¬
tions.
The study was financed by the WDNR
through the Federal Aid in Wildlife Restora¬
tion Program. R. Hunt, J. Beule and W.
Wheeler (WDNR) contributed suggestions
and demonstrations of field techniques. J.
Haug (WDNR) provided vehicles, equip¬
ment and helpful comments during field
work. E. Nelson assisted in all phases of the
field work. N. Payne (University of Wiscon-
sin-Stevens Point), R. Owen (University of
Maine) and E. G. Bolen (Texas Tech Uni¬
versity) reviewed the manuscript.
Study Areas
Two of the study areas (B Flowage and
D Flowage) are located on the Sandhill
Wildlife Area which is situated in south¬
western Wood County, 1.6 km west of Bab¬
cock, Wisconsin (Fig. 1). These flowages
are located in T2IN, R3E, sections 9 and 10
of Remington Township, Wood County,
Wisconsin. B Flowage is a Type IV wetland
(Shaw and Fredine 1956), 13 ha in size, and
mostly covered by emergent vegetation. D
Flowage is a Type V wetland, 37 ha in size,
29 ha of which are open water. The two
flowages are connected by a narrow drainage
ditch while both are surrounded by upland
vegetation, mainly oaks ( Quercus spp.),
aspen ( Populus tremuloides) , and jack pine
( Pinus banksiana) .
The third study area (MV Flowage) is
located on the Meadow Valley Wildlife Area
which is situated about 9.7 km southwest of
the Sandhill Area (Fig. 1). This flowage
forms the western boundary of the Meadow
Valley Flowage and is located in T20N,
R3E, sections 9 and 10 of Kingston Town¬
ship, Juneau County, Wisconsin. MV Flow-
Fig. 1. Location of study flowages showing other
wetlands in the area on the state and federal wild¬
life management units in central Wisconsin.
age is a Type IV wetland, 53 ha in size, and
characterized by emergent vegetation inter¬
rupted by several small, shrub-covered is¬
lands. The flowage is bordered on the north,
east, and west by similar impoundments and
to the south by oak-aspen hardwoods.
Methods
Waterfowl Use and Production Estimates
Waterfowl populations were censused be¬
tween 0430-1300 CST 20 April-8 August
1975 at 7-8 day intervals and from 1 April-
24 May 1976 at 2-3 day intervals. Census
results were tabulated as use days per species
per flowage ( 1 use day = 1 duck/day/flow-
age). Breeding pair populations were deter¬
mined as outlined by Dzubin (1969). Water-
fowl nests were located by searching avail¬
able cover on and within 60 m of each im¬
poundment. Searches were conducted once
from 15-21 May 1975 and 2-3 times from
6
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
25 April- 16 June 1976. Periods of nest initi¬
ation were calculated by backdating broods.
Duck broods were censused from tree
platforms using a 20-60X spotting scope.
Each flowage was censused at least once
every 2 weeks from 2 June-23 July 1976,
with counts conducted 0.5 hrs before to 1.5
hrs after sunrise or sunset. Brood species
was recorded and age class determined (Gol-
lop and Marshall 1954). Duck production
represents the number of young/brood to
reach age class Ila (18-22 days) or older.
A production range was calculated distin¬
guishing resident and transient broods using
each flowage. The minimum estimate
counted only broods observed 2 or more
times on a flowage (residents), whereas the
maximum estimate included broods observed
only once (transients).
Habitat Analysis (Soil, Water, Vegetation
and Invertebrates)
Soil samples were collected from B and
D Flowages (4 and 3 sample sites, respec¬
tively) on 12 August 1975 and from MV
Flowage (5 sample sites) on 30 July 1975.
Sample sites were located randomly to pro¬
vide an even area coverage of each flowage.
A core sampler designed by research per¬
sonnel at the Horicon Marsh Headquarters
(WDNR) was used to collect 2 cores/site.
The top 7.6 cm from all cores on an indi¬
vidual flowage constituted a composite sam¬
ple which was frozen until analyzed by the
Department of Soil Science, University of
Wisconsin-Madison.
Water samples were collected at 2-week
intervals, 13 June-15 August 1975 and 31
March-4 August 1976. Samples were taken
from surface waters at a station located in
the middle and outflow of B Flowage, in¬
flow and middle of D Flowage and the SE,
NE, SW, and NW areas of MV Flowage.
Temperature and apparent color were
measured in situ using a Hach water analysis
kit. Alkalinity, conductivity, turbidity, dis¬
solved oxygen and carbon dioxide were
measured at the water analysis laboratory of
the Environmental Task Force, University
of Wisconsin-Stevens Point (American Pub¬
lic Health Association 1976). Water levels
were recorded at 2-7 day intervals at outflow
control structures on each flowage.
Emergent vegetation was measured in Au¬
gust 1976 using a series of sample quadrats
located within the major vegetative stands
on each flowage. Quadrats were 0.25 m2
and located randomly on transects in the
central portion of each stand. Sample size/
stand varied dependent on the size of each
stand. Parameters measured were ( 1 ) num¬
ber of stems of each species, (2) percent
area coverage of each species, and (3) per¬
cent area coverage by all species. An im¬
portance value (relative density + relative
frequency -F relative abundance) was cal¬
culated for each species within a stand (Cox
1967).
Techniques used to sample submergent
vegetation followed Jessen and Lound
(1962). Samples were collected from open
water areas only and an importance value
(relative frequency + relative abundance)
was calculated (Cox 1967).
Invertebrates were collected from B Flow-
age at 2-week intervals, 1 April-8 July 1976
and from D and MV Flowages at 4-week
intervals, 15 April-8 July 1976. Sample sites
were located randomly in emergent vegeta¬
tion to provide an even area coverage of
each flowage. Samples were taken from the
water column (surface samples) and the
substrate (bottom samples). At each sur¬
face sample site (6 each on B and D Flow-
ages, 9 on MV Flowage) a bottom sample
was also taken. Two additional bottom sam¬
ples were taken on D Flowage and 1 on MV
Flowage. Surface samples were taken using
a dip net with an area opening of 725 cm2
and 9 mesh openings/cm2. Each sample
consisted of 4 1-m long sweeps at a depth of
20 cm (0.29 m3/sample). Bottom samples
were collected with a 15.2 cm2 Ekman grab
with 1 grab taken/site (0.02 m2/sample).
1981]
Baldassarre and Nauman — Waterfowl Use and Production
7
Table 1. Waterfowl use days and use days/ha on study flowages in central Wisconsin,
1 April-24 May 1976.a
B F towage D Flow age MV Flow age Total %
Species 13 ha 37 ha 53 ha 103 ha total
Mallard . 111 (8.5) 128 (3.5) 243 (4.6) 482 (4.7) 8.3
Blue-winged teal . 60 (4.6) 108 (2.9) 122 (2.3) 290 (2.8) 5.0
Ring-necked duck . 2897 (222.8) 199 (5.4) 404 (7.6) 3500 (34.0) 60.4
Lesser scaup . . 0 (0.0) 367 (9.9) 11 (0.2) 378 (3.7) 6.5
Canada goose . . . 11 (0.8) 346 (9.4) 245 (4.6) 602 (5.8) 10.4
Other (10 species)b . 160 (12.3) 305 (8.2) 74 (1.4) 539 (5.2) 9.3
a Number in parenthesis is use days/ha.
b Green-winged teal (A nas crecca), American widgeon (A. americana), Shoveler (A. clypeata), Wood duck
(Aix sponsa ), Canvasback {Ay thy a valisineria ), Common goldeneye ( Bucephala clangula ), Bufflehead
(B. albeola), American merganser {Mergus merganser), Red-breasted merganser (M. serrator). Hooded
merganser (M. cucullatus).
Samples were hand-sorted and invertebrates
preserved in 70% isopropyl alcohol. Num¬
bers in each taxon were tabulated and vol¬
ume determined (Myers and Peterka 1974).
Results and Discussion
Waterfowl Use and Production Estimates
There were 5791 waterfowl use days (56/
ha) on study flowages in 1976, with B Flow-
age receiving more use than D or MV Flow-
age (Table 1). Total use days/ha on B
Flowage (249) were 6 X D Flowage and
12 X MV Flowage. The ring-necked duck
{Ay thy a collaris) comprised 89% of all use
on B Flowage while other diving ducks, par¬
ticularly lesser scaup (A. affinis ) used D
Flowage extensively. Breeding puddle duck
(mallard, blue-winged teal) use days/ha
was 13.2 on B Flowage versus 6.4 and 6.9
on D and MV Flowages, respectively.
Ring-necked duck use of B Flowage re¬
sulted from an abundant food supply. Men-
dall (1958) reported spring foods of ring¬
necked ducks in Maine as 89% vegetative
matter with burreeds {Sparganium spp.) and
pondweeds {Potamogeton spp.) comprising
31%. These plants were dominant on B
Flowage. In contrast, D Flowage lacked
vegetation in open water areas and water
levels along the shoreline were too shallow
to permit feeding by diving ducks.
Lesser scaup use of D Flowage occurred
because of deeper water (Fig. 2) and the
Fig. 2. The water level fluctuations on study flowages in central Wisconsin, 1975 and 1976.
8
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
presence of an invertebrate food supply.
Bellrose (1976) reported that lesser scaup
feed mostly on animal matter and in deeper
water than other diving ducks except sea
ducks. Invertebrate samples collected on D
Flo wage contained large leeches (Hiru-
dinea) which were nearly absent from B
and MV Flowages. Leeches constitute an im¬
portant food of lesser scaup (Dirschl 1969,
Bartonek and Murdy 1970).
Puddle duck use on all flowages was re¬
stricted to areas of shallow water often char¬
acterized by emergent vegetation. Water
depths on D Flowage exceeded levels rec¬
ommended by Linde (1969) (Fig. 2) for
puddle ducks. Feeding activity occurred in
the narrow band of emergent vegetation
along the shoreline but as water levels re¬
ceded during the season this site became
unavailable. In contrast, B Flowage received
greater puddle duck use/ha because water
was shallower and covered with dense stands
of quality food plants, most notably manna
grass ( Glyceria borealis) and rice cut-grass
( Leersia oryzoides) .
Deep water restricted feeding sites avail¬
able to puddle ducks on MV Flowage. Steep¬
sided dikes surrounded the flowage and did
not provide a gradient where shallow water
feeding sites could develop. Shallow water
sites used by puddle ducks occurred around
islands and at the north end of the flowage
where an area of upland vegetation between
the dike and water allowed development of
a shallow water gradient into the flowage.
Restriction of food availability to breeding
puddle duck hens is important, particularly
when residual seed sources are present. On
all flowages, seeds had accumulated in bot¬
tom substrates where deep water often ren¬
dered them unavailable to puddle ducks
(Baldassarre 1980). Seeds provide a ready
source of energy (carbohydrates) needed for
daily metabolic activity (Bardwell et al.
1962) while protein obtained from inverte¬
brates is used in egg development (Swanson
and Meyer 1973). Restriction of residual
seed availability may force hens to catabo-
lize valuable protein sources for energy and
thus they may not reproduce efficiently, es¬
pecially if the invertebrate food supply is
limiting.
Breeding pair density for all flowages was
0.08/ha in 1975 and 0.10/ha in 1976.
Pair density was similar on each flowage
(0.08/ha-0. 10/ha) except D Flowage in
in 1975 (0.02/ha). This density was 6-20
times lower than reported from natural wet¬
lands in southern Wisconsin (Jahn and Hunt
1964). However, although pair density was
low, the number of water areas in this re¬
gion (Fig. 1 ) may offset a low per ha density
and substantially contribute to the state’s
breeding pair population.
Nest searching (75 hrs) yielded only
3 nests for the 2 years and all were ulti¬
mately destroyed by raccoons ( Procyon lo-
tor). Mallards initiated nests throughout
April with a slight peak (24%) occurring
in week 3. Blue-winged teal began 59% of
their nests from 19-26 May while wood
ducks nested from 14-28 April (80%). Al¬
though few nests were located, if nest preda¬
tion is severe its effect may be compounded
Table 2. The production per hectare of age Class II and older ducklings
on the study flowages in central Wisconsin, 1976.
Blue-winged Total
Flowage Hectares Mallard teal Wood duck Production /ha
B Flowage . . 13 0.5-1.0 0.5 1.5-1.7 2.5-S.2
D Flowage . 37 0 0 0-0.1 0-0.1
MV Flowage . 53 0.5 0.1 0 0.6
1981]
Baldassarre and Nauman — Waterfowl Use and Production
9
in nutrient-poor regions as renesting hens
may have difficulty obtaining sufficient nu¬
trition.
The production of ducklings on all flow-
ages was 0.56-0.73/ha in 1976 (Table 2).
Production was highest on B Flowage (2.5-
3.2/ha) and lowest on D Flowage (0.0-
0.05/ha). Total production per ha was 3-8
times lower than reported in productive
marshes in southern Wisconsin (Jahn and
Hunt 1964). Jahn and Hunt (1964) con¬
sidered 2.5 ducklings/ha as good produc¬
tion on quality natural wetlands in that re¬
gion. Moyle (1961) estimated waterfowl
production from soft water areas in Minne¬
sota as 0.31 /ha. Although production was
low on a per ha basis, this region may be
producing a substantial number of fledged
ducklings due to the extensive water acre¬
age in the region (Fig. 1 ) .
Habitat Analysis (Soil, Water, Vegetation
and Invertebrates)
The soil of each study flowage was
strongly acidic, sandy, high in organic mat¬
ter content and generally low in nutrients
(Table 3). Nutrient level requirements for
plants in wetland soils are not established,
therefore field crop levels were used for
comparison (Spencer 1963). Flowage soil
levels of nitrate nitrogen, calcium and po¬
table 3. The soil analysis of study flowages in
central Wisconsin, July and August 1975.
B D MV
Flowage Flowage Flowage
tassium were low and phosphorus and mag¬
nesium were medium when compared to
field crop levels. Nutrient levels were also
compared to a high quality production area
in Wisconsin (Beule and Janisch 1976),
where pH and nutrient levels were generally
higher than on study flowages.
The high percent of sand and silt compris¬
ing study flowage soils is characteristic of
Wisconsin’s Central Plain Region and is the
basic source limiting the fertility of the flow-
ages. Sand and silt are predominantly quartz
(Si02), a compound usually chemically in¬
active and therefore of low nutrient supply¬
ing capacity (Buckman and Brady 1969).
The high organic content of flowage soils
and the fibric to hemic condition of the ma¬
terial limit available fertility because nutri¬
ents are accumulating there. When organic
matter exceeds about 4% it may become
harmful to shallow aquatic systems (Cook
and Powers 1958). High nutrient levels of¬
ten observed shortly after impoundment
flooding result from an initial release of soil
soluble nutrients and decomposition of pre¬
flood vegetation (Whitman 1973). How¬
ever, as soil conditions become anerobic,
the decomposition rate declines, nutrients
accumulate in the organic matter and are
unavailable for release back into the system
(Whitman 1973).
The strongly acidic soil pH accelerates
organic matter build-up because decompo¬
sition is slowed under acidic conditions
(Phillips 1970). Also, anerobic conditions
usually exist in submerged organic matter,
and decomposition of marsh sediments is
often incomplete (Kadlec 1962). Kadlec
(1962) suggested that the colloidal content
of soil increases with impoundment age as
organic matter accumulates. This increases
the exchange capacity of that layer, result¬
ing in a loss of nutrients from the water and
their accumulation in the soil. Therefore,
the accumulation of the limited nutrients
present in study flowage soils is of acceler¬
ated concern because of initial low fertility.
10
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
Water quality of the study flowages was
poor (Table 4). Linde (1969) defined un¬
productive marsh waters in Wisconsin as
having an alkalinity less than 10 mg/1.
Mean conductivity (24.9 mhos/cm) is be¬
low a “low” described by Hem (1970)
while a median pH of 6.5 indicated acidic
conditions. There was no difference between
Table 4. The mean (± SE) value of the water analysis parameters measured on study flowages in central
Wisconsin, combining data from 13 June-15 August 1975 and 31 March-4 August 1976.
B Flow age D F towage MV Flow age All Flowages
(n = 36) (n = 36) (n = 68) (n = 140)
pH (median) . 6.6 6.3 6.7 6.5
Alkalinity (mg/1 CaC03) . . . 8.7 ± 0.5 6.1 ± 0.6 9.2 ± 0.3 8.3 ± 0.3
Conductivity (mhos/cm) . 26.6 ±1.1 21.9 ± 0.8 25.5 ± 0.6 24.9 ± 0.5
Apparent color . . . 145 ± 5 175 ± 8 145 ± 7 153 ± 5
Turbidity (JTU) . 1.8 ± 0.2 1.7 ±0.1 2.2 ± 0.1 2.0 ±0.1
Dissolved CO? (mg/1) . 6.1 ± 0.8 6.8 ± 0.6 5.0 ± 0.4 5.7 ± 0.3
Dissolved 02 (mg/1) . . 7.0 ± 0.3 7.6 ± 0.3 7.1 ± 0.2 7.2 ± 0.2
Temperature (centigrade) . 20.0 ± 1.1 20.2 ± 1.1 19.5 ± 0.8 19.8 ± 0.6
Mixed Emergents
Eleocharis
Carex-Emergents
Sparganium
ill
Carex lacustris
Carex-Scirpus
Scirpus
Open Water
Sedge Mea do>
Willow-Shrub
g J Uplands
Dike
Fig. 3. The vegetative cover type maps of the study flowages in central Wisconsin, 1976.
1981]
Baldassarre and Nauman — Waterfowl Use and Production
11
flowages (P > 0.05) in mean temperature,
dissolved oxygen or carbon dioxide, but a
difference (P < 0.05) occurred in mean al¬
kalinity, conductivity, turbidity, color and
pH.
Of the major vegetative cover types iden¬
tified on each study flowage (Fig. 3), only
4 (mixed emergents, Carex-emergents, Eleo-
charis, Sparganium) were used by feeding
waterfowl. Rice cut-grass, a valuable com¬
ponent of the mixed emergents type, and the
Sparganium type provided a quality food
source on B Flowage (Bellrose 1941, Bell-
rose and Anderson 1943, Coulter 1955).
The Carex-emergents type on MV Flowage
covered 10.1 ha, but was not used exten¬
sively by puddle ducks, perhaps because
Carex spp. common in waterfowl marshes
do not retain quantities of seed through win¬
ter (Coulter 1955). Also, only 0.8% of all
seeds collected from 40 bottom invertebrate
samples on MV Flowage in 1976 were
Carex spp. seeds. Stem density for each
stand and the major species present are
summarized by Baldassarre (1978).
The submergent vegetation of B Flowage
was dominated by pondweeds ( Potamoge -
ton spp.), normally a valuable waterfowl
food (Martin and Uhler 1939). Vegetative
coverage/sample was 16% but the shallow
water may have offset low abundance by
increasing food availability, particularly to
puddle ducks. In contrast, the submergent
community on D Flowage contained little
vegetation (4% coverage/sample), thus not
producing an abundance of waterfowl food.
Also, the deep water almost completely
eliminated food availability to puddle ducks
which restricted feeding activity to the shal¬
low water band of emergents along the flow-
age’s perimeter.
Submergent vegetation on MV Flowage
contained large amounts of vegetation (56%
coverage/sample) dominated by pondweeds
and waterweed ( Elodea canadensis). How¬
ever, waterweed is a low value duck food
(Martin et al. 1951) whereas the pondweeds
were relatively unavailable to puddle ducks
because of deep water.
Invertebrate Populations
The high volume of Chironomidae and
Mollusca (78% Gastropoda) in the surface
samples on B Flowage (Fig. 4) attracted
breeding puddle ducks and duck broods.
Many investigators found Mollusca (mainly
Gastropoda) and Chironomidae to be im¬
portant foods of breeding puddle ducks and
young ducklings (Krapu 1974, Swanson et
al. 1974). Krapu and Swanson (1975)
found these taxa to be rich sources of pro¬
tein and calcium, while Swanson and Meyer
(1973) reported that Chronomidae, along
y
y
u
u
u
u
u
u
y
FLOWAGE B D MV ALL
Fig. 4. The mean volume (ml/m3) of invertebrate
taxa collected from the surface samples on B
Flowage (n ~ 6), D Flowage (n = 6), MV Flow-
age (n — 9) and All Flowages combined (n — 21)
in central Wisconsin, 1 April-8 July 1976.
12
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
with Corixidae and Gammaridae, provided
the most complete range of amino acids
based on the requirements of young duck¬
lings. Sugden (1973) stated that the high
quality protein provided by Chironomidae
larvae is important in the diets of most if
not all young ducks.
The shallow water on B Flowage in¬
creased the availability of invertebrates, par¬
ticularly bottom fauna. Sphaeriidae, Chi¬
ronomidae and other taxa were more abun¬
dant than on D or MV Flowages (Fig. 5).
The greater abundance and more available
taxa in bottom samples on B Flowage may
have been the most important factor in at¬
tracting broods to this flowage. Swanson and
Meyer (1973) stressed the importance of
shallow water in increasing invertebrate
availability to feeding puddle ducks. High
invertebrate populations on B Flowage re¬
sulted from the interspersion of shallow
water with dense emergent vegetation. Voigts
(1976) found high invertebrate populations
S •'is-*5* «*-*=*
| n uv ALL
FLOWAGE W m W Akb
Fig. 5. The mean volume (ml/m2) of invertebrate
taxa collected from the bottom samples on B
Flowage (n == 6), D Flowage (n = 6), MV Flow-
age (n = 10) and All Flowages combined (n = 22)
in central Wisconsin, 1 April-8 July 1976.
in areas of open water interspersed with
emergents. Schroeder (1972) recorded great¬
est invertebrate abundance in shallow
“feather edge” areas of emergents.
Periodic drying and flooding of emergent
vegetation also increased invertebrate abun¬
dance on B Flowage because much of the
vegetation was exposed as water levels re¬
ceded through summer but was reflooded in
spring. These fluctuations also caused the
high surface invertebrate populations on D
Flowage as all sites were located in shore¬
line emergents subjected to water fluctua¬
tion. Swanson et al. (1974) stated that high
invertebrate populations occur when spring
runoff water inundates dead vegetation from
the previous year. This creates a “hay infu¬
sion” which promotes high invertebrate bio¬
mass due to the rapid breakdown and utili¬
zation of stored organic matter.
The deep open water area on D Flowage
characterized by sparse submergent vegeta¬
tion contained few free-swimming inverte¬
brates. Invertebrate populations on MV
Flowage were subjected to these same envi¬
ronmental influences (water fluctuation and
substrate); however, population abundance
was limited by steep-sided dikes which re¬
stricted water fluctuation and invertebrate
availability.
Water level fluctuations also were impor¬
tant in determining invertebrate availability.
For example, during the 4th week of May
1976 the flowage immediately north of MV
Flowage was subjected to complete draw¬
down. The drawdown greatly increased duck
and waterbird use because shallow water in¬
creased food availability (Baldassarre
1980). Swanson and Meyer (1977) found
that receding water levels create a short term
increase in invertebrate availability due to
shallow water and concentration of orga¬
nisms within a reduced water volume. The
increase of food availability in nutrient-poor
aquatic ecosystems may be of compounded
importance to breeding puddle ducks as in¬
creased availability may somewhat offset the
1981]
Baldassarre and Nauman — Waterfowl Use and Production
13
low food abundance as compared to a more
fertile marsh.
The comparatively low invertebrate bio¬
mass on study flowages is probably the single
most important factor limiting waterfowl
production. Krull (1976) reported a mean
volume of invertebrates collected from bot¬
tom samples in New York marshes as 2-4
times the mean volume of All Flowages and
up to 9 times that of any individual flowage.
The bottom invertebrate populations on
Type 4 wetlands in Wisconsin’s Horicon
Marsh region (Wheeler and March 1979)
were 13-38 times that on all flowages while
surface sample volumes averaged 4-10 times
greater.
Management Recommendations
The poor flowage fertility will always
limit invertebrate abundance; therefore,
management should be directed toward in¬
creasing invertebrate and plant food avail¬
ability. During the puddle duck breeding
season flowage water levels should be <30
cm, thus increasing food availability.
Selected flowages could be drawn-down
during the peak spring migration periods,
thus creating a highly available food supply
which may attract additional breeding pairs
to the area. Higher water levels should be
maintained in some flowages to insure a
water supply throughout the brood rearing
season.
Also, to stimulate soil and water fertility,
each flowage should undergo a complete
drawdown on a 5-7 year rotational basis
(Whitman 1976). The first drawdown
should span 2 growing seasons to maximize
the decomposition of the heavy organic mat¬
ter accumulation.
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Standard methods for examination of water
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1193 pp.
Baldassarre, G. A. 1978. Ecological factors
affecting waterfowl production on three
man-made flowages in central Wisconsin.
M.S. Thesis. Univ. Wise. -Stevens Point.
124 pp.
- . 1980. Residual seeds as potential
spring waterfowl foods in small, man-made
impoundments. Prairie Natl. 21:1-8.
Bardwell, J. L., Jr., L. L. Glasgow, and E. A.
Epps, Jr. 1962. Nutritional analyses of foods
eaten by pintail and teal in south Louisiana.
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16:209-217.
Bartonek, J. C, and H. W. Murdy. 1970. Sum¬
mer foods of lesser scaup in subarctic taiga.
Arctic 23:35-44.
Bellrose, F. C. 1941. Duck food plants of the
Illinois River Valley. Illinois Nat. Hist. Sur¬
vey Bull. 21:235-280.
— - -, and H. G. Anderson. 1943. Preferen¬
tial rating of duck food plants. Illinois Nat.
Hist. Survey Bull. 22:417-433.
- . 1976. Ducks, geese and swans of North
America. Stackpole Books. Harrisburg, Pa.
543 pp.
Bennett, A. J. 1977. The present status and
future of sandhill cranes in southeastern
Wisconsin. Pages 86-93 in Eastern greater
sandhill crane symposium.
Beule, J. D., and T. Janisch. 1976. Soil sedi¬
ment survey. Performance Report. P-R proj¬
ect W-141-R-1 1, Study 304.3. Wise. Dept.
Nat. Res. 3 pp.
Buckman, H. O., and N. C. Brady. 1969. The
nature and property of soils. Macmillan Co.,
New York. 653 pp.
Cook, A. H., and C. F. Powers. 1958. Early
biochemical changes in the soils and waters
of artificially created marshes in New York.
New York Fish and Game J. 5:9-65.
Coulter, M. W. 1955. Spring food habits of
surface feeding ducks in Maine. J. Wildl.
Manage. 19:263-267.
Cox, G. W. 1967. Laboratory manual of gen¬
eral ecology. W. C. Brown Co., Dubuque,
Iowa. 165 pp.
Dirschl, H. J. 1969. Foods of lesser scaup and
blue-winged teal in the Saskatchewan River
Delta. J. Wildl. Manage. 33:77-87.
Dzubin, A. 1969. Assessing breeding popula¬
tions of ducks by ground counts. Pages 178-
230 in Saskatoon Wetlands Seminar. Can.
Wildl. Serv. Rept. Series 6. 262 pp.
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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
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Gollop, J. B., and W. H. Marshall. 1954. A
guide to aging duck broods in the field. Miss.
Flyway Tech. Bull. 14 pp. mimeo.
Hem, J. D. 1970. Study and interpretation of
the chemical characteristics of natural water
(2nd ed.). U.S. Geol. Survey Water-Supply
Paper 1473. 363 pp.
Jahn, L. R., and R. A. Hunt. 1964. Duck and
coot ecology and management in Wisconsin.
Wise. Conserv. Dept. Tech. Bull. 33. 212 pp.
lessen, R., and R. Lound. 1962. An evaluation
of a survey technique for submerged aquatic
plants. Minn. Dept. Conserv., Game Investi¬
gation Rept. 6. 10 pp.
Kadlek, J. A. 1962. Effects of a drawdown on
a waterfowl impoundment. Ecology 43:267-
281.
King, F. H. 1971. Existing state wetland pro¬
grams for fish and game management and
state forests and parks. Wise. Dept. Nat.
Res. 4 pp. mimeo.
Krapu, G. L. 1974. Feeding ecology of pintail
hens during reproduction. Auk 91:278-290.
- , and G. A. Swanson. 1975. Some nu¬
tritional aspects of reproduction in prairie
nesting pintails. J. Wildl. Manage. 39:156-
162.
Krull, J. N. 1976. Abundance and diversity
of benthos during the spring waterfowl mi¬
gration. Am. Midi. Nat. 95:459-462.
Linde, A. F. 1969. Techniques for wetland
management. Wise. Dept. Nat. Res. Research
Rept. 45. 159 pp.
March, J. R., G. F. Martz, and R. A. Hunt.
1973. Breeding duck populations and habitat
in Wisconsin. Wise. Dept. Nat. Res. Tech.
Bull. 68. 36 pp.
Martin, A. C., and F. M. Uhler. 1939. Food of
game ducks in the United States and Can¬
ada. U.S. Dept. Agric. Tech. Bull. 634. 308
pp.
— - , H. S. Zim, and A. L. Nelson. 1951.
American wildlife and plants. McGraw-Hill
Co., New York. 500 pp.
Mendall, H. L. 1958. The ring-necked duck in
the northeast. Univ. Maine Studies, Second
Series, No. 73. 317 pp.
Moyle, J. B. 1961. Aquatic invertebrates as re¬
lated to larger water plants and waterfowl.
Minn. Dept. Conserv. Invest. Rept. 233. 24
pp. mimeo.
Myers, G. L., and J. J. Peterka. 1974. A syringe
volumetric measuring device. J. Fish. Res.
Board Can. 31:1160-1161.
Phillips, J. 1970. Wisconsin’s wetland soils.
Wise. Dept. Nat. Res., Research Rept. 57.
22 pp.
Shaw, S. P., and C. G. Fredine. 1956. Wetlands
of the United States: their extent and value
to waterfowl and other wildlife. U.S. Fish
and Wildl. Serv. Circ. 39. 67 pp.
Schroeder, L. 1972. Effects of invertebrate
utilization on waterfowl production. M.S.
Thesis, Colorado State Univ., Fort Collins.
84 pp.
Spencer, H. E. 1963. Man-made marshes for
Maine waterfowl. Maine Dept. Inland Fish,
and Game Bull. 9. 79 pp.
Sugden, L. G. 1973. Feeding ecology of pintail,
gadwall, American widgeon and lesser scaup
ducklings. Can. Wildl. Serv. Rept. Series 24.
45 pp.
Swanson, G. A., and M. I. Meyer. 1973. The
role of invertebrates in the feeding ecology
of Anatinae during the breeding season.
Pages 143-177 in The waterfowl habitat
management symposium at Moncton, New
Brunswick. 306 pp.
- , - , and J. R. Serie. 1974. Feeding
ecology of breeding blue-winged teals. J.
Wildl. Manage. 38:396-407.
— - - - . 1977. Impact of fluctuating
water levels on feeding ecology of breeding
blue-winged teal. J. Wildl. Manage. 41:426-
433.
Tyler, D. K., and S. P. Helland. 1969. Report
on land acquisition program. Wise. Dept.
Nat. Res. 74 pp. multilith.
Voigts, D. K. 1976. Aquatic invertebrate abun¬
dance in relation to changing marsh vegeta¬
tion. Am. Midi. Nat. 95:313-322.
Wheeler, W. E., and J. R. March. 1979. Char¬
acteristics of scattered wetlands in relation
to duck production in southeastern Wiscon¬
sin. Wise. Dept. Nat. Res. Tech. Bull. 116.
61 pp.
Whitman, W. R. 1973. Controlled water level
impoundments for waterfowl. Pages 201-207
in The waterfowl habitat management sym¬
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- . 1976. Impoundments for waterfowl.
Can. Wildl. Serv. Occ. Paper 22. 22 pp.
AGE, GROWTH AND TOTAL MORTALITY OF
RAINBOW SMELT IN WESTERN LAKE SUPERIOR
Wayne F. Schaefer
Department of Zoology, Brigham Young University
Provo , Utah
William A. Swenson
Center for Lake Superior Environmental Studies
University of W isconsin-Superior
Richard A. Heckmann
Department of Zoology, Brigham Young University
Provo, Utah
Abstract
Age and growth were determined for 962 rainbow smelt, Osmerus mordax
(Mitchill), captured from western Lake Superior in 1976 and 1977. The body-
scale relationship, based on total length (mm, L) and scale radius (mm, S) was
L : 74. 3S + 1.2. Smelt attained average lengths of 64, 126, 162, 184 and 203
mm at ages 1 through 5 respectively. The length-weight relationship based on total
length (mm, L) and weight (g, W) was logU)W = 3.01 log10L — 5.351. Back-
calculated mean length at age was greater for females than males at ages 3-5.
Mortality rate was estimated from a sample of 3050 smelt captured from western
Lake Superior between 1973 and 1977. The overall annual total mortality rate was
estimated at 57%. Mortality was 40% during the fourth growing season and 69%
during the fifth growing season. The mortality rate of males was higher than fe¬
males as reflected in a sex ratio for mature smelt of 2.37 females per male.
Warmer temperature and high food availability in the Superior-Duluth harbor
resulted in faster growth of young-of-the-year smelt than in the lake proper.
Introduction
Rainbow smelt ( Osmerus mordax) sup¬
port an important commercial fishery in
Lake Superior. Commercial harvest of smelt
began in 1952 with a catch of 20 metric
tons and rose at a rate of approximately
40% per year until 1963 when production
stabilized at about 635 metric tons annually
(Baldwin and Saalfeld 1962, plus 1970 sup¬
plement). By 1975 smelt accounted for
20% by weight of the total commercial
catch from Lake Superior. Eighty-nine per-
1 Contribution Number 45, Center for Lake Su¬
perior Environmental Studies, University of Wis¬
consin-Superior, Superior, Wis. 54880.
cent of the total smelt catch is taken from
the western end of the lake (Wisconsin and
Minnesota waters). The sport fishery for
smelt is also significant as evidenced by the
thousands of fishermen who travel to the
shores of Lake Superior each spring to catch
smelt by seine and dip net during the spawn¬
ing runs. Smelt are also the primary forage
for lake trout (Salve linns namaycush) and
other salmonids in Lake Superior where
ale wives (Alosa pseudoharengus ) have not
become as well established as in the lower
Great Lakes (Anderson and Smith 1971).
The purpose of this study was to deter¬
mine mortality and current growth of rain¬
bow smelt in western Lake Superior for use
15
16
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
Fig. 1. Study site for the western Lake Superior
research.
in continuing studies to determine the role
of smelt in the overall ecology of the lake.
Growth and abundance of Age 0 rainbow
smelt in the open lake and the Superior-
Duluth harbor was compared to determine
the significance of the harbor as a nursery
area.
Growth of smelt in western Lake Superior
was estimated by Hale (1960) and Bailey
(1964) but mortality estimates have not
been presented by these or other authors.
In-season growth of young-of-the-year smelt
in Lake Superior has not previously been
estimated nor has any comparison been
made between growth of young smelt in the
harbor and in the lake proper.
Methods
Age and Growth
Samples were collected during April-Au¬
gust 1976, 1977 from Superior, Wisconsin
to the Beaver River on the north shore and
from Superior to the Brule River on the
south shore (Fig. 1) at depths of 1 to 40
meters. A total of 611 fish were captured
with seines and dip nets during the 1977
spawning season from the following loca¬
tions: Beaver River (115 fish); Knife River
(92 fish); Wisconsin Point (158 fish); Am-
nicon River (126 fish) and the Brule River
(120 fish). Non-spawning fish (351) were
captured with semiballoon bottom trawls
having 7.6 and 9.5 m headropes. The small
net was constructed from 12.7 mm bar
mesh with a 6.4 mm cod end liner. Of the
351 non-spawning fish, 322 were captured
in the summer of 1976 and 29 in the sum¬
mer of 1977.
To reduce sampling bias due to strong
year classes or smelt segregation by age and
size, the subsample of fish to be aged was
selected to include adequate numbers of fish
at all size intervals between 52 and 242 mm.
After preservation in 10% formalin, indi¬
vidual specimens were weighed to the near¬
est tenth of a gram and measured for total
length to the nearest millimeter. Several
scales were removed from the right side be¬
tween the dorsal fin and the lateral line.
Scale measurements for age were made un¬
der either a light microscope or scale projec¬
tor, and standardized to mm.
Back-calculations of length at age were
based on a linear body-scale relationship.
Separate body-scale relationships were esti¬
mated for both sexes and a combined sam¬
ple which included some specimens of in¬
determinate gender.
The length-weight relationship and the
coefficient of condition were estimated. To¬
tal length to standard length conversion fac¬
tors were calculated to allow comparison of
the results from this and other studies. The
conversion factor was 0.861.
Y oung-of-the-Y ear Growth
Using a .571 mm mesh one meter diam¬
eter net, age 0 rainbow smelt were collected
weekly between 19 May and 18 August
1977. Samples were taken day and night
near the surface (0-4 m) over areas 9 m
1981]
Schaefer , Swenson and Heckmann — Rainbow Smelt
17
deep east of the mouth of the Nemadji River
in the harbor and off Wisconsin and Minne¬
sota points in the lake proper (Fig. 1). A
total of 113 samples containing an estimated
22,000 smelt larvae was obtained. A random
subsample of up to 100 young-of-the-year
rainbow smelt was obtained from each haul
and the individual specimens weighed and
measured. A total of 2,912 specimens were
examined during the sample period.
Mortality
Because smelt segregate by age and show
major variations in year class strength as
well as seasonal shifts in spatial distribution
(MacCallum and Regier 1970; McKenzie
1958, 1964) estimation of mortality is com¬
plicated. Mortality of the combined sexes
was estimated from postspawning samples
collected with 7.6 and 9.5 m trawls near
Wisconsin and Minnesota points during May
and June, 1973-1977, in water less than 16
m deep. Average mortality for the individual
sexes was estimated using 13 trawl samples
taken during May and June 1977 from water
less than 16 m deep. Random samples from
these catches were used with stratified aged
samples to estimate population age structure
(Ricker 1975). The stratified aged samples
were composed of 803 fish captured in 1976
and 1977, including spawners, and were
applied to years 1973-1977 under the as¬
sumption that growth rate did not change
significantly in that time or within those year
classes. Catch curves, percentage survival
and mortality were estimated from popula¬
tion structure (Ricker 1975). Average an¬
nual total mortality rate (A), annual sur¬
vival rate (S) and instantaneous mortality
rate (Z) were estimated using linear regres-
Table 1. Average total length (mm), weight (g) and condition of rainbow smelt
in western Lake Superior, 1976-77.
Statistics at Capture Back -Calculated Lengths at Age
Age
1 K is coefficient of condition computed as: K = Wx 10VL3, where W is weight in g and L is total
length in mm.
b Because of the difficulty in determining sex of immature smelt, the body-scale relationships of males
and females were based on models which contained no age one fish and therefore were not used to back-
calculate lengths at age one.
18
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
sion on the descending limbs of the catch
curves (ages 3 to 5). Estimates for specific
ages (3 to 4 and 4 to 5) were made using
percentage survival from the equation S =
(Nt+1)/Nt Ml - A = e-z.
Results
Age and Growth
The linear body-scale relationships are de¬
fined by:
males L = 67.3S + 20.1 r2 = 0.87
females L =± 70.8S + 8.8 r2 = 0.87
total L = 74.3S + 1.2 r2 = 0.97
Average lengths at each annulus were
back-calculated for males, females and all
fish (Table 1). At each age males were
smaller than females. Rate of growth in
length (total sample) was fastest during the
first (64 mm) and second (62 mm) grow¬
ing seasons. Later length increments de¬
creased with age.
Weight increments were greatest between
ages 2 and 3. At ages 3, 4, and 5 females in
the sample were heavier than males. The
coefficient of condition for males was higher
than females at ages 2, 3 and 4 (Table 1).
For both males and females the highest con¬
dition coefficient occurred at age 4.
The length-weight relationships are de¬
scribed by the following formulae:
males
log10W = (3.1340) log10L - 5.5368
females
log10W = (3.0021) log10L - 5.2550
total
logioW = (3.0477) log10L - 5.3510
Growth estimates from this study were
similar to those for Lake Huron (Baldwin
1950) but slower than that reported for
Lake Michigan (Robinson 1973) and the
Parker River (Murawski and Cole 1978).
Young-of-the-Year Growth
Average total lengths of Age 0 smelt col¬
lected from the harbor and the lake show
the harbor accommodated faster growth
(Figure 2). Length of Age 0 rainbow smelt
in the harbor was defined by the equation
L 1 0.23 IT + 7.738 with r2 t 0.90 where
L = total length in millimeters and T = time
in days from May 18, 1977. May 18 was
selected as the average date of smelt hatch
in western Lake Superior on the basis of
spawning and incubation periods. Length of
Age 0 rainbow smelt in the lake was de¬
scribed by the equation L = 0.118t + 6.884
(r2 = 0.69). Comparison of the two regres¬
sion lines (Fig. 2) showed that growth in
length was significantly faster in the harbor
(Neter and Wasserman 1974; F2.i9 = 21.43;
p < .001).
For the harbor the estimated relationship
between average Age 0 smelt weight and time
was W = .0539 T2-23 with r2 = 0.97 while
the corresponding relationship for the lake
was W = .0501 T1-95 with r2 = 0.67 where
Fig. 2. Comparison of growth in total length of
larval smelt in the harbor and in the lake proper.
1981]
Schaefer, Swenson and Heckmann — Rainbow Smelt
19
W — weight in grams X 104 and T = time
in days from May 18, 1977. After the tenth
day, Age 0 smelt in the harbor weighed at
least twice as much as those growing in the
lake. The rate of growth in weight was sig¬
nificantly faster in the harbor than in the
lake proper (F2)17 = 6.76, p < .01).
Mortality
Calculated age distributions for 1973 to
1977 are given in Table 2 and were used to
generate catch curves for males, females and
the combined sample. An instantaneous to¬
tal mortality rate (Z) of 0.847, correspond¬
ing to an annual rate (A) of 57% was com¬
puted for the sexes combined (Table 2).
The annual rate for sexes combined between
age 3 and age 4 was 40% and between age
4 and age 5 was 69%. The instantaneous
mortality rate for males was 1.463 and for
females was 0.545. These values corre¬
sponded to annual mortality rates of 77%
and 42% for the sexes respectively.
The sex ratio, for all postspawning (May,
1977) lake collections in which random
samples of smelt were sexed, was 2.37 fe¬
males to 1 male. There were significantly
fewer males in western Lake Superior than
expected under the hypothesis that half the
population was male and half female
(p < .001, x2 = 77.41, df = 3).
Discussion
The observation that male mortality rate
is greater than female mortality is supported
by the low ratio of males to females in the
shallow water of the lake during the post¬
spawning period and by studies on Parker
River populations by Murawski and Cole
(1978). Higher male mortality may be a re¬
sult of their higher vulnerability to post¬
spawning die-offs which occur annually in
the area (Schaefer 1979). High male mor¬
tality rate may also be a result of the rain¬
bow smelt sport fishery in Lake Superior
which exerts its greatest pressure during the
early portion of the spawning run which is
composed principally of males (Bailey
1964).
Several factors could have contributed to
the comparatively rapid growth of larval
smelt in the harbor. Warm, nutrient-rich
water is introduced into the Superior-Duluth
harbor by two major rivers. Although this
study did not attempt to quantify production
of algae or zooplankton, it was evident that
the harbor was more productive than the
lake. The concentrating cup of the meter
net used to sample larval smelt was often
filled with zooplankton during collections
from the harbor but never during collections
from the lake. Temperature profiles showed
that water in the harbor averaged 3° C
Table 2. Percent age structure and mortality rate of rainbow smelt in western Lake Superior, 1973-77.
Percent At Age
Sample
a For males in 1977 and females in 1977 the percent at age two includes both age 1 and age 2 fish.
b Because of small sample size, the years 1975 and 1976 were not included.
20
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
warmer than near shore water in the lake
which also may have promoted faster
growth.
Acknowledgments
We gratefully acknowledge the assistance
of the NSF students participating in the
1977 science training program at UW-Su-
perior for their assistance in collecting many
of these data. We also thank Drs. S. Rush-
fort h and V. Crandall for their critical re¬
views of the manuscript.
References Cited
Anderson, E. D. and L. L. Smith, Jr. 1971. A
synoptic study of food habits of 30 fish
species from western Lake Superior. Tech
Bull. 279:36-49. Minnesota Agricultural Ex¬
perimental Station, St. Paul, Minnesota.
Bailey, M. M. 1964. Age, growth, maturity
and sex composition of the American smelt,
Osmerus niordax (Mitchill) , of western
Lake Superior. Transactions of the Ameri¬
can Fisheries Society 93:382-395.
Baldwin, N. S. 1950. The American smelt.
Osmerus mordax (Mitchill) , of South Bay.
Manitoulin Island, Lake Efuron. Transac¬
tions of the American Fisheries Society 78:
176-180.
- , and R. W. Saalfeld. 1962 (plus supple¬
ment, 1970) . Commercial fish production in
the Great Lakes 1 867-1970 (supplement
1961-68) . Great Lakes Fishery Commission.
Technical Report 3.
Hale, J. 1960. Some aspects of the life history
of the smelt {Osmerus mordax) in western
Lake Superior. Minnesota Fish and Game
Investigations 2:25-41,
MacCallum, W. R. and H. A. Reiger. 1970.
Distribution of smelt, Osmerus mordax, and
the smelt fishery in Lake Erie in the early
1960s. Journal of the Fisheries Research
Board of Canada 27 : 1 823-1846.
McKenzie, R. A. 1958. Age and growth of
smelt, Osmerus mordax (Mitchill) , of the
Miramichi River, New Brunswick. Journal
of the Fisheries Research Board of Canada
15:1313-1327.
- , 1964. Smelt life history and fishery in
the Miramichi River, New Brunswick. Fish¬
eries Research Board of Canada Bulletin
144.
Murawski, S. A. and C. F. Cole. 1978. Popu¬
lation dynamics of anadromous Rainbow
Smelt, Osmerus mordax . in a Massachusetts
river system. Transactions of the American
Fisheries Society 107:535-542.
Neter, J. and W. Wasserman. 1974. Applied
linear statistical models. Richard D. Irwin,
Inc. Homewood, Illinois.
Ricker, W. 1975. Computation and interpreta¬
tion of biological statistics of fish popula¬
tions. Fisheries Research Board of Canada
Bulletin 191.
Robinson, R. D. 1973. Age, growth and sex
composition of the American smelt, Osmerus
mordax (Mitchill), from along the western
shore of Lake Michigan. Masters thesis.
University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, Milwau¬
kee, Wisconsin, USA.
Schaefer, W. F. 1979. Population Dynamics
of Rainbow Smelt in Western Lake Superior.
Doctoral dissertation. Brigham Young Uni¬
versity, Provo, Utah, USA.
WETLAND ANTS: INTERNAL MOUND TEMPERATURE AND
HUMIDITY PREFERENCES; LOCATION AND SHAPE OF
MOUNDS AS ADAPTATIONS TO A
WETLAND ENVIRONMENT
James W. Bruskewitz
Zoology Department
University of Wisconsin-Madison
A bstract
Formica montana, a mound building wetland ant, was studied during the
autumn of 1979 in a sedge meadow at Waubesa Wetlands, town of Dunn, southern
Dane County, Wisconsin. The report is divided into two parts.
Part I deals with the effects of temperature and humidity on ant activity
within the mound nest. By disecting an ant mound with a clear sheet of plexiglass,
the activities of the ants could be observed within the mound. Ants were observed
stratified in the warmest and most humid parts of the mound nest, even when the
temperature levels within the mound were artificially manipulated.
Part II describes the location and shape of the mound. An association be¬
tween the location of red-osier dogwood ( Cornus stolonifera) and Formica mon¬
tana mounds was observed. A number of hypotheses are suggested to explain the
association. The shapes of different-aged ant mounds suggest that ants first build
their mounds up, above the surface of the wetland, and then out, at which time
they crop the vegetation that otherwise shades the mound’s surface. By construct¬
ing mounds in this manner, wetland ants maximize the range of temperatures and
humidities available.
Introduction
Formica is a genus of ants noted for dis¬
tinct methods of nest construction (Creigh¬
ton, 1950). According to Wheeler (1910),
there is much variability in nest architecture,
not only within a genus of ants but also with¬
in a species. The architectural variability
within a species depends on the habitat and
the time of year. Formica montana , an ant
that builds a mound nest, occupies a variety
of habitats with peat soils, including prairie
remnants, sedge meadows, and forests (Ohio
to Colorado) (Francoeur, 1973). These
animals and their mounds were studied in a
sedge meadow in southern Wisconsin during
the cool autumn months, when the ants
stayed inactive within their mounds.
Mound building wetland ants find them¬
selves in a curious situation. I know of no
other strictly terrestrial burrowing animal
that spends its lifetime in peat soil periodi¬
cally flooded by a fluctuating water table.
Mound flooding is not the only hazard: wet¬
land ants are ectothermic and must also con¬
tend with unfavorable temperature fluctua¬
tions. This study views these problems by
considering certain characteristics of the
ants’ mound. Denning et al (1977) studied
Formica cinerea montana mounds and
found that the mounds’ properties were
similar to those of gravel; thus the mounds’
clayey wetland soil drains quickly. More at¬
tention has been given to the thermal prop¬
erties of mounds. According to Raignier
(1948) and von Frisch (1974), an earthen
mound offers a selection of temperatures and
humidities that can change by the hour. In
the early and late hours of daylight, the
21
22
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
dome shape allows the mound to receive
about three times the solar radiation that
could be obtained on a flat area of the same
radius.
This study is divided into two parts. Part
I reports the investigation of ant behavior
within the mound, including adjustments to
the fluctuating water-table, natural and con¬
trolled autumn temperatures, and humidity.
Part II is concerned with the relationship
between ant mounds and the surrounding
vegetation, and proposes a strategy for
mound construction by ectothermic terres¬
trial animals in a wetland environment.
Methodology
Formica montana, identified by A. Fran-
coeur, Universite du Quebec a Chicoutimi,
was studied during September, October, and
November 1979 at a sedge meadow in Wau-
besa Wetlands, Dane County, southern Wis¬
consin.
Part I
Eight ant mounds were excavated to ex¬
amine their basic structure and stratification
of ant activity. One mound, hereafter re¬
ferred to as the test mound, was bisected by
a clear plexiglass sheet that extended well
Ant mound
Permanent 1/2
^Plexiglass with
T thermocouples
/ Replaceable 1/2
TOP VIEW
Fig.l. Test mound showing placement of
plexiglass and thermocouples.
below the water table. One half of the bi¬
sected mound was packaged in plastic so that
it could be removed during periods of ob¬
servation and then replaced. Seven copper-
constantan thermocouples were secured to
the vertical midline of the plexiglass, spaced
at 10 cm intervals at and below the surface
of the mound (see figure 1). Mound tem¬
peratures were taken on seven days in Oc¬
tober. Millivolts, later converted to degrees
Celsius, were recorded with a potentiometer.
An electric heating rod, in circuit with a
variable transformer, was placed 35 cm be¬
low the mound surface and next to the plexi¬
glass in the permanent half of the mound.
The percent moisture available to the soil,
recorded with a Bouyocous moisture meter
(model BN-2N) on four days in October,
was measured at five depths on and below
the surface of the test mound (see figure 2).
Part II
Height and width of each mound to the
nearest dm, fraction (to the nearest third)
of the mound top covered by vegetation, and
the distance between a mound and the near¬
est red-osier dogwood ( Cornus stolonifera)
were recorded for each of 122 mounds. A
chi-square test was performed to determine
A
TOP VIEW
Fig. 2. Test mound showing placement of
soil moisture detectors.
1981]
Bruskewitz— Wetland Ant Mounds
23
whether or not the amount of vegetation
covering an ant mound was correlated with
the shape of the mound.
Results and Discussion
Part I
Ant Activity Within Their Mounds
Eight excavated ant mounds revealed a
network of burrows that extended over 1 m
below the wetland surface, more than 65 cm
below the lowest recorded water table level.
Ants must have been present and active 1 m
below the wetland surface when water table
levels were lower. Water table levels did
drop below 50 cm beneath the wetland sur¬
face between 1 April and 30 July 1979 (De-
Witt, pers. comm.). Ants were consistently
found immediately above the water table in
a 2-4 cm horizontal stratum of burrows.
These burrows were completely filled with
apparently inactive ants. The water table
level, measured daily throughout the study
period, rose 20 cm. Although appearing
completely inactive, the ants were actually
active enough to stay just ahead of the rising
water. While excavating one of the eight
mounds, I discovered a chamber filled with
ant pupae. This chamber was unattended and
well above the stratified adults. According to
Wilson (1970), however, the larvae and pu¬
pae are closely attended by adults who move
them to areas of preferred temperature and
humidity. There are two possible reasons
why the pupae were left unattended. First,
little development occurs during the cold fall
months; chambers at optimal temperatures
for pupal development are not available to
the ants at this time. Second, Formica mon-
tana adults are likely to deposit the pupae
high in the mound where they will not be
flooded by the rising autumn water table.
Temperature Preferences of Ants
Temperatures at the mound-plexiglass in¬
terface, level of water to the nearest thermo¬
couple, and location of horizontal strata con¬
taining ant activity were recorded on seven
days in October (table 1 ). Because the heat¬
ing rod was not in place on 13 or 16 Octo¬
ber, the highest mound temperatures were at
the water table. As expected, the ants clus¬
tered in the burrows 5-7 cm above the water
table on both these dates. Although the
ranges, throughout the entire test mound, of
temperatures on 13 and 16 October were
only 1.7°C and 2.6°C respectively, the ants
were found at the highest constant tempera¬
ture, that of the water table and peat directly
above it. The mound surface temperature
fluctuated widely owing to highly variable
external weather.
The ants moved from the burrows adja¬
cent to the water table to the preferable
Table 1. Temperatures recorded in 7 different strata within test mound.
Date on which
thermocouple
tempera - Thermocouples distances (cm) below test mound surface
tures (°C) heating air
a Ants active at this depth
b Permanent placement of heater
w water table level to nearest decimeter
24
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
higher burrows after the placement of the
electrical heating rod. The heating rod in¬
creased the temperature of that part of the
mound by as much as 9.75°C. Before the
heating rod was in place, the only special
quality of the peat just above the water ta¬
ble was that it had the highest temperature
available to the ants. The ants definitely
preferred levels in the mound with higher
temperatures. No doubt the higher mound
temperatures in the summer months would
be found at the surface, and one would ex¬
pect the ants to be active nearer the surface
at that time of year.
Soil Moisture Preference
Moisture available to the soil in the part
of the mound occupied by ants was always
100%. Drier strata were available to the
ants on 13, 16, and 18 October. Although
the percent moisture available to the soil
is not a measure of relative humidity, the
soil surrounding the ant-occupied burrows
was saturated. Therefore, I assume that the
FROM NEAREST DOGWOOD
Fig. 3. Number of ant mounds vs.
distance from dogwood shrubs.
air in the burrows was close to, if not at,
100% relative humidity. These wetland ants
did not differ markedly from those studied
by von Frisch (1974) which preferred
100% relative humidity.
Part II
Association of Ant Mounds with Vegetation
Mounds were most likely to be near a
red-osier dogwood (see figure 3). Red-osier
dogwood is a species that tolerates a great
deal of water in the soil, but, like the wet¬
land ants, it cannot tolerate permanent sub¬
mergence of the entire root system. Wetland
ants can only survive between the wetland
surface, somewhat elevated by their mound,
and the water table. With the water table
fluctuating as a result of precipitation, ar¬
tesian water sources, and evapotranspira-
tion during the growing season, the thickness
of habitable peat available to these ants
changes constantly. A habitat that consis¬
tently offers a greater vertical space between
the wetland surface and the water table will
also offer a greater range of temperatures
and humidities. Maximizing this vertical
space would be advantageous to an ecto-
thermic animal such as Formica montana.
There are many plausible explanations
for the observed association between wet¬
land ants and red-osier dogwood:
1) The ants and dogwood are both
adapted to a habitat that is not fre¬
quently inundated with water.
2) The dogwoods supply the ants with a
preferred food source.
3 ) The dogwoods locally create a suitable
ant habitat by evapotranspirative de¬
pression of the water table.
4) The ants aerate the soil for the root
systems of the dogwood.
Ant Mound Structure
Formica montana mounds are cylindrical.
The dimensions of the mounds vary; some
mounds are taller than wide while others are
1981]
Bruskewitz — Wetland Ant Mounds
25
Table 2. Number of ant mounds with a specified
shape and amount of vegetation covering the top
surface.
Less than V3-V3 V3 to fully
V3 covered covered covered
by by by
vegetation vegetation vegetation
Mound as
tall 9
as wide
Mound
taller 1
than wide
Mound
wider 21
than tall
9 12
16 10
22 3
T
30
27
46
T
31 47 25 103
Null Hypothesis: The amount of vegetation cover¬
ing an ant mound is independent
of the shape of the mound,
d.f = 4; x2r= 23.57; pZ,01
wider than tall. Vegetation is cropped by the
ants from the top of some of the mounds
exposing bare soil. A chi-square statistic
was used to test the null hypothesis that the
amount of vegetation covering an ant mound
is independent of the shape of the mound.
The test revealed that a mound whose width
is greater than its height is likely to be void
of vegetation on its top, whereas a mound
whose height exceeds its width is likely to
have an abundance of vegetation on its top
(x2 f= 23.57, pZO.Ol; see Table 2)..
Assume, as did von Frisch ( 1974), that a
primary function of ant mounds is to in¬
crease the surface area exposed to solar ra¬
diation, thereby facilitating heating. The data
suggest the hypothesis that wetland ants first
build their mounds up, and then out, in order
to maximize the amount of mound space
with preferred temperatures and humidities.
The larger the mound, the more ants reside
therein. All the ants of a mound are closely
related, being the offspring usually of one
queen (Wilson 1970). Time is needed to
build a population and a mound large
enough to house it. The largest mounds are
the widest mounds. Since the largest mounds
are most likely the oldest, and the narrowest
mounds most likely the youngest, ants first
build their mounds up and then out. By
building their mounds up the ants create a
larger vertical habitat subject to a larger
range of temperatures and humidities. By
building the mounds out, the ants keep the
surrounding grasses and sedges from shading
the top of the mound. By cropping the top
vegetation, the ants allow direct heating from
solar radiation incident on the mount top.
Once again, the range of temperatures and
humidities available to the ants increases.
Ants are ectothermic; therefore any archi¬
tectural adaptations providing them with a
greater range of temperatures and humidi¬
ties would certainly be selected for.
References Cited
Creighton, W. S. 1950. The ants of North
America. Bulletin of the Museum of Com¬
parative Zoology, Harvard, 104:1-585.
Denning, J. L., F. D. Hole, and J. Bouma.
1977. Effects of Formica cinerea on a Wet¬
land soil on west Blue Mounds, Wisconsin.
Proc. Waubesa Conference on Wetlands.
Inst, of Environmental Studies. Univ. of
Wisconsin-Madison.
DeWitt, Calvin. 1980. Pers. comm.
Francoeur, A. 1973. Revision taxonomique des
especes nearctiques du groupe fusca, genre
Formica (Formicidae, Hymenoptera) . No. 3.
Memoirs of the Entomological Society of
Quebec.
Frisch, Karl von. 1974. Animal Architecture.
Harcourt Brace Jovanovich. New York,
New York, New York.
Raignier, Louvain V. 1948. L’economie ther-
mique d’ une colonie polycalique de la
fourmi des bois. Cellule 51 (3) :279-368.
Wheeler, W. M. 1910. Ants: Their structure ,
development and behavior. Columbia Uni¬
versity Press, New York, xxv + 663 pp.
Wilson, E. O. 1979. Insect Societies. Harvard
University Press, Cambridge, Mass.
THE IMPACT OF NATIVE AMERICANS ON
PRESETTLEMENT VEGETATION IN SOUTHEASTERN WISCONSIN
John R. Dorney
Botany Department
University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee
A bstract
Indians occupied southeastern Wisconsin long before European settlement,
utilizing and influencing native vegetation. The magnitude of this influence was
studied using the General Land Office surveyor’s notes and historical, ecological
and archaeological literature. About 15,000 Potawatomi and Winnebago Indians
lived in SE Wisconsin immediately before European settlement. Their summer
villages and associated winter camps occupied about 1500 acres of cleared land
(0.06% of the region). There is little evidence in the surveyor’s notes of direct
impact on vegetation but other references note Indian fires and dispersal of favored
plant species. Other evidence indicates that lightning fires occurred in the
region. Apparently, native Americans in presettlement southeastern Wisconsin had
little direct impact on the landscape but their indirect influence through fire was
probably appreciable.
Introduction
The influence of native Americans on
natural vegetation has been examined in sev¬
eral parts of North America. Day (1953)
examined the role of Indians in the north¬
eastern U.S. and concluded that their use
of fire had a major effect on presettlement
vegetation. However, Martin ( 1973) re¬
viewed the historical record in the same re¬
gion and concluded that lightning was a more
likely cause of fire since eastern tribes ap¬
peared to lack fire-setting rituals. Russell
( 1981 ) noted the infrequent occurrence of
Indian clearings in early descriptions and
surveys of northern New Jersey. Lewis
(1980) reported on the ritualistic use of fire
by several western Canadian Indian tribes.
Barrett (1980) described the impact of
Indian fires on vegetation in western Mon¬
tana. In Wisconsin, Curtis ( 1959) noted
several historical references to Indian-caused
fires and concluded that Indian fires deter¬
mined the presettlement vegetation in south¬
ern Wisconsin, especially by maintaining
prairies and savannas. Hibbard ( 1904)
noted a 400 acre corn field of the Sauk and
Fox tribes in Sauk City along the Wisconsin
River. This report describes settlement pat¬
terns of native Americans in southeastern
Wisconsin just before extensive European
settlement and Indian impact on the vegeta¬
tion through land clearing, fire and other
activities.
Methods
Information on Indian village and camp¬
site location, population sizes, and patterns
of subsistence and resource utilization were
needed to examine the impact of Indians on
vegetation. Historical and archaeological
publications were reviewed. Information on
modern lightning fire frequency was obtained
from the Wisconsin Department of Natural
Resources publications. The General Land
Office (GLO) surveyor’s notes from 1836-
37 were used to develop detailed vegetation
maps (see Dorney 1980 for details). These
26
1981] Domey— Impact of Native Americans on Vegetation
27
1" = 7.38 mi
1:467,400
Upland
Xeric
M = Marsh
SM = Sugar maple-basswood
oak forest
BE = Beech-sugar maple forest
OF = Oak forest
OS = Oak savanna
PR = Prairie
Fig. 1. Presettlement vegetation of southeastern Wisconsin (from Finley 1976).
28
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
OJIBAWA VILLAGE 35
Fig. 2. Indian Village Sites in S.E. Wisconsin: late 1820’s and 1830’s.
1981]
Dorney— Impact of Native Americans on Vegetation
29
notes were also examined for mention of
Indian village sites.
Results
Presettlement Vegetation
Oak forest was the predominant vegeta¬
tion type in SE Wisconsin before European
settlement and occupied 18.5% of the re¬
gion (Fig. 1). Sugar maple-basswood-oak
forest (17.9% ) was predominant in the
north but toward the south was restricted
chiefly to locations adjacent to Lake Michi¬
gan. Beech-sugar maple forest (8.5%) was
present along Lake Michigan. Oak savanna
(14.9%) and prairie (8.3%) were also
common especially on the southern and west¬
ern portions of the region. Open marsh
(12.3%) was the most common lowland
vegetation type. Tamarack bogs (3%) were
present on organic soils mostly in the north¬
ern part of the region.
There was no significant correlation be¬
tween vegetation and soil properties such as
drainage class, slope, texture, or available
soil water, based on a multivariate discrimi¬
nant analysis among major vegetation types.
For instance, oak and sugar maple forest
occupied similar soils. Most of these forests
occurred on sites with slopes less than 6%,
on well drained clay loams and silty clay
loams and on sites with four to six inches of
available soil water (Dorney 1980). Instead,
the vegetation pattern reflected differing de¬
grees of disturbance, primarily caused by
fire. Fire dependent vegetation such as
prairie and oak savanna were generally
found west of fire barriers formed by wide
marsh/river complexes, such as the Rock
River. The predominance of prairie, oak
savanna and forest in Racine, Kenosha and
Walworth Counties apparently resulted from
the absence of effective fire barriers. Soil
differences can be ruled out since silt loams
occupied by prairie and oak savanna were
similar to those supporting sugar maple-
basswood-oak forest in the northern part of
the region (Dorney 1980).
Presumably, fire was more frequent west¬
ward and southward where fire dependent
prairie and savanna were more abundant.
Other ecosystem properties such as tree den¬
sity and abundance of fire tolerant species
also indicated frequent fires. Based on pres¬
ent weather data, tornadoes were infrequent
events with a calculated return time of 2930
years. In contrast (based on vegetation types
present), fire showed an estimated average
return time of 16 years west of fire barriers
and 112 years east of them (Dorney 1980).
Indian Population and Settlement Pattern
Southeastern Wisconsin (like the rest of
the state) experienced numerous changes in
Indian populations, tribes and settlement lo¬
cations. This became especially evident af¬
ter the fur trade began in the 1700’s. The
fur trade may have caused a considerable
change in Indian lifestyle and settlement
patterns (Kay 1977). The Iroquois wars al¬
so had a major influence on Indian settle¬
ment. These wars drove the Potawatomi
from Michigan and Indiana to eastern Wis¬
consin. There they initially occupied the
western shore of Lake Michigan and gradu¬
ally spread southward and westward into the
Milwaukee area (Lawson 1920).
By the late 1700’s and early 1800’s, the
Potawatomi controlled the Lake Michigan
shoreline from Kewaunee to Kenosha and
inland to Walworth County (Fig. 2). To
the west, mostly along the Rock River drain¬
age, the Winnebago were numerous. Me-
nomini and Chippewa were also present in
smaller numbers often living in Potawatomi
villages where the city of Milwaukee now
stands.
The Potawatomi and Winnebago were
semi-sedentary people who lived in semi¬
permanent summer villages. In the winter,
they left these villages for smaller, more
numerous hunting camps. By the early
1800’s the population had increased and vil¬
lage fragmentation occurred (Kay 1977).
In the winter, the Winnebago hunted in the
30
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
Madison area while the Potawatomi usually
camped within 20 miles of their main vil¬
lage (Kay 1977). Summer villages had ex¬
tensive agricultural fields where corn, to¬
bacco, beans and squash were grown. Pump¬
kins, melons and potatoes are also men¬
tioned (Jones 1974).
In the spring, Indians gathered at sugar
maple camps for the spring “sugaring”; la¬
ter, they moved to summer villages to plant
crops. Summers were spent in the village
tending gardens while hunting and gathering
nearby. Harvest of crops and wild rice in
the fall was followed by a communal deer
hunt. Village groups then broke up into
smaller winter camps for trapping and hunt¬
ing. Fishing was a common activity, especi¬
ally for coastal tribes (Kay 1977). The im¬
pact of European settlers on this pattern is
not clear. Kay (1977) believed that disrup¬
tion of settlement patterns and lifestyle was
dramatic; for example, fall fishing camps
were abandoned in favor of fall trapping.
Spector (1974) thought that the Winnebago
lifestyle changed little after contact.
Population size varied considerably as a
result of tribal boundary changes, trading
post locations and disease. Population esti¬
mates were provided for most of the villages
mentioned in the historical literature. How¬
ever, there were no estimates for 14 of the
arbitrarily assigned a population of 50 peo¬
ple. Evidence suggests that between 1820
and the late 1830’s, about 14,700 Indians
lived in SE Wisconsin; of these, 8700 were
Potawatomi and 5950 were Winnebago
(Table 1). There was one small Ojibawa
village in Ozaukee County. Milwaukee,
Waukesha and Dodge Counties had the
highest populations, a result of association
with the fur trade and favorable environ¬
mental features such as extensive marshes,
rivers and large lakes.
Indian Impact on Their Environment
Settlement locations were fairly well docu¬
mented, especially in the Wisconsin Archae¬
ologist (Brown 1906, 1908, 1909, 1911,
1925 and 1926a, b,c). Sizes of the settle¬
ments and agricultural fields were not always
recorded and density varied. Thwaites (un¬
dated) referred to a Potawatomi village on
the Manitowoc River stating that “It must
not be understood that all this described
territory [the village site] was densly [sic]
covered by lodges . . . rather [it] was oc¬
cupied by detached groups of greater and
smaller size as well as solitary huts here and
there.” Actual cleared areas associated with
villages are unknown. Therefore, it was as¬
sumed that the entire village site was cleared.
This yields a maximum estimate for cleared
1981]
Dorney — Impact of Native Americans on Vegetation
31
a Populations estimated Tribal Totals
n.a. Data not available Potawatomi ..... 8,900 to 8,690 people
Winnebago . 6,034 to 5,734
Ojibawa . 50
Total . 14,984 to 14,474 people
References
1. Brown 1906
2. Brown 1916
3. Brown 1922
4. Brown 1923a
5. Brown 1923b
6. Brown 1926b
7. Brown 1926c 11. Lawson 1920
8. Brown and Brown 1928 12. Porter 1902
9. General Land Office Surveyor’s 13. Sohrweide 1926
Notes, 1836 14. Stout and Skavlen 1927
10. Haskins 1909 15. West 1903
32
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
able for 10 of the 35 villages. These data
suggest ratios of 15.2 people/acre for vil¬
lage sites and 35.1 people/acre for agricul¬
tural fields. Thus, SE Wisconsin summer
villages and fields occupied about 970 acres
from 1820 to 1830. Winter camp acreages
(for which no data are available) were esti¬
mated by subtracting the acreage of agricul¬
tural fields from that of summer villages.
On this basis, about 1500 acres of land were
cleared by Indians in SE Wisconsin just be¬
fore settlement or about 0.06% of the re¬
gion. These clearings were concentrated near
Milwaukee (403 acres), Waukesha (370
acres) and Horicon Marsh (428 acres).
About 80% of the population lived in these
three areas.
Comparison of the presettlement vegeta¬
tion and Indian settlement patterns (Fig’s.
1 and 2) reveals little apparent tribal pref¬
erence for major vegetation types. The Pota-
watomi lived mainly east of fire barriers in
sugar maple-basswood-oak forest while the
Winnebago lived chiefly in oak forest and
savanna adjacent to fire barriers such as the
Rock River. There were numerous excep¬
tions (Table 1). Winnebago villages near
Horicon Marsh were in sugar maple forest
while the Potawatomi villages near Wauke¬
sha were in oak savanna and those in Racine
County were in prairie. The most populous
Winnebago and Potawatomi villages were in
sugar maple-basswood forest near rivers or
marshes. This probably reflects more avail¬
able food resources in these sites than in oak
forests and savannas. There was no associa¬
tion of Indian sites with disturbed vegeta¬
tion types (such as brush or aspen forest)
perhaps reflecting lack of detail available
from the GLO surveyor notes. It is also
possible that, since most of the regional
vegetation reflected frequent disturbance by
fire, the effect of Indian settlements was not
as easily observable as it would have been in
a less frequently disturbed area.
Indirect effects were probably more ex¬
tensive than land clearing. Indians have been
reported to set fires to maintain open lands,
clear agricultural fields and modify wildlife
habitat (Day 1953). There is no record of
systematic fire-setting rituals in the Winne¬
bago or Potawatomi cultural literature. This
is in contrast to the practices of some west¬
ern Canadian tribes who have an annual
fire-setting ritual in the prairie (Lewis
1980). However, it appears that the Win¬
nebago used fire to affect vegetation occa¬
sionally. Lathrop (1856) refers to a prairie
fire in Racine County in 1835 blamed on
the Indians. A prairie and woods fire in the
Turkey River area near the Mississippi was
set by Winnebago to drive game (Beltami
1828) and other Winnebago’s used annual
fires to clear brush for hunting (Schafer
1929). Other references to Indian fires in
Wisconsin include a grass fire set in 1831
by the Menomini near Lake Butte des Morts
(Porlier 1900).
Data on lightning fire frequency in south¬
eastern Wisconsin are poor, since DNR rec¬
ords are based on information supplied ir¬
regularly by local fire departments (E.
Trecker, personal communication). Data
from northern Wisconsin are collected sys¬
tematically and are more accurate. They in¬
dicate that lightning is a minor cause of
forest fires. From 1970 to 1978, 97 light¬
ning-caused fires occurred in northern Wis¬
consin yielding an average of twelve fires/
year or 0.00000198 fires/mi2/year (Wis¬
consin DNR 1970 to 1978). Thunderstorms
are somewhat more frequent in southeastern
Wisconsin than in the northern part of the
state (U.S. Weather Bureau 1952) and a
few lightning-caused forest fires have been
reported in southeastern Wisconsin (Wiscon¬
sin DNR 1971 and 1977). Applying the
northern Wisconsin lightning fire rate would
produce an average of five lightning-caused
fires per year in SE Wisconsin. The effec¬
tive rate may have been somewhat lower
in non-forested areas but even there light¬
ning can be an important ignition source
(Yogi 1974). Based on these data, one can
1981]
Dorney — Impact of Native Americans on Vegetation
33
conclude that lightning-caused fires were
present in southeastern Wisconsin before
European settlement.
There is evidence that Indians inten¬
tionally moved plants useful for medicinal
and food purposes. Black (1978) discusses
transport of sweet flag ( Acorus calamus ),
butternut ( Juglans cinerea ), Canada plum
( Prunus nigra), chokecherry ( Prunus vir-
giniana ) and wild strawberry (Fragaria vir-
giniana ) by Algonquian tribes in Quebec.
She also mentions gooseberry ( Ribes cynos-
bati), Amelanchier, hawthorn ( Crataegus
sp.), and wild rice ( Zizania aquatica) as
possible candidates for Indian transport.
Yarnell (1964) mentioned evidence for
transport of chestnut ( Castanea dentata ),
Canada plum, Kentucky coffee tree ( Gym -
nocladus dioicus), Nelumbo, Apocyanum
androsaemifolium and A.cannabinum, As-
clepias tuberosa and A. syriaca and Urtica
gracilis by New York and east coast tribes.
Beltami (1828) observed a beech tree along
the Mississippi River near Minneapolis. It
was revered by local Indians and probably
planted since this location is far beyond the
range of beech. In Wisconsin, Curtis (1959)
noted the association of Kentucky coffee
trees with some Indian village sites. Smith
(1923) mentioned the transport of Ptelea
trifoliata by Menomini Indians into their
reservation from Kansas. It appears likely
that Indians moved valuable plants to fulfill
their needs.
Plant harvesting must have produced a
widespread effect. Apparently, there has
been no attempt to estimate the amount of
wood needed to cook and smoke fish and
meat, boil maple syrup and warm wigwams,
but it was probably considerable. Many na¬
tive plants were gathered for food, medicine,
dyes, cordage and smoking materials. Smith
(1923 and 1933) examined the ethnobotany
of several Wisconsin tribes and listed the
uses of numerous species. Curtis (1959) be¬
lieved that gathering had little effect on plant
populations in the state with the possible
exception of Psoralea esculenta which was
prized for its fleshy root.
Hunting and trapping may have affected
vegetation indirectly. There is good evidence
that Wisconsin Indians overtrapped beaver,
deer and otter (Kay 1977). The decrease in
beaver dams probably reduced the sedge
meadow habitat in the region. If deer popu¬
lations were low, favored browse species
(such as Canada yew -Taxus canadensis)
may have benefited. Indians probably hunted
local elk and bison to extinction along the
Fox River in northeastern Wisconsin and
elk were extirpated from the state before
extensive European settlement began (Kay
1977). These indirect impacts probably had
a negligible effect on the regional vegetation.
Conclusion
Several Midwestern studies have examined
the settlement pattern of Indians in relation
to vegetation. Dustin (1930) studied Indian
sites in Saginaw County, Michigan, and con¬
cluded that most villages were near naviga¬
ble water and marshes where game and food
plants were abundant. Sugar maple forests
were also favored. Jones and Kapp (1972)
examined the relationship of presettlement
forest pattern to Indian settlement in Bay
County, Michigan. In a bog pollen profile,
they found an increase in Ambrosia, Populus
and Typha from 35 to 325 A.D. which may
reflect an adjacent Indian site occupied at
that time. The tribes living in Bay County
at the time of European settlement were not
discussed but from the maps of Jones and
Kapp, it appears that dense sugar maple-
beech-hemlock forest was avoided by the In¬
dians in favor of oak-ash forest and prox¬
imity to major river valleys. Bowman (1974)
working in southern Ontario determined that
large white pines present at settlement had
developed on abandoned Huron Indian agri¬
cultural fields.
In southeastern Wisconsin, most of the 35
villages were located near large rivers and
marshes where travel was easy and food
34
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
plentiful. Apparently, the tribes showed lit¬
tle preference for different vegetation types.
Most Potawatomi villages were in sugar
maple-basswood-oak forest but Waukesha
area villages were in oak savanna. Winne¬
bago villages were mostly in oak forest and
savanna but the villages near Horicon Marsh
were in sugar maple forest. The GLO sur¬
veyor’s notes show no evidence of direct ef¬
fects of a village on vegetation. However,
this may be a reflection of the generally low
level of detail available from this source.
Just before European settlement, there
were about 15,000 Potawatomi and Winne¬
bago Indians living in southeastern Wiscon¬
sin. It is estimated that these people cleared
about 1500 acres of land or about 0.06%
of the region. Clearings were concentrated
near Milwaukee, Waukesha and Horicon
Marsh. Although there was no observable
relationship between disturbed vegetation
and Indian sites, there is strong circumstan¬
tial evidence that fire was used especially
by the Winnebago tribe. Likewise, the vege¬
tation pattern provides strong evidence of
frequent fires especially west of large river/
marsh complexes. Other activities such as
wood gathering, plant collecting and hunting
probably had local impacts. There is also
evidence for lightning-caused fires in the
region. However, these were infrequent and
probably not sufficient in themselves to ac¬
count for the vegetation pattern. Since the
largest villages were in sugar maple forest,
this also indicates that Indians were not the
sole cause of fire. Fire, the most important
disturbance factor in the presettlement vege¬
tation of southeastern Wisconsin, was prob¬
ably caused by both Indians and lightning.
Acknowledgments
This research was sponsored by the Land¬
scape Patterns Project funded by the Na¬
tional Science Foundation Grant DEB 78-
1138 and formed part of a M.S. thesis at the
University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. I am
especially grateful for the advice and assis¬
tance of Dr. Forest Stearns at the University
of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, Dr. Robert Finley
at the University of Wisconsin-Madison and
Christopher Dunn, Glenn Guntenspergen
and Cheryl Dorney. Ms’s. Adele Hast and
Helen Tanner at the Newberry Library in
Chicago allowed access to their data on In¬
dian village location and population.
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Barrett, S. W. 1980. Indians and Fire. West¬
ern Wildlands. Spring 1980:17-20.
Beltami, J. C. 1828. A Pilgrimage in Europe
and America Leading to the Discovery of the
Sources of the Mississippi and Bloody
Rivers. Volume II. Hunt and Clarke, Lon¬
don.
Black, M. J. 1978. Plant Dispersal by Native
North Americans in the Canadian Subarctic,
in “Nature and Status of Ethnobotany” ed.
R. I. Ford. Anthropological Papers 67. Mu¬
seum of Anthropology. University of Michi¬
gan. Ann Arbor, Michigan.
Bowman, I. 1974. The Draper Site: White
Pine Succession on an Abandoned Late
Prehistoric Iroquoian Maize Field. Part II.
Research Report 4. North Pickering Archae¬
ology. Ministry of Natural Resources. To¬
ronto, Ontario.
Brown, C. E. 1906. A Record of Wisconsin
Antiquities. Wisconsin Archaeologist 5(3A),
289-429.
- . 1908. Additions to the Record of
Wisconsin Antiquities: II. Wisconsin Archae¬
ologist 7(1) new series: 1-33.
— - — . 1909. Additions to the Record of Wis¬
consin Antiquities: III. Wisconsin Archae¬
ologist 8(4) new series: 1 13-1 18.
- - . 1911. Fourth Addition to the Record
of Wisconsin Antiquities. Wisconsin Archae¬
ologist 10(4) new series :1 65- 187.
- % 1916. Archaeological History of Mil¬
waukee County. Wisconsin Archaeologist
15(2) new series:25-106.
- . 1922. Beaver Dam Lake. Wisconsin
Archaeologist 1(1) new series: 7- 19.
1981]
Domey— Impact of Native Americans on Vegetation
35
— - . 1923a. Waukesha County-Northern
Townships. Wisconsin Archaeologist 2(2)
new series: 7-64.
- . 1923b. Waukesha County-Southern
Townships. Wisconsin Archaeologist 2(2)
new series: 69-1 19.
— - -. 1925. Fifth Addition to a Record of
Wisconsin Antiquities. Wisconsin Archaeolo¬
gist 4(1 ) : new series: 9-25 and 4(2) : 86-1 14.
- . 1926a. Rock Lake. Wisconsin Archae¬
ologist 5(4) new series: 107-129.
- - — . 1926b. Delevan Lake. Wisconsin
Archaeologist 6(2) new series:7-31.
- . 1926c. Pike Lake, Wisconsin Archae¬
ologist 6(2) new series :41-47.
— - and T. T. Brown. 1928. Lake Geneva
and Lake Como. Wisconsin Archaeologist
7(3) new series: 129-205.
Curtis, J. T. 1959. The Vegetation of Wiscon¬
sin. University of Wisconsin Press. Madison,
Wisconsin.
Day, G. 1953. The Indian as an Ecological
Factor in the Northeastern Forest. Ecology
34(2) :329-346.
Dorney, J. R. 1980. Presettlement Vegetation
of Southeastern Wisconsin: Edaphic Rela¬
tionships and Disturbance. M.S. Thesis. Uni¬
versity of Wisconsin-Milwaukee.
Dustin, F. 1930. Some Ancient Indian Village
Sites in Saginaw County, Michigan. Papers
of the Michigan Academy of Science, Arts
and Letters 12:75-89.
Finley, R. W. 1976. Original Vegetation Cover
of Wisconsin from U.S. General Land Office
Notes. USDA Forest Service. North Central
Forest Experimental Station.
General Land Office Surveyors Field Notes:
1836. State of Wisconsin, Commissioner of
Public Lands.
Haskins, S. G. 1909. Remains of Aboriginal
Occupation in Pewaukee Township. Wiscon¬
sin Archaeologist 8(3) new series: 8 1-92.
Hibbard, B. H. 1904. Indian Agriculture in
Southern Wisconsin. Wisconsin Historical
Society Proceedings 145-155.
Jones, J. A. 1974. Indians of Western Illinois
and Southern Wisconsin. Anthropolgical Re¬
port on the Indian Occupancy of Royce
Area 187. Garland Press Co. New York.
Jones, C. L. and R. O. Kapp. 1972. Relation¬
ship of Bay County, Michigan Presettlement
Forest Patterns to Indian Cultures. Michigan
Academician 5(1): 17-28.
Kay, J. 1977. The Land of LaBaye: The Eco¬
logical Impact of the Green Bay Fur Trade,
1634-1836. Ph.D. Thesis. University of Wis-
consin-Madison.
Lathrop, Rev. J. 1856. Historical Sketch of
Kenosha County, Wisconsin. Wisconsin His¬
torical Collections 2:460-479.
Lawson, P. V. 1920. The Potawatomi. Wiscon¬
sin Archaeologist 19(2) new series: 41-116.
Lewis, H. T. 1980. Indian Fires of Spring.
Natural History 89(1) :76-83.
Martin, C. 1973. Fire and Forest Structure in
the Aboriginal Eastern Forest. The Indian
Historian 6(3) :23-26.
Porlier, L. B. 1900. Narrative by Louis B.
Porlier in an Interview with the Editor
(R. G. Thwaites). Wisconsin Historical Col¬
lections 15:439-447.
Porter, R. L. 1902. Aboriginal Mounds at
Muckwanago in Waukesha County. Wiscon¬
sin Archaeologist 2(1): 8-1 3.
Russell, E. W. B. 1981. Vegetation of Northern
New Jersey Before European Settlement.
American Midland Naturalist 105(1): 1-12.
Schafer, J. 1929. Editorial Comment. Wiscon¬
sin Magazine of History 13:419.
Smith, H. 1923. Ethnobotany of the Menomini.
Publications of the Milwaukee Public Mu¬
seum 4(1).
- . 1933. Ethnobotany of the Forest Pota¬
watomi Indians. Milwaukee Public Museum
Bulletin 7(1): 1-230.
Sohrweide, A. 1926. The Watertown Village
Site. Wisconsin Archaeologist 19(2) new
series: 51-56.
Spector, A. B. and H. L. Skavlen. 1927. The
Archaeology of the Lake Koshkonong Re¬
gion. Wisconsin Archaeologist 7(2) new
series:47-102.
Spector, J. D. 1974. Winnebago Indians,
1734-1829: An Archaeological and Ethno-
historic Investigation. Ph.D. Thesis. Univer¬
sity of Wisconsin-Madison.
Stout, A. E. and H. L. Skavlen. 1927. The Ar¬
chaeology of the Lake Koshkonong Region.
Wisconsin Archaeologist 7(2) new series:
47-102.
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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
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Thwaites, R. G. undated. Notes on Winnebago
Indians. Mss Manuscripts 7E. Folder 3. Wis¬
consin Historical Library Madison, Wiscon¬
sin.
U.S. Weather Bureau, Climatological Services
Division. 1952. Mean Number of Thunder¬
storm Days in the United States. U.S. Dept,
of Commerce, Weather Bureau. Washington,
D.C.
Vogl, R. J. 1974. Effects of Fire on Grass¬
lands, in “Fire and Ecosystems,” ed. T. T.
Kozlowski and C. E. Ahlgren. Academic
Press. New York.
West, G. A. 1903. Summary of the Archae¬
ology of Racine County, Wisconsin. Wiscon¬
sin Archaeologist 19(2) new series: 3-34.
Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources.
1970 to 1978. Wisconsin Forest Fire Re¬
ports. Madison, Wisconsin.
Yarnell, R. A. 1964. Aboriginal Relationships
Between Culture and Plant Life in the Up¬
per Great Lakes Region. Anthropological
Papers No. 23. Museum of Anthropology
University of Michigan. Ann Arbor, Michi¬
gan.
HYDROLOGY AND CHRONOLOGY OF A PEAT MOUND
IN DANE COUNTY, SOUTHERN WISCONSIN
T. K. Kratz, M. J. Winkler, and C. B. DeWitt
Institute for Environmental Studies
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Abstract
This study describes the hydrologic conditions that have caused the formation
of a three hectare peat mound. This wetland is elevated two meters above the
adjacent 100 hectare Waubesa Wetlands and has developed at the transition area
between upland and lowland.
Results from 37 hydrologic stations located on the mound indicate the exis¬
tence of an artesian source of water beneath the peat. Because of the ability of
clay layers to confine an aquifer more than silt and sand layers, the stratigraphy
of the mineral soil beneath the peat may dictate the amount of vertical flow of
water and thus the height to which the peat can accumulate. The rate of ground-
water flow and the topography of the artesian site determine whether peat will
accumulate. The beginning of peat formation at the mound is dated at 7500 ±80
years before present (WIS-1265).
Introduction
The purpose of this study is to describe
the hydrologic conditions that have caused
the development of a peat mound, an ele¬
vated wetland which has formed at the tran¬
sition between upland and lowland. The
study site is a three hectare portion of the
100 hectare Waubesa Wetlands located in
Dane County, southern Wisconsin (Figure
1 ) . In southern Wisconsin peatlands are
typically located in local depressions of the
landscape where water levels are relatively
high throughout the year (Bedford, et al.
1974). They often form in a manner similar
to the way the majority of Waubesa Wet¬
lands formed, by the accumulation of or¬
ganic matter in a shallow lake bay or lake
(Friedman, et al 1979). The peat mound
examined in this study is different from the
more typical basin-filled peatlands of the re¬
gion in several respects.
First, its surface is elevated two meters
above the adjacent basin-filled wetland. This
is remarkable because for peat to accumu¬
late the water level must be at or near the
surface of the peat throughout the year. The
high water levels retard the rate of decompo¬
sition, so that rate of productivity of organic
matter exceeds the rate of decomposition.
The difference in elevation between the
mound and the basin-filled wetland implies
a dramatic change in the elevation of the
water table over a relatively short distance in
the peatland. The water table, and hence the
surface elevation of the peat, drops nearly two
meters in less than 40 meters of horizontal
distance (Figure 2). This is an exceedingly
steep slope for peatlands in this region.
Only blanket bogs in Great Britain and
Ireland exhibit steeper slopes (Moore and
Bellamy 1974).
Secondly, the three-dimensional shape of
the peatland is convex, not flat or concave
like a typical basin-filled wetland. In this
respect the mound is more similar to raised
Sphagnum bogs that occur 800 km to the
north (Heinselman 1970).
Finally, although lake sediments (gyttja)
underlie the basin-filled portion of Waubesa
Wetlands, no lake sediments underlie the
37
38
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
Fig. 1. Map of Waubesa Wetlands and its location in Wisconsin. The peat mound is shown
in more detail in Figure 3.
1981]
Kratz, Winkler and DeWitt — Hydrology of a Peat Mound
39
Fig. 2. Schematic diagram showing the relative positions of the peat mound and open spring
area in relation to the upland and basin-filled wetland.
one to two meters of peat of the mound. The
lack of underlying lake sediments implies
that the peat did not form through a basin¬
filling process typical of many peatlands in
the region.
This preliminary study provides a descrip¬
tion of the physical conditions that have
caused the development of the mound. Be¬
cause the source, distribution, fluctuation
and flow of water are central to the develop¬
ment of peatlands, we have taken a hydro-
logical approach.
The Study Area
The site is near a terminal moraine that
marks the extent of Wisconsin glaciation
13,000-17,000 years ago (Mickelson and
McCartney 1979). A drumlin is located im¬
mediately next to the peat mound. Beneath
the glacial till are layers of sandstone (Cline
1965). Artesian springs are common in the
region, and occur at the base of the mound.
The vegetation was disturbed by plowing
and the planting of reed canary grass, P ha-
laris arundinacea, about 50 years ago. The
reed canary grass still dominates the site,
and therefore the peatland is classified as a
degraded fen (Curtis 1959). Gentianopsis
procera occurs in comparative abundance in
patches on the top of the peat mound (Burr
1980), and the groundwater is mineral rich.
Other plants at the site which are character¬
istic of sedge meadows or wet prairies but
are also found in fens are Carex stricta,
Andropogon gerardii, and Spartina pectinata
(Bedford, et al 1974). Cornus stolonifera
occurs in patches at both the top of the
mound and in the basin-filled portion of the
wetland, but not on the slopes, where Pha-
laris dominates.
One to two meters of fibrous sedge peat
has accumulated in the study area. The top
50 cm is more decomposed than the deeper
peat.
40
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
The site is owned by The Nature Conser¬
vancy.
Methods
Surveying. We established a 50 X 50 me¬
ter grid system on the mound using wooden
stakes to mark the intersection of the grid.
From this grid we defined a coordinate sys¬
tem to allow horizontal control at the site.
All positions on the mound can be located
by two coordinates.
To determine relative elevations of the
surface of the mound, we leveled approxi¬
mately 200 points using a Leitz automatic
level. We produced a contour map with 40
cm contour intervals using computer assisted
two-dimensional interpolation and smooth¬
ing routines (Figure 3). Back-checking with
actual data showed the interpolation and
smoothing routines did not distort the data.
Smoothing was necessary because of the high
degree of microrelief on the mound, caused
by sedge tussocks and ant hills.
Hydrology. Thirty-seven hydrologic sta¬
tions were established on the peat mound.
Thirty are located on a 25 meter grid sys¬
tem (Figure 3). The other seven are located
10 meters apart on a transect from the top
of the mound down to the basin-filled wet¬
land. Each station has a shallow open well
(about 50 cm deep) and a piezometer. Each
piezometer is a 1.1 cm diameter titanium
pipe open at both ends. To prevent the pipe
from clogging while it was being pushed
through the peat, we placed a loosely fitting
bolt into the lower end of the piezometer so
that the head of the bolt completely covered
the lower opening. After driving the piezom¬
eter to the proper depth we lifted the pipe
2 cm, opening the lower end. The bottom
Fig. 3. Contour map of the peat mound showing the location of the piezometric head at the
37 hydrologic stations. Contour interval is 40 cm (relative to arbitrary base station); the 780
cm contour line coincides with the 850 ft. U.S.G.S. contour line (see Fig. 1). A-B marks the
transect shown in Figure 4. Hollow circles indicate negative piezometric head (see text).
1981]
Kratz, Winkler and DeWitt — Hydrology of a Peat Mound
41
openings of the piezometers are in mineral
soil three to four meters beneath the surface
of the mound.
The level of the water in the piezometer
measures the hydraulic head of the stratum
at the bottom of the pipe. This was com¬
pared with the water level in the well. We
call the difference between the two levels,
the piezometric head. If the water level in
the piezometer is higher than the water level
in the open well, we arbitrarily called this a
positive piezometric head. Water will tend
to move upward. The surface elevation at
each station is known and elevations are
marked on each piezometer.
We measured the elevation of water in
each well and piezometer using a wooden
dipstick in a four hour period on 13 Novem¬
ber 1979, and again on 25 October 1980.
There were no substantial differences be¬
tween the results. Our figures are based on
the 13 November 1979 data. Dipstick dis¬
placement was calculated and accounted for
in the results.
Stratigraphy. We determined the strati¬
graphy of the underlying sediments at sev¬
eral stations along the transect using Living¬
stone, Hiller, or Davis peat corers, as well
as a standard soil auger.
Laboratory analysis. Pollen and charcoal
analysis was done at the Center for Climatic
Research. Pollen was scarce but at least 100
grains were counted at each level. Standard
pollen analytical techniques were used
(Faegri and Iverson 1964).
Results and Discussion
The contour map of surface elevations of
the mound shows the existence of a raised
dome of peat (indicated by A in Figure 3)
Fig. 4. Cross section of the peat mound, showing the relationship among the piezometric
surface, peat surface, groundwater level, and mineral soil (gray silt). The location of the
transect is shown in A-B in Figure 3.
42
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
nearly two meters above the surface of the
basin-filled peatland. The water table closely
follows the surface elevations, usually be¬
ing within 30 cm of the surface. To deter¬
mine the source of the water in the peat
mound, we measured the piezometric head
at 37 locations. Figure 3 shows that 35
of the 37 stations have a positive piezo¬
metric head, indicating an artesian source
of water. We cannot fully explain the
anomalous readings at the other two sta¬
tions, although there may be a very lo¬
calized perched water table near the two
stations. In contrast to the positive piezo¬
metric head in the mound, a hydrologic sta¬
tion in the basin-filled portion of the wet¬
land showed no difference in water levels
between a piezometer and an open, shallow
well. This indicates that the hydrology of the
peat mound is qualitatively different than the
hydrology of the basin-filled wetland.
The artesian source of water has allowed
the peat to accumulate to an elevation nearly
two meters above the surrounding basin-
filled wetland. To investigate the reasons for
the existence and location of the relatively
steep slopes emanating in three directions
from the raised dome of peat, we placed hy¬
drologic stations ten meters apart along a
transect from the top of the mound down to
the basin-filled wetland (Figure 3). Figure
4 shows that although there is a good cor¬
relation among the piezometric surface, the
surface of the peat, and the water table, the
piezometric head is greater midway down
the slope than on the top of the mound.
It might be expected that a region with
a greater piezometric head would be able
to supply water to a higher elevation, allow¬
ing the peat to accumulate to a greater
height, than a region with a lesser piezomet¬
ric head. The data refute this. Although the
top of the mound has a high piezometric
head, the slopes have higher heads. The
highest piezometric heads are found at the
base of the slopes near the open springs
(Figure 3).
There are at least two reasons why the
elevation of the peat is not positively corre¬
lated with the piezometric head. Under very
high heads the vertical flow of water may be
great enough to prevent any accumulation
of peat. This would be the case if there were
little resistance to flow in the substrate. Any
excess organic matter is dislodged and
washed away by the water. This is the most
likely explanation of why the open spring
area at the base of the mound (Figure 2)
still exists after thousands of years of peat
accumulation elsewhere in Waubesa Wet¬
lands.
Secondly, if there is substantial resistance
to vertical flow through the substrate, a high
piezometric head need not be associated with
an elevated water table and subsequent peat
accumulation. To test this idea, we con¬
ducted a preliminary experiment to see if
there is greater resistance on the top of the
raised sedge meadow. Detailed stratigraphies
were determined at both locations. In addi¬
tion, at the midslope point seven piezome¬
ters were placed at various depths in various
substrates according to the predetermined
PIEZOMETERS
Fig. 5. Piezometric heads (dark lines) at seven
levels in the stratigraphy at a midslope point.
Note the three distinct levels of the piezometric
heads.
1981]
Kratz, Winkler and DeWitt — Hydrology of a Peat Mound
43
stratigraphy. The results are shown in Fig¬
ure 5.
Although the piezometers were placed at
seven depths, there are only three distinct
values of piezometric head. Two barriers to
vertical flow are suggested by this result. The
first is at the boundary between the blue-
gray clay layer and the orange sand and the
second is at the interface between the gray
silt and the fibrous peat. The stratigraphy at
the top of the mound differs from the strati¬
graphy midslope. At the top of the slope
there is no blue-gray clay layer beneath the
orange sand. Although we have not yet done
the piezometric test, the lack of the clay
layer probably affords greater vertical flow
rates, allowing a higher water table and
greater peat accumulation on the top of the
mound. In addition, the sand lens may allow
significant rates of horizontal flow from the
mound to the basin-filled wetland, so that
not only does vertical flow meet a greater
resistance midslope, but horizontal flow is
enhanced. The vertical extent of the water
table is thus limited in the midslope region.
Chronology of the Peat Mound Development
The ages of the mineral soil strata and
the peat underlying the top of the mound
were estimated by correlating pollen spectra
taken from various levels with published,
radiocarbon-dated pollen diagrams (Fried¬
man et al. 1979). The deposition of the min¬
eral soil probably occurred rapidly after de¬
glaciation. Although pollen grains are sparse,
half of the grains counted from levels in the
mineral soil are spruce. This suggests an age
of about 12,500 years before present (L.
Maher, Personal communication).
Peat sampled just above the mineral soil-
peat interface from a core taken at the top
of the mound has been radiocarbon dated at
the University of Wisconsin-Madison (WIS-
1 265 ) by Dr. Margaret Bender. The date for
the beginning of peat formation is 7500
±80 years before present. This date indi¬
cates the beginning of the postglacial warm
period in southcentral Wisconsin and the
extension of the prairie into this area. It is
a minimum date because of the charcoal
layer at the transition between inorganic
and organic sediment indicating a possibility
of burned peat and therefore a hiatus in the
core.
A decrease in groundwater supplies caused
by a decrease in precipitation and an in¬
crease in temperature during this time might
have decreased the piezometric head enough
to allow peat to be produced and to begin to
accumulate. A higher piezometric head
would wash sediment away and a smaller
head would be too intermittent to give a
favorable production/decomposition ratio
for build-up of peat. Once the peat begins to
build up it acts like a sponge — raising the
water table, and the peat acts also as a cap-
slowing down the flow of water. The peat,
then, accentuates the peat forming conditions
and accelerates the accumulation of peat.
Other charcoal layers are common in the
peat, suggesting that fires have swept over the
landscape and have maintained oak-decidu¬
ous forest and prairie vegetation in the re¬
gion to the present day. The peat mound it¬
self may have also burned during dry periods
in the past.
The Significance of Peat Mounds
Because of the importance of artesian
sources of water to the hydrology and de¬
velopment of peat mounds, the ecological
properties of the mound may differ substan¬
tially from other types of peatlands. For ex¬
ample, nutrient cycling, vegetation dynamics,
and water relations in a wetland are all de¬
pendent to some degree on the hydrological
properties of the wetland. Yet very little is
known about the ecosystem dynamics of
spring-dependent peatlands.
The occurrence of spring induced peat
mounds in Jefferson County, southern Wis¬
consin has been reported by Milfred and
Hole (1970) and Ciolkosz (1965). Van der
Valk (1975) and Holte (1966, cited in Van
der Valk) describe similar systems in north¬
western Iowa. Although the vegetation of the
44
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
Iowan fens is different from that of Wau-
besa, the hydrologic setting is similar.
In Europe several authors discuss springs
and their effects on peatland development
(Hafsten and Salem 1976; Holdgate 1955a,
b; Kirchner 1975; Lahermo et al. 1977;
Moore and Bellamy, 1974;Wickman 1951).
But because of differences in water flow,
topography, climate, and water chemistry,
the peatlands described in these studies are
similar to our site only because springs are
important in their development.
There is little knowledge of the regional
distribution and abundance of peat mounds,
but the geologic condition giving rise to these
peatlands may not be rare (Ciolkosz 1965;
G. B. Lee and J. H. Zimmerman, personal
communications). Because these peatlands
may often occupy the transition area be¬
tween upland and more extensive wetlands,
they are more subject to agricultural disturb¬
ances such as runoff, drainage, and tillage.
The vegetation differences between the Iowa
fens and the mound at Waubesa Wetlands
may be a function of the land use history of
each area as well as the climatic and geo¬
chemical differences of the area. The Excel¬
sior fen complex in Iowa which has more
than eleven peat mounds and associated
spring terraces is badly degraded by cattle
pasturing although the wetter areas still have
Lobelia kalmii, Eupatorium perfoliatum,
and Parnassia glauca; Gentianopsis procera
was found at the nearby Silver Lake fen
which is an Iowa Natural Area Conserva¬
tion site (M. Winkler, personal observation).
Ecological processes taking place in this
intermediate position in the landscape are
important in the coupling of land and water
systems (Hasler 1975).
Conclusions
An artesian source of water has allowed
vertical accumulation of peat and develop¬
ment of a peat mound. Stratigraphy of min¬
eral soil beneath the peat influences the
amount of vertical flow of water and ulti¬
mate height of the peat. The mound may be
approaching (or may already be at) an equi¬
librium height.
The peat mound, because of its location
between the upland and basin-filled wetland,
may act as an important buffer, intercepting
runoff of nutrients from the upland. Also,
because of their location at the upland-wet¬
land interface, many peat mounds have prob¬
ably been eliminated or degraded in some
way. Because the ecological processes occur¬
ring in this kind of peatland are not well
known, more detailed research needs to be
done before the complexities of this hydro-
logically interesting ecosystem are under¬
stood.
Acknowledgments
We would like to thank Cornelia Burr,
Jim Bruskewitz, Fran Heliotis, John Meland,
Bruce Porter, and Steve Ugoretz for their
discussion of this project during class meet¬
ings of IES 900 in the fall semester 1979.
David and Daniel Winkler helped with part
of the field work. Stefan Winkler translated
the Kirchner article. Dorothy Ingle and
Melanie Woodworth typed the manuscript.
Portions of the work were supported by NSF
grants #DEB 77-14501 to C. B. DeWitt
and ATM 79-26039 to J. E. Kutzbach.
References Cited
Bedford, B. L., E. H. Zimmerman, and J. H.
Zimmerman. 1974. The Wetlands of Dane
County, Wisconsin. Dane County Regional
Planning Commission, 581 pp.
Burr, C. 1980. Lesser Fringed Gentians. Wis¬
consin Natural Resources Magazine. 4(5):
21.
Ciolkosz, E. J. 1965. Peat mounds of south¬
eastern Wisconsin. Soil Survey Horizons. 6:
15-17.
Cline, D. 1965. Geology and Groundwater
Resources of Dane County, Wisconsin.
U.S.G.S. Water Supply Paper 1779-U.
Curtis, J. T. 1959. The Vegetation of Wiscon¬
sin: An Ordination of Plant Communities.
Univ. of Wisconsin Press, Madison, 657 pp.
1981]
45
Kratz, Winkler and DeWitt — Hydrology of a Peat Mound
Faegri, K., and J. Iverson. 1964. Textbook of
Pollen Analysis . Oxford.
Friedman, R. M., C. B. DeWitt, and T. K.
Kratz. 1979. Simulating post-glacial wetland
formation: a quantitative reconstruction of
Waubesa Marsh. University of Wisconsin-
Madison. Institute for Environmental Stud¬
ies, Report #106, 60 pp.
Hafsten, U., and T. Solem. 1976. Age, origin
and paleo-ecological evidence of blanket
bogs in Nord-Trondelag, Norway. Boreas
5:119-141.
Hasler, A. D. 1975. Coupling of Land and
Water Systems. Springer-Verlag. New York,
309 pp.
Heinselman, M. L. 1970. Landscape evolution,
peatland types, and the environment in the
Lake Agassiz Peatlands Natural Area, Min¬
nesota. Ecological Monographs 40:235-261.
Holdgate, M. W. 1955a. The vegetation of
some British upland fens. /. Ecol. 43:389-
403.
Holdgate, M. W. 1955b. The vegetation of some
springs and wet flushes on Tarn Moor near
Orton, Westmoreland. /. Ecol. 43:80-89.
Holte, K. E. 1966. A floristic and ecological
analysis of the Excelsior fen complex in
northwest Iowa. Ph.D. Thesis, University of
Iowa, Iowa City, 292 pp.
Kirchner, A. 1975. Zum Auftreten von Druck-
wasser in Niedermooren. Arch. Acker- u.
Pflanzenbau u. Bodenkd. 19:613-617.
Lahermo, P., V. E. Valovirta, and A. Sarkioja.
1977. The geobotanical development of
spring-fed mires in Finnish Lapland. Geo¬
logical Survey of Finland. Bulletin 287, 44
pp.
Mickelson, D. M., and M. C. McCartney.
1979. Glacial geology of Dane County, Wis¬
consin. Map. University of Wisconsin Ex¬
tension. Geol. and Nat. Hist. Survey.
Milfred, C. J., and F. D. Hole. 1970. Soils of
lefferson County, Wisconsin. University of
Wisconsin Geological and Natural History
Survey. Bulletin 86, Soil Series No. 61.
Moore, P. D., and D. J. Bellamy. 1974. Peat-
lands. Springer-Verlag. 221 pp.
Van Der Valk, A. G. 1975. Floristic compo¬
sition and structure of fen communities in
northwest Iowa. Proc. Iowa Acad. Sci. 82:
113-118.
Wickman, F. E. 1951. The maximum height of
raised bogs. Geol. Foren . Forhandl. 73:413-
422.
MEASURES OF SYMPATHETIC REACTIVITY IN THE INFANT:
A PILOT STUDY TO ASSESS THEIR FEASIBILITY IN
MASS SCREENING PROGRAMS
Michael A. Sloan and Ruth E. Hollinger
Department of Psychology
Rip on College
Ripon, Wisconsin
A bstract
Autonomic nervous system instability has been implicated as a causal factor
in the etiology of the Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS). Measures of sym¬
pathetic nervous system reactivity in the infant were therefore reviewed to decide
upon a safe, easy and inexpensive method to assess this variable. We conclude
that the galvanic skin response (GSR) is the most suitable measure and very
amenable to mass screening programs. Difficulties in securing parental informed
consent to the conventional method of measuring the GSR, however, necessitated
the development of an alternative method which appears promising. While further
studies will be required, we conclude that it will be highly feasible to add the GSR
to other measures of SIDS susceptability in mass screening programs.
Our objective in this study was to deter¬
mine whether existing methods for the as¬
sessment of sympathetic nervous system re¬
activity would be suitable for infant mass
screening programs. We are most pleased
to report that, by all indications, they will.
We are confident that pilot programs can be
instituted in the very near future.
Our primary intent has been to improve
existing mass screening programs for possi¬
ble susceptability to Sudden Infant Death
Syndrome (SIDS). I strongly wish to empha¬
size at this point that SIDS or “crib death”
remains, in the words of the National Sud¬
den Infant Death Syndrome Foundation,
“neither predictable nor preventable.” Un¬
fortunately, SIDS is still “a disease of theor¬
ies” and still claims the lives of an estimated
7,500-10,000 babies per year in this country
alone.
One theory which has been the subject of
considerable recent research and has been
well covered in the media is that of sleep
apnea. In brief, this simply means that the
baby repeatedly ceases to breathe during
sleep and eventually never resumes respira¬
tion. These apneas have been observed in
many SIDS infants prior to death (Stein-
schneider, 1972; Shannon, Kelly and O’Con¬
nell, 1977).
We should first summarize the character¬
istic epidemiologic aspects of the SIDS.
Briefly, the incidence of the syndrome is
highest in males, although sex by race inter¬
actions exist, in low birthweight infants and
in non-caucasians (Bergman, Ray, Pomeroy,
Wahl and Beckwith, 1972; Kraus and Bor-
hani, 1972). The SIDS is rare in the neo¬
natal period and after six months. Most
deaths occur at two to three months of age
(Bergman et ah, 1972). Seasonal trends
have also been demonstrated with most of
the deaths occurring in the early winter
months (Kraus and Borhani, 1972). Fi¬
nally, death appears invariably to occur dur¬
ing sleep (Bergman et al, 1972).
Bergman et al. (1972) have proposed
that the SIDS results from a spasm of the
muscles of the larynx. As evidence they
cited the intrathoracic petechiae (small
46
1981]
Sloan and Hollinger — Sympathetic Reactivity in Infants
47
hemorrhages in the lungs and elsewhere)
and the fluid blood observed upon autopsy
in SIDS victims. These findings are con¬
sistent with death due to acute upper airway
obstruction.
Our group now believes that multiple
causes of SIDS probably exist but that res¬
piratory failure is primary whatever the
mechanism. The laryngospasm theory has
been recently supported by Leape, Holder,
Franklin, Amoury and Ashcroft (1977).
These investigators observed respiratory ar¬
rest in infants secondary to gastroesopha¬
geal reflux. In other words, due to an ana¬
tomic malformation, gastric (or stomach)
fluids reflux or flow back causing respiratory
arrest. They suggested that these infants
appear to be true SIDS cases and that the
respiratory arrest may have resulted from
laryngospasm. Other evidence supports this
view (Beckwith, 1978).
The rationale for suspecting that sympa¬
thetic nervous system reactivity may be a
major factor rests primarily upon the
“drowning swimmer reflex.” It has often
been found that apparent drowning victims
have no water in their lungs. It seems highly
likely that laryngospasm accounts for these
deaths (Wong and Grace, 1963). We fur¬
ther suggest that the high state of sympa¬
thetic nervous system arousal associated
with the threat of drowning precipitates the
spasm. Another reason for suspecting that
sympathetic reactivity may be a critical fac¬
tor in some SIDS cases is the autonomic ner¬
vous system instability characteristic of a
particular phase of sleep (Hartmann, 1967).
It thus appears that relevant screening
programs for SIDS should include a safe,
easy and inexpensive test of sympathetic
nervous system reactivity. We submit that
the galvanic skin response (GSR) or, more
properly, the electrodermal response will be
most suitable. The GSR defines the state of
arousal of the sympathetic nervous system
by changes in the electrical conductivity of
the skin produced by palmar sweating.
This index of, basically, emotionality or
arousal is measured by passing a small elec¬
trical current (which can be provided by a
six volt household battery) through elec¬
trodes placed upon the palms or the soles
of the feet. A meter then registers changes
in the conductance of the skin measured in
mhos.
Weller and Bell (1965) have used the
GSR to investigate sympathetic arousal in
various behavioral states in 60-110 hour old
neonates. They reported that, not only did
this measure correlate significantly with
several other indices of sympathetic arousal,
but that their recordings were not contami¬
nated by movement artifact.
The late Harold Schlosberg (1954) in a
witty and delightful review of theories of
emotion has emphasized several other attrac¬
tive features of the GSR which are certainly
relevant to mass screening programs. Basic¬
ally, the device is easily and inexpensively
constructed (to quote Dr. Schlosberg: “the
whole gadget can be assembled for about
$25 and is as portable as a box of cigars”)
and recordings can be obtained simultane¬
ously from many subjects.
Although the GSR clearly appears to be
the best measure of sympathetic nervous
system activation in the infant, this method
involves passing a small electrical current
through the body and we encountered sub¬
stantial problems in obtaining the informed
content of parents. We therefore sought
another method of assessing the GSR.
Silverman and Powell (1944) developed
a colorimetric technique for the analysis of
palmar sweating. They painted the skin with
a 25% solution of ferric chloride in ethanol
and allow it to dry. A small piece of paper
was then saturated with a 5% solution of
tannic acid in water and likewise allowed to
dry. The GSR as measured by palmer per¬
spiration was then assessed by placing the
paper in contact with the skin for three
minutes. If the skin is dry no reaction will
occur but if perspiration is present the water-
48
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
soluble ferric chloride will react with the
tannic acid to form a blue spot on the paper.
The spot ranges from blue-gray to deep
blue and the hue is directly proportional to
the amount of perspiration present. The
intensity of the blue spot can be graded by
a densitometer and/or human judges. Sil¬
verman and Powell noted that the method is
very simple and economical and provides a
permanent record which is unaffected by
humidity. It thus appears to be a most suit¬
able method for the assessment of the GSR
in a mass screening program of the type de¬
scribed should problems of parental consent
for the use of the conventional method arise.
We were quite excited when we discovered
this system but our primary enthusiasm was
short-lived. Tannic acid has recently been
placed in category one on the list of known
or suspected carcinogens by the Occupa¬
tional Safety and Health Review Commis¬
sion. Obviously it will be next to impossible
to obtain informed consent for this method
also.
It later occurred to us, however, that dif¬
ferent chemicals might be used to produce a
similar measure of the GSR. Since the reac¬
tion involves a salt and a weak acid we ac¬
cordingly began to experiment with other
weak acids. Two of our students performed
a “lie detector” experiment using a weak
solution of citric acid in place of tannic acid
to measure the palmar sweating which ac¬
companies lying. The results were encourag¬
ing although the blue spots were pale (Jones
and Staples, 1979).
We are, therefore, continuing to explore
the use of this method. As subjects become
available we will increase the concentration
of the ferric chloride solution and experi¬
ment with other weak acids to produce an
optimal result. We are confident that in this
manner we will develop another economical
and non-invasive method for the assessment
of the GSR in large-scale infant screening
programs.
The GSR is, however, clearly only one of
a battery of screening procedures necessary
for the evaluation of an infant’s risk for
SIDS. Among others these include evalua¬
tion of the sleep respiratory pattern for the
frequency and duration of apneas and apnea
density by type (Guilleminault, Ariagno,
Korobkin, Nagel, Baldwin, Coons and Owen,
1979) and the infant’s responsivity to car¬
bon dioxide during sleep (Shannon, Kelly
and O’Connell, 1977). Other important
measures have been discussed in a recent
review (Guilleminault and Korobkin, 1979).
Such screening programs, perhaps coordi¬
nated through Wisconsin’s excellent network
of Regional Perinatal Centers (Graven,
Howe and Callon, 1976), now appear to be
highly feasible. Such a program appears
most desirable also as it could provide vi¬
tally needed longitudinal data on the role
of infant sleep respiratory patterns and au¬
tonomic nervous system instability in the
mechanisms of the SIDS.
Acknowledgment
The authors express their sincere thanks
to Brenda Jones and Rex Staples for their
cooperation and participation in this study.
References Cited
Beckwith, J. B. 1978. Personal communication.
Bergman, A. B., Ray, C. G., Pomeroy, M. A.,
Wahl, P. W. and Beckwith, J. B. 1972. Stud¬
ies of sudden infant death syndrome in King
County, Washington. III. Epidemiology.
Pediatrics. 49:860-870.
Graven, S. N., Howe, G. and Callon, H. 1976.
Perinatal health care studies and program
results in Wisconsin 1964-1970. p. 39-57.
In J. B. Stetson and P. R. Swyer (eds.)
Neonatal intensive care. Green, St. Louis.
Guilleminault, C. and Korobkin, R. 1979. Sud¬
den infant death: Near miss events and sleep
research. Some recommendations to improve
comparability of results among investigators.
Sleep. 1:423-433.
- , Ariagno, R., Korobkin, R., Nagel, N.,
Baldwin, R., Coons, S. and Owen M. 1979.
1981]
Sloan and Hollinger — Sympathetic Reactivity in Infants
49
Mixed and obstructive sleep apnea and near
miss for sudden infant death syndrome: 2.
Comparison of near miss and normal con¬
trol infants by age. Pediatrics. 64:882-891.
Hartmann, E. 1967. The biology of dreaming.
Charles C. Thomas, Springfield, 206 pp.
Jones, B. and Staples, R. 1979. Galvanic skin
response. Paper submitted in partial fulfill¬
ment of the requirements of Psychology 110,
Ripon College. Ripon, Wisconsin.
Kraus, J. F. and Borhani, N. O. 1972. Post-
neonatal sudden unexpected death in Cali¬
fornia: A cohort study. Am. J. Epidemiol.
95:497-510.
Leape, L. L., Holder, T. M., Franklin, J. D.,
Amoury, R. A. and Ashcroft, K. W. 1977.
Respiratory arrest in infants secondary to
gastroesophageal reflux. Pediatrics. 60:924-
928.
Schlosberg, H. 1954. Three dimensions of emo¬
tion. Psychol. Rev. 61:81-88.
Shannon, D. C., Kelly, D. H. and O’Connell,
K. 1977. Abnormal regulation of ventilation
in infants at risk for sudden infant death
syndrome. N. Engl. J. Med. 297:747-750.
Silverman, J. J. and Powell, V. E. 1944. Studies
on palmar sweating. Am. J. Med. Sci. 208:
297-305.
Steinschneider, A. 1972. Prolonged apnea and
the sudden infant death syndrome: Clinical
and laboratory observations. Pediatrics. 50:
646-654.
Weller, G. M. and Bell, R. Q. 1965. Basal skin
conductance and neonatal state. Child
Develop. 36:647-657.
Wong, F. W. and Grace, W. J. 1963. Sudden
death after near-drowning. J.A.M.A. 186:
724-726.
FOOD, POPULATION, ENERGY AND THE ENVIRONMENT
Peter Dorner
Dean of International Studies and Programs
and Professor of Agricultural Economics
and the Land Tenure Center
University of W isconsin-Madison
“The third world cannot solve its food problems without solving its energy prob¬
lems — and without solving both, the road ahead could lead to economic and human
chaos. But pointing that road in a better direction will require a massive and well-
planned international effort by both science and society.” The United Nations Univer¬
sity Newsletter, Vol. 5, No. 2, May, 1981.
“Developing country needs for commercial energy consumption in agriculture
could jump by nearly five times in the next 20 years. ... Of the total world commercial
energy used in agriculture, the share of developing countries, including China, is about
18% — or the equivalent of 36.8 million tons of oil. But if agricultural production is
to increase at target rates . . . energy use will have to expand to 174.5 million tons of
oil equivalent by the year 2000, 94% of it in the form of fertilizers and fuel.” FAO
AT WORK, Feb. 1981, published by the FAO Liaison Office for North America,
Washington, D.C.
“Our [the U.S.] ability both to meet domestic demand and to continue to export
large amounts of agricultural products is in question because of major uncertainties
about future conversion of farmland to nonfarm uses, possible longrun climate changes,
future trends in agricultural productivity, future water and energy supplies and costs,
and some uncertainty about how much unused cropland is actually available for crop
use.” The United States may already be sacrificing future yields “by exporting our top¬
soil to finance oil imports.” Statement by Professor Richard Barrows, in CALS Report,
January-February 1981, Vol. 18, No. 1, University of Wisconsin-Madison, College of
Agricultural and Life Sciences.
It has taken 8,000-10,000 years from the
beginning of a settled agriculture until the
present to increase knowledge enough to
produce food for the more than 4 billion
people who now live on earth, and perhaps
half a billion or more of these remain under¬
nourished. At recent rates of population
growth, the world could have another 4 bil¬
lion people to feed in about 35 years. Does
the world have the resources to feed its
growing numbers?
There is obviously no simple answer to
this question. The changing pattern of world
grain exports (Table 1) over the past 40
years shows increasing deficits (i.e. imports)
by growing numbers of developing countries.
The traditional grain deficit region, Western
Europe, has become more self-sufficient, the
developing regions have all increased their
dependence on grain imports (although
there are a few surplus producing countries
in these regions), while the only exporting
regions are North America, Australia and
New Zealand.
There is, however, a tremendous gap be¬
tween yields in most developing countries
and what they might be. That yield gap rep¬
resents a tremendous potential food reserve
which must be realized in the future. In
1935-39 average grain yields were the same
in the industrial and the developing coun¬
tries, but today there is a difference of 50
percent (Johnson, 1976).
The growing imports of grain by the de-
50
1981]
Dorner—Food, Population, Energy and Environment
51
Table 1
(Taken from To Feed This World p. 22, by Sterling Wortman and Ralph
W. Cumminggs, Jr.; the Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, 1978)
The changing pattern of world grain exports
Sources: Lester Brown and Erik Eckholm, By Bread Alone ; Lester Brown, The Politics and
Responsibility of the North American Breadbasket.
• Minus sign indicates net imports.
b Fiscal year.
veloping countries does not mean that their
agriculture has been stagnant. Also, most
grain, by far, is still consumed within the
same countries where it is produced — only
around 10 percent of world grain production
moves in international trade. In fact the food
supply situation in developing countries of
all regions except Africa has improved to
some degree during the past three decades.
Between the mid 1950s and the mid 1970s,
food production in the less developed coun¬
tries, taken as a group, actually increased at
a rate equal to or slightly greater than that
of the industrial or more developed coun¬
tries. However, population growth rates have
been, and continue to be, extremely high in
the developing countries, recently averaging
about 2Vi percent per year versus less than
1 percent per year in the high-income, in¬
dustrialized countries.
World food production has been increas¬
ing about .5 percent faster than annual rate
of growth in the world’s population. How¬
ever, there is one major difference in the
way this increased production was achieved.
In the developing countries, expansion of
cultivable area accounted for roughly half
of the increase in output, and intensification
of production on existing acres accounted
for the other half. In contrast, in the de¬
veloped countries almost all the increase
resulted from intensification (greater output
per acre).
Despite serious inequities in distribution,
both approaches have helped world food
production keep a few steps ahead of popu¬
lation growth, but both face significant ob¬
stacles. Bringing more and more land into
agricultural production has, in many cases,
created or worsened severe problems of
wind and water erosion, soil destruction,
overgrazing, desertification, and deforesta¬
tion. There is more land that can be put into
agricultural production (although often of a
quality inferior to that already under culti¬
vation). Before converting such land, how¬
ever, we must recognize the potential conse¬
quences of soil and general environmental
degradation. Estimates of the amount of
land that can be brought into food produc¬
tion without serious environmental reper¬
cussions vary widely. Even if one discounts
the potential for environmental damage, ex¬
pansion of cultivable land is not an option
available to many countries seeking to in¬
crease food production. Available croplands
are not always located where population
pressures are greatest. India, Bangladesh,
and China, for example, certainly do not
have a great deal of unused arable land.
The other route toward expanding food
supplies is land use intensification, but ef-
52
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
forts to make each acre yield more food also
confront problems. Highly intensive land use
demands great inputs of energy; much of
that energy has come from fossil fuels (gas,
coal and oil) and from electricity (often
manufactured from fossil fuels).
So far, this approach to increasing produc¬
tion has depended on an energy subsidy to
the food system: we supplement the sun¬
light, captured by plants, with stored solar
energy captured millions of years ago and
preserved in the forms of oil, coal, and gas
(Steinhart and Steinhart, 1974). This
method of subsidizing agriculture with en¬
ergy from nonrenewable sources has come
about through farm mechanization — the use
of tractors, electric motors, and so on, and
an ever-growing reliance on fertilizer and
other chemicals that are very energy-inten¬
sive in their manufacture or, as in the case
of nitrogen fertilizer, that depend on petro¬
leum products as a raw material. Irrigation
is another means of intensifying land use by
providing and controlling water supplies, but
irrigation, too, is usually energy-intensive in
terms of construction of facilities and fre¬
quently in terms of pumping and distribu¬
tion.
The U.S. now has less than 3 percent of
its people actually engaged in farming
(USDA Agriculture Handbook No. 561).
Other industrialized countries also have wit¬
nessed sharp declines in the number of far¬
mers over the past 30 to 40 years. We have
replaced horses and mules and human labor
with machines. Although these capital- and
energy-intensive agricultural systems of the
industrial nations have made possible a high
standard of material well-being, the increas¬
ing cost of energy may require major adjust¬
ments in the years ahead.
Once the shift to a mechanized, energy-
intensive agriculture has been made, as it
has in the industrial countries, it is very dif¬
ficult to turn back. According to a study by
the U.S. Department of Agriculture (The
Farm Index, August, 1975), if the U.S. were
to return to the technology and the farming
practices of 60 years ago, achieving the pro¬
duction totals of today would require about
61 million horses and mules. At present, of
course, draft horses and mules are not widely
available. The U.S. would also need about
27 million farm workers, nearly 24 million
more than we now use. To feed the horses
and mules, we would require the production
from more than the 100 million acres of
cropland currently devoted to the produc¬
tion of farm exports. Thirty percent or more
of the population would be in farming, and
average family incomes of farmers as well as
nonfarmers would be much lower.
In other words, we have achieved our
high level of living through the substitution
of machines and fossil fuels — finite in
amount — for human and animal power,
through the intensive use of fertilizers, and
through the advances in genetics, farm man¬
agement, regional specialization in produc¬
tion (itself energy intensive since it increases
the need for transportation in the food sys¬
tem), and so on. A return to the practices
of 60 years ago would also spell starvation
for many people in the world who now de¬
pend on U.S. food exports. But, one should
add, the entire U.S. economic system is so
energy-intensive that even with this energy¬
demanding agriculture, the entire food and
fiber system accounts for only about 17
percent of all the energy used in the United
States (USDA Agricultural Handbook No.
561). Personal automobiles, it is estimated,
use 27 percent. Food production absorbs
less than one-fifth of the total energy used
in the food system (i.e., about 3.4 percent
of all commercial energy used in the United
States) . More than two-fifths is used for food
processing and distribution; homes and com¬
mercial eating establishments consume the
other two-fifths (USDA Agriculture Hand¬
book No. 561).
Japan also has a highly energy-intensive
agricultural system, as do most industrial
countries, but Japan has not matched the
1981]
Dorner — Food, Population, Energy and Environment
53
U.S. system in terms of mechanization and
fuel use. It has, instead, become more inten¬
sive than the U.S. in terms of irrigation and
the use of fertilizers and other chemicals.
Japan’s farmers have registered remarkable
achievements on the nation’s small land area.
China, in contrast, has pressed its agricul¬
tural output about as far as the use of human
power and the recycling of organic matter
will permit, and it is now seeking technology
to intensify its agriculture in other ways —
by producing nitrogen fertilizer domestically
and developing its petroleum industry. There
are limits to how much food an acre of farm¬
land can produce without the heavy use of
fertilizers and other chemicals. Those limits
are illustrated in Figure 1, which compares
current rice yields in selected Asian coun¬
tries to the historical growth of rice yields
in Japan.
STRUCTURAL REFORM
Source: From W. David Hopper, “The Develop¬
ment of Agriculture in Developing Countries.”
Copyright © 1976 by Scientific American, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Fig. 1. Intensification of farming: Current rice
yields in selected Asian countries compared to the
historical growth of rice yields in Japan (solid line).
(Taken from To Feed This World p. 48, by Ster¬
ling Wortman and Ralph Cummings, Jr.; the Johns
Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, 1978)
As noted earlier, energy-intensive agri¬
cultural systems also face serious problems:
fossil fuels are getting scarcer and ever more
expensive, and the increased use of commer¬
cial fertilizers and other chemicals poses
environmental risks. In the mid-1970s the
world used about 40 million tons of nitro¬
gen fertilizer annually; it is projected that in
order to feed the world’s population in the
year 2000, we will need to use about 200
million tons of nitrogen fertilizer (Hardy
and Havelka, 1975). Such increases, plus
concomitant increases in the use of insecti¬
cides and herbicides, present a serious threat.
We simply do not know enough about the
consequent ecological imbalances that may
result from such vast growth in the use of
chemicals. Major problems have already de¬
veloped. In the Philippines, for example, new
high-yielding varieties of rice require a
greater density of plants and high rates of
fertilization which in turn lead to more weeds
and insects. Controlling the pests requires
using more chemicals. In wet-paddy rice
culture, farmers used to raise fish along with
rice in their paddies. Rice with fish plus
some garden vegetables was, after all, a
pretty good diet. But insecticides kill the
fish in the rice paddies, and farmers are
now trying to build separate ponds in order
to preserve the fish harvest.
This case in the Philippines is simply an
illustration of the kind of problems that can
result from the increasing use of agricultural
chemicals throughout the world. The conse¬
quences are sometimes severe and often un¬
predicted. Obviously, efforts to increase food
production, whether through more intensive
use of existing cropland or expansion of cul¬
tivable area, confront the obstacle of re¬
source scarcity and pose major environ¬
mental risks. But just as obvious is the im¬
perative to feed a growing population. What
is to be done? This question defies simple
solution. There is no easy choice between
what is good and right and what is bad and
wrong; all choices carry ill effects.
54
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
I do not wish to sound like an alarmist
in these matters. The world is not, in my
judgment, approaching some precipice over
which it is about to plummet. Throughout
history we find that human beings have
proven to be very ingenious, inventive, and
adaptive. We will likely create new means
of production and new styles of life in re¬
sponse to the shortages that are developing
as we pass from a global economy based on
fossil fuels to one based on a greater reliance
on alternative and renewable sources of en¬
ergy. We have crossed such “bridges” in
energy use before as Figure 2 shows. Past
transitions of energy usage may appear to
have been easier than the one in prospect
because we always seem to have moved from
a less compact and perhaps less functional
form of energy to a more compact and more
concentrated form. However, we are not
I860 1880 1900 1920 1940 1960
Year
Fig. 2. U.S. Energy Consumption Patterns by
Energy Source.*
(Taken from Purdue Farm Management Report,
“The Potential for Producing Energy From Agri¬
culture,” by Wallace E. Tyner, Agricultural Eco¬
nomics Department, Purdue University, West La¬
fayette, Indiana)
* Source: Historical Statistics of the United
States.” Bureau of the Census. U.S. Bureau of
Mines.
certain what future sources of energy we
will exploit and, when this transition is
evaluated in retrospect, it may prove not to
have been any more difficult than those of
the past.
Regardless of how easy or how difficult
this transition proves to be, we must take
steps to address the complex problems asso¬
ciated with the interconnected issues of in¬
creased food production, rising energy costs,
population growth and environmental pro¬
tection. These steps can be divided into two
categories — -those that must be taken within
the next 10 to 25 years and those that will
be feasible only in 50 years or so.
In the short-to-medium term, we must
control the rate of population growth. This
rate must come down, substantially one
would hope, within the next 20 years. The
world cannot absorb many more doublings
of population every 30 to 35 years, which
has been the rate for about the past 30 years.
There are, in fact, some encouraging signs
that population growth rates are falling.
They are already very low in the industrial
countries (less than one percent per year, in
some cases near zero), and substantial de¬
clines in growth rates have been registered in
China, Indonesia, and some Latin American
countries. Yet we also need to remind our¬
selves that the number of people is only one
part of the issue. The other side of the coin
is the per capita consumption rate. And peo¬
ple in the industrial countries, especially in
the United States, use much more than their
proportionate share of the earth’s finite en¬
ergy and mineral resources. People in the
rich countries use almost 100 times as much
commercial energy per person as do people
in countries with the lowest per capita in¬
comes (World Bank, 1978). We also con¬
sume a disproportionate share of grain re¬
sources, not directly as grain but as meat
after grain has been fed to livestock.
One must be cautious, however, about
criticizing the livestock enterprise. Some
people tend to condemn all livestock as in-
1981]
Dorner—Food, Population, Energy and Environment
55
efficient converters of grain, and it is quite
possible that we will be feeding less grain to
ruminants in the future. But livestock farm¬
ing is essential since it allows humans to
consume many plant materials which they
cannot consume directly. Livestock can uti¬
lize forage grown on marginal lands where
grains cannot (or should not) be grown. The
emphasis should be on more forage and less
grain, rather than eliminating livestock farm¬
ing. Wisconsin is a leader in forage research,
and its leadership has been strengthened by
the recent opening of the USDA/North
Central Regional Dairy Forage Research
Laboratory.
Given the widely accepted view that we
are approaching limits to the availability of
some critical resources, it does not seem
possible that the 70 percent of the world’s
people living in the developing countries can
achieve the resource consumption levels of
the 30 percent residing in the industrial
countries. Beyond resource limits, the envi¬
ronmental consequences of pursuing such
consumption levels worldwide would be dis¬
astrous. Therefore, when we urge population
control for the poor, we must also urge con¬
sumption control and conservation for the
rich. The poor people of this world must be
given the opportunity to develop their hu¬
man capacities and to provide for their basic
needs of food, clothing, shelter, medical ser¬
vices, and education.
However, a curtailment of per capita re¬
source consumption in the high-income coun¬
tries does not necessarily mean a decline in
living standards. Much of our consumption
is wasteful. In the short term, for example,
the best means for meeting the problem of
high energy costs is conservation. And the
people in the high-income countries, especi¬
ally those in the United States, can cut en¬
ergy use very substantially without a major
alteration of life styles.
Beyond resource conservation and popula¬
tion control, however, there are a number of
measures, now in various stages of research
and development, that hold great promise
for improving the world food situation. In¬
novations that produce more food but at the
same time decrease the dependence on fossil
fuels and minimize the chances for environ¬
mental damage are critically important to
our future. One area of research involves
increasing the capacity of legumes for uti¬
lizing atmospheric nitrogen, as well as trans¬
ferring this capacity for nitrogen fixation to
corn and cereal grains. One research team
has already developed a corn variety that can
capture some nitrogen from the atmosphere,
albeit a small amount when compared to
the plant’s total needs. If this research is
ultimately successful, fertilizer demands will
fall. Research to increase the efficiency of
photosynthesis, the process by which green
plants utilize sunlight in the manufacture of
organic matter, in order to accelerate plant
growth, is also underway (Zelitch, 1975).
Scientists have changed the structure of corn
plants, for example, to expose more leaf area
to the sun and improve photosynthesis. New
varieties of barley and wheat with more
erect leaves to improve interception of sun¬
light are already in wide use (USDA Farm¬
line, September 1980). Still other research
deals with the domestication of “wild” plant
varieties. Of the 3,000 species of plants used
for food in the world only about 150 are
grown commercially, and of these, 20 supply
almost all the food for the earth’s more than
4 billion people. We use only a handful of
available plants and animals for our food,
and particularly all of these were demon¬
strated by our ancestors several .thousand
years ago. We have certainly improved upon
the food-yielding capacity of these species,
but we have not added to the stock.
Research on the development of plants
that can grow in saline soils has produced
impressive results. On irrigated desert farms
in Mexico, a plant with the highest per
acre yield of any halophytic (salt-adapted)
species tested has a protein content higher
than that of wheat. Plant-breeding programs
56
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
Table 2
(Taken from To Feed This World p. 79, by Sterling Wortman and Ralph
Cummings, Jr.; The Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, 1978)
Losses of potential crop production by region
Source: Agricultural Research Policy Advisory Committee, Research to Meet U.S. and World
Food Needs.
to select for greater resistance to insects and
diseases and attempts to develop biological
methods of insect control by the use of
natural predators or pest-sterilization meth¬
ods also promise to increase food supplies
because about one-third of the world’s po¬
tential harvest is lost to insects, diseases, and
weeds (Table 2).
All these diverse lines of research carry
major implications for saving fossil fuels and
avoiding dangers from over-use of chemical
fertilizers and pesticides. Even with research
breakthroughs, of course, the world will con¬
tinue to need inorganic fertilizers and some
chemicals for pest control, but a lesser de¬
pendence on these chemcials would at least
diminish the environmental burden now
posed by ever-increasing applications, and it
would decrease the demand for the energy
needed in the manufacture of inorganic fer¬
tilizers and protective chemicals.
Research on better ways to apply avail¬
able energy in agriculture, especially alter¬
native sources of energy, is also in progress.
Systems for producing bio-gas from waste
materials, as well as some solar systems, can
be used for crop drying, water heating and
other purposes. Scientists are working on
developing bacteria capable of breaking
down tough plant materials such as cellulose
and lignin. If their work is successful, it will
be feasible to convert wood, cornstalks and
other biomass into fuel alcohol. The ethanol
currently produced from corn (or sugar
cane juice in Brazil) or other substances
high in carbohydrates, requires good land
to produce the corn. The corn could be
eaten directly or fed to livestock. It should
be added, however, that the production of
ethanol from corn yields a considerable
quantity of high protein distillers’ dried
grains — an excellent feed supplement for
livestock.
The promise of all this research does not
provide a ready solution to the world’s food
production and distribution problems. Dis¬
coveries in the laboratory or in well-con¬
trolled field experiments must be adapted
and developed in such a way that they prove
practical for farmers. Successful research in
biological, physical, and engineering sciences
applicable to food production and the de¬
velopment of alternative energy sources may
also require new production, distribution
1981]
Dorner — Food , Population, Energy and Environment
57
and consumption patterns, new property re¬
lations, changes in the socio-economic struc¬
ture, modified financial and other institu¬
tions, and indeed entirely new theoretical
conceptions of the economic, social, and po¬
litical world. Institutional innovations and
adjustments are imperative if the advantages
of new technological developments are to be
widely shared; research in economics and the
other social sciences, both basic and applied,
is strategic to such a transformation. Basic
technological shifts in crop production will
certainly require changes in farm manage¬
ment practices and quite possibly in the or¬
ganizational structure of farms and farm
businesses, large and small. Some fundamen¬
tal issues of farm policy, both in the United
States and in other countries, will have to
be confronted. New issues may very well de¬
mand unique policy approaches.
Many of the projects underway on a va¬
riety of research fronts may well yield fruit¬
ful results within relatively few years. Some
new techniques and practices are already
being adopted ,and they simply require time
to be perfected and applied on a larger scale.
As for the more distant future, 50 or more
years from now, the outlook can be optimis¬
tic if we can control growth in population
and consumption in the shorter term, if the
nations of the world can develop procedures
to eliminate the constant threat of annihilat¬
ing civilization with modern weapons of war,
and if we, as a society, can provide sufficient
support for scientific and humanistic re¬
search.
We will, I believe, eventually develop
more abundant, more reliable, and less
depletable sources of commercial energy,
and it is unlikely that any one source will
dominate the energy scene as petroleum has
during the past 30 to 40 years. The “unlim¬
ited” prospects of nuclear fusion are still too
remote and may not materialize within this
period; more promising is the potential of
solar energy. A variety of solar technologies
are available now. These technologies are
expensive, but as the costs of other types of
energy increase, they will become more com¬
petitive. Mass production and widespread
use of solar techniques will also reduce their
costs. We need simply to look at what has
happened to the real prices of computer tech¬
nology during the past 20 years to recognize
the implications of continued efforts to adapt
ever more efficient engineering and produc¬
tion to a growing (and highly competitive)
market. These gains in efficiency notwith¬
standing, however, it is a good bet that the
real cost of energy in the future, irrespective
of its source, will be higher than that of pe¬
troleum before 1973.
One solar technology that seems most
intriguing is the photovoltaic cell which con¬
verts sunlight directly into electricity. Such
cells are now used to power instruments on
spacecraft; they could be used commercially,
but their cost, although decreasing, is still
prohibitive. Since photovoltaic cells can be
made from a relatively abundant and non¬
polluting element, silicon, the technology
faces no major supply constraints and poses
no environmental perils. One problem with
the technology concerns “shipping” the elec¬
tric energy from areas where it is produced
(presumably in hot desert areas where a
great deal of sunshine can be captured and
transformed into electricity) to places where
it is most needed. Transmitting electrical
power by wire over long distances results in
a substantial loss. To overcome such distri¬
bution problems, physical scientists and en¬
gineers plan to convert electrical energy into
a chemical source of energy.
If the electric power can be transmitted
by wire to a major water source (e.g. in the
United States from the Southwest deserts to
the Pacific Ocean) this electrical power can
be used to decompose water into its elements
and thus produce hydrogen gas. Methane
can be produced from the hydrogen plus
water and limestone. Or, if a liquid is pref¬
erable, methonal can also be produced from
these same ingrediants. “These chemical ve-
58
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
hides avoid the difficulties not only of inter¬
mittent radiation, but also of long-distance
transmission. If existent pipeline technology
is used which is second only to water trans¬
portation in efficiency, fluids can be trans¬
ported any required distance overland to cen¬
ters of consumption” (Hubbert, 1978).
Abundant energy supplies do nothing to
increase the globe’s ultimate stock of min¬
eral resources. Presumably, we can reduce
our demands and stretch our supplies of
minerals by improving recycling methods,
by increasing production and manufacturing
efficiency, by enhancing conservation efforts,
by using lower-grade ores, and by mining
the oceans. While some of these efforts are
already underway, most will become more
attractive and more feasible once alternative
supplies of energy are available. More abun¬
dant and diverse energy supplies will also
permit new types of agricultural production,
including energy-intensive greenhouse pro¬
duction which will reduce our need for till¬
able agricultural lands and lessen our vulner¬
ability to climatic fluctuations (USD A Farm¬
line, September 1980). Again, such develop¬
ments would not produce the environmental
side effects associated with expansion of cul¬
tivable area and intensified production on
existing farmlands.
This optimistic outlook seems nearly uto¬
pian, at least in physical terms. Are there no
physical limits? It seems to me that there is
an ultimate limit — the environment. We sim¬
ply cannot keep on growing and doubling
population or production or consumption for
very many more generations. Without checks
on population, the current population of
more than 4 billion people could jump to
8 billion in 30 years and to 16 billion in 60
years, when today’s teenagers are still alive.
The potential for physical and social catas¬
trophe would also seem to increase geomet¬
rically.
Doublings of production and consumption
to stay even with or “get ahead” of the de¬
mands of a growing population (or the ris¬
ing expectations of a stable population) also
face inevitable limits. Petroleum production,
for example, has doubled every ten years
since 1900. In each decade, as much pe¬
troleum is pumped from the earth as has
been extracted in all previous time. By the
end of 1963, cumulative world crude oil
production had amounted to 150 billion
barrels. By the end of 1973 it had reached
299 billion barrels, double the grand total
produced by 1963 (Hubbert, 1978). Doubl¬
ing of production of a finite resource cannot
go on many more decades.
Without question, population growth must
level off; zero or even negative rates must be
the goal. To correct severe inequities in the
distribution of resources and income, high
income societies must restrain their consump¬
tion and help to create opportunities for the
poor to improve their standard of living. As
we pass through this difficult period of ma¬
jor adjustments, we must support and rely
on research and development of reliable
knowledge aimed at long-run solutions to
the problems of food, population, energy and
the environment. All physical resources are
finite and limited, but human creativity and
intellectual capacity, so far as we know, are
not. All other resources become scarcer with
increased use, but human knowledge multi¬
plies as a result of use. The ultimate chal¬
lenge is to expand human knowledge, under¬
standing, and tolerance so that we may have
a world of peace and security, a world with¬
out hunger and fear.
Acknowledgments
Editorial assistance and substantive com¬
ments by Mark Bello and John Bielefeldt
are gratefully acknowledged, as are the help¬
ful suggestions of colleagues James Con¬
verse, Paul Drolsom, Robert Hougas, Robert
Reed and John Steinhart.
References Cited
Hardy, R. W. F., and U. D. Havelka. 1975.
“Nitrogen Fixation Research: A Key to
World Food?”, Science 188.
1981]
Dorner — Food , Population, Energy and Environment
59
Hubbert, M. King. 1978. “World Energy Re¬
sources.” In Proceedings of the Wisconsin
Seminar on Natural Resource Policies in
Relation to Economic Development and In¬
ternational Cooperation, Vcl. 1. Madison:
Institute for Environmental Studies, Uni¬
versity of Wisconsin.
Johnson, D. Gale. 1976. “Food for the Future:
A Perspective,” Population and Develop¬
ment Review, No. 2.
Steinhart, John S., and Carol E. Steinhart.
1974. “Energy Use in the U.S. Food Sys¬
tem,” Science 184.
Tyner, Wallace E. 1979. “The Potential for
Producing Energy from Agriculture.” Pur¬
due University Farm Management Report
(April, 1979).
U.S. Department of Agriculture. 1975. “Can
1918 Farming Feed 1975 People,” The
Farm Index (August 1975). Authored by
Earle E. Gavett.
U.S. Department of Agriculture. 1979. 1979
Handbook of Agriculture Charts, Agricul¬
tural Handbook No. 561.
U.S. Department of Agriculture. 1980. Farm-
line, Vol. 1, No. 6, September 1980.
World Bank. 1978. World Development Re¬
port, 1978. New York: Oxford University
Press.
Wortman, Sterling and Ralph W. Cummings,
Jr. 1978. To Feed This World. Baltimore:
The Johns Hopkins University Press.
Zelitch, Israel. 1975. “Improving the Efficiency
of Photosynthesis.” Science 188.
THE FUEL GRADE ALCOHOL POTENTIAL OF
WISCONSIN’S EXPORT GRAIN AND
PROCESS VEGETABLE WASTES
George A. Blondin, Stephen J. Comiskey and John M. Harkin
Department of Soil Science
University of W isconsin-Madison
A bstract
Concentrated and inexpensive biomass in readily bioconvertible waste forms
from two agribusiness sectors could be used to produce approximately 23.6 mil¬
lion gallons per year of competitively priced fuel grade alcohol. An additional
8.9 million gallons per year could be produced from these same two sources by
the application of more vigorous bioconversion technology. These estimates are
based on the quantities and fermentable carbohydrate contents of the Superior
grain elevator and statewide vegetable processing industry wastes. Present-day
technology appears equal to the task; Wisconsin’s on-line fermentation and distil¬
lation capacity is large enough to utilize all the generated waste, and estimates of
the economics of production present a favorable picture. In addition, both the
environment and the waste generating industries would benefit by the elimination
of a massive waste disposal problem. Commercial application of the findings re¬
ported in this communication could lead to the creation of a viable fuel grade
alcohol program equivalent to 86 percent of Wisconsin’s fermentation/distillation
capacity projected to be on line by the end of 1982.
Introduction
Current fermentation/distillation prac¬
tices aimed at the production of fuel grade
alcohol from biomass rely almost exclusively
on traditional grains (wheat and corn) as
feedstock. However, at today’s cash market
grain prices, present-day technology is un¬
able to support the production of a competi¬
tively priced product (Converse et al.,
1979). Other less expensive feedstocks
which are available in large quantities have
been considered (wood chips, corn stover,
etc. ) ; however, the high degree of lignifica-
tion of these biomass forms has thus far pre¬
cluded their cost effective conversion to fer¬
mentable sugars (Kosaric et al., 1980). Only
concentrated major sources of inexpensive
biomass capable of efficient conversion to
fermentable sugars can support an economi¬
cally viable fuel grade alcohol production
industry.
Two large-scale sources likely to meet
these requirements in the State of Wisconsin
are grain and seed dust generated and col¬
lected at the Port of Superior grain elevator
facilities, and byproduct wastes generated
during processing of specialty crop vegeta¬
bles in the Wisconsin canning industry. The
total biomass waste generated annually by
these two industries in the State of Wiscon¬
sin is about 769,000 tons. The present com¬
munication addresses the fuel grade alcohol
potential of these two biomass sources with
emphasis on efficiency of bioconversion and
cost-effectiveness of production.
Materials and Methods
Process vegetable waste samples were col¬
lected from the Waunakee plant of the Ocon-
omowoc Canning Company during the 1980
pack. These were either frozen or flash
sterilized and canned until use. Grain ele-
60
1981]
Blondin, Comiskey and Harkin — Alcohol from Wastes
61
vator dust samples were collected from bin
toppings, add back chutes, and dust collector
tank discharges in Superior, Wisconsin, and
were stored at room temperature. Elevators
sampled include Continental, Elevator M,
Farmers Union, ADM, and Globe facili¬
ties. Grain dust samples whose particle size
distribution appeared grossly heterogeneous
(e.g., wheat dust) or highly aggregated (e.g.,
sunflower seed dust) were ground in a Wiley
mill to pass a 1-mm screen prior to analysis.
Portions of each process vegetable waste
sample were freeze-dried and also Wiley
milled to pass a 1-mm screen prior to analy¬
sis.
Moisture contents of grain dust samples
were determined by the gravimetric method
(Blondin and Green, 1970). Hexose/pen-
tose ratios were determined by spectropho¬
tometry (Scott, 1976). Lignin contents were
determined by the spectrophotometric acetyl
bromide method (Morrison, 1972). Starch
bioconversion was carried out with alpha-
amylase and amyloglucosidase according to
procedures outlined in the technical informa¬
tion bulletins of the respective enzymes (Bio¬
con [U.S.] Inc., 1981). Bioconversion of
cellulose was carried out at 45°C for 48
hours in the presence of 0.5 percent (w/v)
cellulase enzyme complex from Trichoderma
viride (now T. reesei). The preparation used
was obtained from the Enzyme Products
Division of Miles Laboratories. Substrate
concentrations were set at 4 to 5 percent
(w/v). Fermentations were carried out at
30°C with distillers active dry yeast (Sac-
charomyces cerevisiae) obtained from Bio¬
con (U.S.) Inc. Percent alcohol in the dis¬
tillates was determined through the use of
alcohol dehydrogenase and nicotinamide
adenine dinucleotide (Bonnichsen and Theo-
rell, 1951) or by specific gravity measure¬
ments.
Biomass Waste Origin and Inventory
The two biomass waste forms evaluated
have a long history of embarassment to the
respective waste-generating industries. Grain
and seed dust in suspension in air is an ex¬
cellent fuel which has been likened to gun¬
powder and is claimed to be responsible for
many elevator explosions. As the industry
responds to this hazard and modifies its prac¬
tices in scheduled compliance with Federal
Clean Air Act standards, each season wit¬
nesses the collection of greater quantities of
grain dust at elevator facilities. This cleanup
represents a severe economic loss to the ele¬
vator industry because of the high cost of
air scrubbing equipment and poor market¬
ability of the collected dust.
Most vegetable processing byproducts
also have negligible economic value. In Wis¬
consin some waste solids from canneries pro¬
cessing vegetable crops are given away to
farmers willing to collect and transport them
for use as hog feed. The remainder must be
dumped in landfill sites, a practice which is
frowned upon by the Wisconsin Department
of Natural Resources. The voluminous efflu¬
ent streams from canneries represent high
B.O.D. sugar solutions which cannot be re¬
leased to surface waters and must therefore
be spray irrigated on rented farmland or
processed at high expense through private
or municipal treatment plants. Accordingly,
the vegetable processing industry in Wiscon¬
sin spends several millions of dollars annu¬
ally to dispose of cannery effluent and solid
wastes in a manner which will comply with
environmental standards.
Grain and seed dust originates from con¬
stant abrasion of intact grain and seed during
the high-speed handling required to move the
commodities efficiently through the elevator
facilities. Estimates of the amount of grain
dust handled and collected in port elevators
vary significantly. The picture is further
clouded by the industry-wide trend to collect
more and more dust as additional air scrub¬
bing equipment is installed toward compli¬
ance with Clean Air Act standards. A high
end limiting estimate of 2.6 percent dust per
weight of grain or seed has recently been
62
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
proposed (Schnake, 1981). Table 1 contains
a summary, based on this estimate, of the
annual elevator grain dust tonnage for the
grain and seed storage facilities in the Su-
perior-Duluth area. The data show that pres¬
ently a maximum of approximately 232,000
Table 1. Estimated annual quantities of grain
and seed dust at Superior-Duluth export elevators.
1980 Maximum
transshipment estimated
Commodity tonnage a dust tonnage 6
Wheat . 5,096,000 132,500
Corn . 1,174,000 30,520
Sunflower seed ..... 1,377,000 35,800
Other0 . 1,270,000 33,020
Total . 8,917,000 231,840
a Port of Duluth-Superior 1980 Tonnage Report
No. 9.
b Assumed to be 2.6 percent of transshipped grain
and seed (Schnake, 1981).
c Includes barley, flax seed, oats, rye, and soybean.
Table 2. Estimated annual quantities of process
vegetable waste.
Process waste
Vegetable crop Input tonnage11 % Tons
Sweet corn .... 513,520 50b 256,760
Potato . 259,875c,<1 55e 142,930
Snap bean . 211,184 21f 44,439
Green pea . 153,670 22b 33,807
Beat . 77,800 50b 38,900
Carrot . 45,000s 44b 19,800
Lima bean .... 4,900 14f 686
Total . 1,256,949 537,232
a Wisconsin Agricultural Statistics Bulletin, “Sum¬
mary of 1980 Process Vegetable Crops.”
b According to Wisconsin Canners and Freezers
Association.
c 1979 Wisconsin Agricultural Statistics, Wisconsin
Agricultural Service.
d Assumes that only 30 percent of harvested crop
was processed.
e Personal communication from D. H. Penly,
Oconomowoc Canning Co.
f Cooper (1976).
g Assumes that only 80 percent of harvested crop
was processed.
tons of grain and seed dust is potentially col¬
lectable each year at these facilities. A more
accurate estimate of this figure will be forth¬
coming as the Superior Harbor Commission
plans to inventory dust collector discharges
during the 1981 transshipment season (Ol¬
son, 1981). Scheduled new elevator con¬
struction and elimination of the embargo on
the export of grain to Russia is likely sub¬
stantially to increase the throughput of the
Superior-Duluth grain elevators and hence
the amount of grain dust generated.
Byproduct wastes from vegetable process¬
ing originate in canneries in two main forms:
discrete solids and screened effluent. Dis¬
crete solids include leaves, trimmings, stems,
peels, pods, husks, cobs, silk, and defective
processed vegetables. Screened effluent con¬
tains leached starches and sugars carried in
suspension or solution through 20-mesh
screens. The vast volumes of screened efflu¬
ent flow originate from water input at vari¬
ous stations during vegetable processing.
Depending on the vegetable source, water
is added at stations for washing, husking,
desilking, blanching, cutting, peeling, slicing,
clipping, screening, grading and inspection.
Table 2 contains a summary of the total an¬
nual process byproducts wastes generated in
Wisconsin canneries. The data include both
discrete and screened effluent wastes and in
general reflect the total weight decrement be¬
tween canned product and vegetable crop
input. Based on a total of approximately
537,000 tons of byproducts wastes, the
weighted average byproducts wastes tonnage
in Wisconsin canning industry is about 43
percent of the input crop.
Analysis and Alcohol Potential of
Grain and Seed Dust
A previous study (Martin, 1978) of the
composition of grain dust suggested that
dust from specific grains have characteristics
similar to the grain from which it came. Thus
wheat and corn dust were reported to con¬
tain 80.2 percent and 96 percent, respec¬
tively, of the carbohydrate of intact wheat
1981]
Blondin, Comiskey and Harkin — Alcohol from Wastes
63
and corn. However, the fiber content of
wheat dust (16.4 percent) was about 5.5
times higher than that found in intact wheat
(3.0 percent), while that of corn dust (7.4
percent) was only thrice that found in intact
corn (2.5 percent). These observations sug¬
gest that wheat dust may contain much more
lignin and hemicellulose than intact wheat.
If this is so, an appreciable fraction of the
total carbohydrate of wheat dust might be
“nonfermentable” five carbon sugars (pen¬
toses) and lignocellulose complex. Since
wheat dust is by far the major waste in the
Superior-Duluth facilities (see Table 1), it
was important to examine this question. The
data shown in Table 3 clearly establish the
high pentosan content of wheat dust. While
the pentose fraction derived from intact
wheat accounts for only 14.5 percent of the
total carbohydrate, that from wheat dust ac¬
counts for 42 percent. Thus, while the total
carbohydrate content of wheat dust was 71.3
percent of intact wheat, the readily ferment¬
able carbohydrate (hexose) content was
only 48.5 percent of that of intact wheat.
The significant increase in lignin content
(from 1.1 to 8.7 percent), an indicator of
structural carbohydrate (hemicellulose/
pentosan), found in wheat dust is in agree¬
ment with these findings.
Corn dust is remarkably different, having
characteristics closely related to intact corn
(Table 3). Commodities other than wheat,
corn, and sunflower seed dust have not yet
been examined by us. The values quoted in
Table 3 for these commodities are assumed
Table 3. Analysis of elevator grain and seed dust.*
% total % % % %
Commodity carbohydrate hexose pentose lignin moisture
Wheat dust . 44.2(5) 25.7(5) 18.5(5) 8.7(1) 7.65(2)
Wheat . 62 53 9 1.1 ndb
Corn dust . 70(3) 58.3(3) 11.7(3) 3.4(1) 9.3(2)
Corn . . . 69 62 7 1.9 nd
Sunflower seed dust . 36.3(3) 23(3) 13.3(3) 5.4(1) 8.0(2)
Other0 . . 50 40 10 nd nd
8 The grain and seed dust are averages for the number of samples analyzed which is included
in parentheses after each value.
b nd = not determined.
c Based in part on the data of Martin (1978).
Table 4. Alcohol potential of grain and seed dust.8
Gallons of 200 proof alcohol
Dust Hexose fermentable Pentose fermentable Total fermentable
commodity Per ton Total Per ton Total Per ton Total
Wheat ............ 44.2 5,857,000 22.2 2,942,000 66.4 8,799,000
Com . . 100.2 3,060,000 14.0 429,000 114.2 3,489,000
Sunflower . . 39.5 1,416,000 15.9 571,000 55.4 1,987,000
Other . 68.8 2,272,000 12.0 396,000 80.8 2,668,000
Total . . . — 12,605,000 — 4,338,000 — 16,943,000
Average ....... _ 54.4 — 18.7 — 73.1 —
a Based on analytical data of Table 3. Conversion factors used were (1) 172 gallons of alcohol
per ton of starch (hexose) and (2) 120 gallons of alcohol per ton pentose assuming fermenta¬
tion by a pentose utilizing organism such as F. oxysporum (Batter and Wilke, 1977).
64
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
Table 5. Carbohydrate content of process
vegetable wastes/
Extractable Crude-fiber
Vegetable CBHb CBH
byproducts % Tons % Tons
Sweet corn... 16.4 42,109 8.0 20,541
Potato . 15.8 22,583 1.4 2,001
Snap bean ... 6.1 2,705 1.0 444
Green pea . . . 12.4 4,192 2.0 676
Beat . 8.0 3,112 4.0 1,556
Carrot . 7.0 1,386 2.5 495
Lima bean . . 20.3 139 1.0 7
Total . 76,226 25,720
a Based on data of Table 2 and that of Cooper
(1976).
b CBH = carbohydrate.
Table 6. Hexose/pentose analysis of extractable
carbohydrate from process vegetable wastes/
Vegetable Hexose Pentose
byproducts % Tons % Tons
Sweet corn .. 98.6 41,519 1.4 590
Potato . 86.9 19,625 13.1 2,958
Snap bean . . . 85.7 2,318 14.3 387
Green pea . . . 86.2 3,614 13.8 578
Beet . 89.6 2,788 10.4 324
Carrot . 86.5 1,199 13.5 187
Lima beanb . . 90 125 10 14
Total . 71,188 5,038
a Based on analyses of data compiled in Table 5.
b Estimated.
Table 7. Hexose/pentose analysis of crude-fiber
carbohydrate from process vegetable wastes/
Vegetable Hexose Pentose
byproducts % Tons % Tons
Sweet corn ... 63.9 13,126 36.1 7,415
Potato15 . 75 1,501 25 500
Snap bean . . . 75.8 337 24.2 107
Green pea ... 72.1 487 27.9 189
Beet . 71 1,105 29 451
Carrot . 70.5 349 29.5 146
Lima beanb . . * 70 5 30 2
Total . 16,910 8,810
a Based on analyses of data compiled in Table 5.
b Estimated.
values based in part on previous data (Mar¬
tin, 1978).
Estimates of the alcohol potential of grain
and seed dust are contained in Table 4. The
information is presented in three different
formats representing ( 1 ) the alcohol poten¬
tial based on standard fermentation tech¬
nology using S. cerevisiae, which ferments
only hexoses; (2) the incremental alcohol
potential which would be obtained by fer¬
mentation with pentose utilizing microorga¬
nisms (e.g., Fusarium oxysporum ) and (3)
the theoretical total alcohol potential assum¬
ing fermentation of both hexose and pentose
sugars. Since the probable input to fermen¬
tation facilities proposed for the Superior-
Duluth area would be a proportioned mix¬
ture of dust from several grain and seed
sources, the weighted average alcohol po¬
tential per ton is the most significant pro¬
jection. Standard fermentation practices
would be expected to yield an average of
54.4 gallons of 200 proof alcohol per ton
of mixed grain and seed dust. This value
can be compared with an industry-wide av¬
erage value of 79 gallons per ton from sev¬
eral intact grain commodities (Mandeville,
1980). Improved technology aimed at com¬
plete hexose/pentose fermentation would
raise this projection to 73.1 gallons per ton,
very close to the yield expected from the
parent grain and seed mixture.
Analysis and Alcohol Potential of
Process Vegetable Wastes
If the discrete solids from vegetable wastes
are pressed hydraulically an expressate, rich
in soluble sugars, is obtained. The pressed
residue contains the bulk of the crude fiber
carbohydrate (cellulose and hemicellulose)
wastes while the bulk of the soluble or ex¬
tractable carbohydrate wastes is present in
a mixture of the screened effluent and ex¬
pressate. Estimates of the percent distribu¬
tion of extractable and crude-fiber carbo¬
hydrate are available for each class of vege¬
table byproducts wastes. Table 5 shows a
compilation of these estimates applied to the
1981]
Blondin, Comiskey and Harkin — Alcohol from Wastes
65
byproducts yields described in Table 2.
These calculations provide a breakdown of
the net extractable and crude fiber carbo¬
hydrate content for each of the vegetable
crop byproduct wastes encountered in the
Wisconsin canning industry. Thus, an an¬
nual total of approximately 76,000 tons of
readily bioconvertible extractable carbohy¬
drate is available from Wisconsin canneries,
with an additional 26,000 tons potentially
available depending on the efficiency and
cost-effectiveness of bioconversion. Already
the lower amounts of carbohydrate would
suffice to produce a theoretical maximum of
approximately 11.6 million gallons of 200
proof alcohol.
Since the hexose/pentose ratio of wastes
determines in large measure the ultimate
alcohol yield, each available vegetable by¬
products sample was submitted to hexose/
pentose analysis. The results for extractable
and crude-fiber carbohydrate are described
in Tables 6 and 7. As expected, crude-fiber
carbohydrate contains more pentose (34 per¬
cent) than does extractable carbohydrate
(6.6 percent). Surprisingly, extractable car¬
bohydrate does contain an appreciable pen¬
tose component, but this is not expected to
affect greatly the alcohol potential of this
vegetable byproducts fraction. More im¬
portantly, the fermentable sugar (hexose)
content data allow projections to be made
with greater fidelity of alcohol yield obtain¬
able by standard fermentation technology.
Estimates of the alcohol potential of pro¬
cess vegetable byproducts wastes are com¬
piled in Tables 8 and 9 for extractable and
crude-fiber carbohydrate. Again, the esti¬
mates are presented in three ways describing
the alcohol potential based on (1) hexose
fermentable sugars, (2) pentose fermentable
sugars, and (3) total fermentable sugars.
In summary, standard fermentation prac¬
tices applied to Wisconsin’s vegetable by¬
products wastes could be used to produce
approximately 1 1 million gallons of 200
proof alcohol. Effective saccharification of
cellulosics coupled to standard fermentation
practices could generate an additional 2.9
million gallons for a total of 13.9 million
gallons. Finally, improved fermentation
technology aimed at the co-utilization of
pentose sugars could produce an additional
1.66 million gallons for a grand total from
vegetable byproducts wastes of 15.56 mil¬
lion gallons.
It is important to point out at this junc¬
ture that all of the estimates given assume
Table 8. Alcohol potential of extractable
carbohydrate from process vegetable wastes.3
Gallons of 200 proof alcohol
Hexose Pentose Total
Vegetable fermenta- fermenta- fermenta-
byproducts tion tion tion
Sweet corn . . 6,435,000 70,800 6,505,800
Potato . 3,042,000 354,960 3,396,960
Snap bean . . . 359,300 46,440 405,740
Green pea . . 560,200 69,360 629,560
Beet . 432,100 38,880 470,980
Carrot . 185,800 22,440 208,240
Lima bean . . 19,400 1,680 21,080
Total . 11,033,800 604,560 11,638,360
3 Based on data compiled in Table 6 and the fol¬
lowing bioconversion factors: 155 gallons per ton
for hexose fermentation and 120 gallons per ton
for pentose fermentation.
Table 9. Alcohol potential of crude-fiber
carbohydrate from process vegetable wastes.3
Gallons of 200 proof alcohol
lowing bioconversion factors: 172 gallons per ton
for hexose fermentation and 120 gallons per ton
for pentose fermentation.
66
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
theoretical yields which are seldom encoun¬
tered at industrial levels. Cumulative bio¬
conversion losses are routinely encountered
during starch and cellulose saccharification
as well as fermentation with S. cerevesiae.
Losses encountered during mashing of grains
are generally related to inefficient grain pro¬
cessing (grinding). This is unlikely to be a
problem with grain and seed dust since the
particle size distribution of the dust is con¬
siderably smaller than that of traditional
ground grain input to fermentation vats
(Martin, 1976). However, the trade-off
with grain and seed dust comes from its
higher level of structural carbohydrate,
which may restrict access to saccharifying
enzymes of a portion of the hexoses (Har-
kin, 1973).
Losses are also encountered during fer¬
mentation because a portion of the sugars is
consumed in growth of the yeast necessary
for the alcoholic fermentation, and products
other than ethyl alcohol and carbon dioxide
are produced in small quantities during fer¬
mentation. Finally, firm data are not yet
available on the efficiency of recovery of
dilute sugars from the extractable carbo¬
hydrate fraction of vegetable byproducts and
on the efficiency of cellulosics saccharifica¬
tion. It is difficult at this time to put a pre¬
cise figure on these losses; somewhere in the
range of 8 to 12 percent of the overall quan¬
tity of wastes available from the two major
sources under consideration seems a reason¬
able estimate. Some of these imponderables
will be discussed in more detail in the fol¬
lowing section.
Production Considerations
Since the bulk of the alcohol potential of
cannery wastes and grain and seed wastes is
derivable by traditional bioconversion tech¬
nology, in the discussion of production con¬
siderations emphasis must be placed on
readily fermentable feedstock fractions. Ex¬
ploratory studies aimed at bioconversion of
more intractable wastes (e.g., cannery wastes
crude-fiber carbohydrate and wheat dust
Table 10. Wisconsin process vegetable wastes expressate volumes and
carbohydrate concentrations.
a Calculated by dividing the total extractable carbohydrate tonnage of Table 5 by the percent
concentration of carbohydrate in the expressate, followed by multiplication of this number by
23,700.
b Includes husks, cobs, and silk cuttings.
cThis source accounts for 6,531 tons of carbohydrate (Penly, 1981).
d Based on the estimate of carbohydrate remaining after removal of 6,531 tons.
p Based on dietetic pea pack expressate.
f Estimated.
1981]
Blondin, Comiskey and Harkin — Alcohol from Wastes
67
pentosans) have been performed and will be
described in future reports.
Cannery Wastes Extractable Carbohydrate
The major drawback to immediate utiliza¬
tion of extractable carbohydrate from pro¬
cess vegetable byproducts wastes is their ex¬
cessive dilution, as can be inferred from
B.O.D. values of cannery effluents (Weckel
et al., 1968). While the precise carbohy¬
drate concentrations of the screened effluents
are not yet known, those of expressates have
been determined and the data are compiled
in Table 10. Since the screened effluents
were formerly in solution equilibrium with
the expressate solutions derived from the
discrete wastes, the carbohydrate concentra¬
tion in the former is likely less than that
found in the expressates. However, for pur¬
poses of production considerations, the con¬
centration of total extractable carbohydrate
is assumed to be identical to that of the ex¬
pressate solutions.1 Except for expressates
from corn and husk cuttings, the carbohy¬
drate concentrations fall in the range of 1.92
to 4.45 percent (Table 10), values too low
for efficient fermentation and subsequent
alcohol recovery. Ideally, input sugar con¬
centrations for fermentation should be in
the range of 15 to 20 percent. Therefore,
the problem is to concentrate at least 702
million gallons of process effluent soluble
sugars containing an average of 2.58 per¬
cent by weight of fermentable sugar to a
final concentration of at least 15 percent,
preferably 20 percent, and a final volume of
approximately 90 million gallons. To avoid
excessive storage and transportation of the
diluted stream, this task must be performed
on site, within the span of the canning sea¬
son (about 122 calendar days), and at a
cost not to exceed 6<fi per pound of sugar
for the concentrate to remain competitive
with other fermentation feedstocks (Gregor,
1979).
For several years dilute sugar streams
have been economically concentrated to 25
to 30 percent sugar by candy manufacturers
in the U.S.A. and elsewhere, using commer¬
cially available reverse osmosis equipment
(Spatz, 1974). Recent versions of such
equipment have been in use for several
months in different locations for the concen¬
tration of lactose from whey, for the concen¬
tration of beet sugars, and for the purifica¬
tion of water from low B.O.D. corn and po¬
tato waste streams (Friedlander, 1981). No
significant membrane fouling problems have
been encountered in these applications and
routine membrane cleaning with detergents
has proven an effective means of maintaining
full operating efficiency. Thus reverse os¬
mosis technology seems eminently applicable
for concentrating vegetable process effluent
soluble sugars to fermentable levels.
Economic analysis of unit costs suggests
a favorable outlook for commercialization
within the canning industry of the large-scale
production of process effluent soluble sugar
concentrates for fermentation feedstock.
While sufficient data are not yet available
for an in-depth analysis, the introduction
of a few assumptions allows a reasonable
estimate to be made of unit costs; these are
summarized in Table 1 1 . A commercial re-
Table 11. Cost analysis summary of process
68
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
verse osmosis (RO) unit with a molecular
weight cutoff limit of 300 would retain the
bulk of the extractable carbohydrate. Such
a system, operating for 20 hours per day at
400 psi, could process 14.35 million gallons
of cannery effluent per season per unit
(Friedlander, 1981). Thus a total of 49
units would be required to process approxi¬
mately 702 million gallons of cannery efflu¬
ent produced statewide. At a cost of
$175,000.00 per unit, the total capital cost
for RO equipment would be $8,575,000.00.
If amortized over 5 years, the contribu¬
tion to fixed costs would therefore be
$1,715,000.00 per year. Since the useful
life of the membranes is estimated at 2 to 3
years of continuous service, membrane re¬
placement costs do not enter into the fixed
costs during the period of equipment amor¬
tization because the canneries operate for
only approximately Vs of the year. There¬
after, with membrane replacement every 6
calendar years, the costs should average only
$12,200.00 per year per unit for a total
annual contribution to fixed costs of
$600,000.00.
On-site stainless steel equipment for stor¬
age of 2 to 3 days’ supply of dilute effluent
and concentrate would require an investment
of approximately $9,620,000.00. Storage
tanks are generally amortized over a long
period of time; the annual contribution to
fixed costs during a ten-year amortization pe¬
riod would be $962,000.00. Pre-reverse os¬
mosis filtration equipment (e.g., a “Shriver”
filter press or continuous discharge centrifuges
and sterile filtration cartridges) would be
expected to add an additional $3,000,000.00
which if amortized over a five-year period,
would contribute $600,000.00 to the annual
fixed costs estimate. The total statewide an¬
nual contribution to fixed costs would there¬
fore be $3,877,000.00
The operating costs estimates compiled
in Table 11 are all based on published esti¬
mates (Spatz, 1974) derived from the use
of the same equipment used to estimate fixed
costs. The figures quoted include both RO
and prefiltration associated labor, mainte¬
nance, power, and chemical costs. The
net annual operating costs amount to
$739,000.00 for total statewide annual pro¬
duction cost estimate of $4,616,000.00.
Since these costs would cover the production
of approximately 76,226 tons of sugar con¬
centrate, the production cost per pound of
sugar would amount to approximately 30, a
value well below the 60 per pound limit
arbitrarily imposed above for cost-effective
reasons. At 60 per pound of sugar, the feed¬
stock cost contribution to 200 proof alcohol
production is approximately 770 per gallon.
Since production costs themselves (fermen¬
tation and distillation) are in the range of
35 to 450 per gallon depending on the value
and marketability of distillers by-products,
the net production costs for 200 proof alco¬
hol would be approximately $1.17 per gal¬
lon, a figure well within the competitive
range of gasoline costs today. These figures
can be compared with a value of $1.29 for
the feedstock share contribution alone of
200 proof alcohol produced from today’s
cash market grains. The 30 per pound dif¬
ference between our estimate of sugar con¬
centrate production cost and competitive
upper limit creates flexibility to absorb other
costs (e.g., equipment housing, transporta¬
tion, syrup production option, incomplete
membrane rejection of sugars, shortened
membrane life, putrefaction losses, sacchari¬
fication requirements, etc.) for which suffici¬
ent data are not yet available to derive rea¬
sonable estimates.
Canneries have two options to use or mar¬
ket their sugar concentrates. First, to avoid
storage of 90 million gallons of sugar con¬
centrate, the canneries could sell their fresh
concentrates to nearby alcohol producers.
The approximately 40.5 million gallons per
year of fermentation/distillation capacity
expected to be on line in Wisconsin by the
end of 1982 (Plaza, 1981) could utilize all
of the sugar concentrate from Wisconsin’s
canneries. Distilleries are presently located
in Trempealeau, Marathon, Lincoln, Brown,
1981]
Blondin, Comiskey and Harkin — Alcohol from Wastes
69
Juneau, Fond du Lac, Columbia, Dane, La¬
fayette, Rock, and Walworth counties at sites
which literally surround the state’s major
vegetable processing facilities. By operating
for approximately one-third of the year with
cannery sugar concentrates as inexpensive
feedstock, distilleries could significantly re¬
duce their high outlay for cash market grains
as fermentation feedstock.
Second, canneries could run the 20 per¬
cent sugar concentrate solutions through
scraped-surface heat exchanger evaporators
to produce a syrup containing about 60 per¬
cent sugars. Normally the energy to evapo¬
rate approximately 60 million gallons of
water to produce a 60 percent sugar syrup
would add another 40 per pound to the cost
of the sugar produced (assuming 40 per
KW), exclusive of equipment requirements.
However, canneries generate vast quantities
of waste heat; the application of heat ex¬
changer technology might contribute a ma¬
jor fraction of the heat required to operate
scraped-surface evaporators. Three major
benefits might accrue: transportation costs
would be significantly reduced, storage fa¬
cilities need not be so large, and the syrup
is more amenable to long-term storage.
Also important is the form of the sugars
in the extractable carbohydrate: mono-, di-,
or trisaccharides are directly utilizable by
yeast but polysaccharides are suitable for
fermentation only after extensive enzymatic
saccharification. Fermentation/distillation
analysis of expressates from corn husk and
cob cuttings has established that the yield
of alcohol without enzymatic saccharifica¬
tion is 86.4 percent of that found after pre¬
treatment with amylase enzyme. Thus, it is
likely that the bulk of the process vegetable
extractable carbohydrate is directly ferment¬
able.
Recovery of Sugars from Cannery Wastes
Crude-fiber Carbohydrate
Crude-fiber carbohydrate consists prin¬
cipally of cellulose, which must be degraded
to simple sugars by chemical, microbiologi¬
cal, or enzymatic processes prior to fermen¬
tation. Naturally occurring cellulose is
mostly associated with lignin which physi¬
cally restricts access by enzymes or micro¬
organisms to the glycosidic linkages which
must be ruptured to generate simple sugars
(Harkin, 1973). In general, the more lignin
in a lignocellulosic biomass sample, the
greater its resistance to enzymatic or micro¬
biological saccharification. Woody lignocel-
lulosics contain 25 to 30 percent lignin and
offer the highest degree of resistance to bio¬
conversion (Millett, 1979). Less than 5 per¬
cent of the lignocellulosic sugars of woody
biomass are released (Humphrey, 1979)
through the action of the cellulase enzyme
complex from T. viride in the absence of
expensive pretreatment processes (e.g., ball
milling, explosive decompression).
Cannery wastes discrete solids are in gen¬
eral less highly lignified than woody ligno-
cellulosics (Table 12), and consequently
more amendable to enzymatic conversion to
simple sugars. The mostly highly lignified
vegetable byproduct discrete waste encoun¬
tered was the solids portion of corn husk and
cob cuttings. Despite their 9.7 percent lignin,
the latter released 78.3 percent of their total
carbohydrate in the form of simple sugars
after 48 hours hydrolysis with 0.5 percent
cellulase enzyme complex from T. viride.
Table 12. Lignin content and saccharification
efficiency of cannery wastes crude-fiber carbohy¬
drate.
Discrete wastes
sample % lignin % saccharification a
Corn stover . 14.4 41.3
Corn husk and
cob cuttings . 9.7 78.3
Snap bean . 3.8 84
Beet . 2.4 81.5
Pea . . . 2.3 ndb
8 Saccharification was carried out in the presence
of Cellulase TV (Miles) for 48 hours at 45 °C and
at pH of 4.5. Substrate concentration was set at
4 percent and the enzyme concentration at 0.5 per¬
cent.
b nd = not determined.
70
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
All other cannery discrete wastes samples
are less lignified and should afford good or
better yields of sugar on cellulose hydrolysis
than corn husk and cob cuttings. This is
borne out by the saccharification results ob¬
tained with snap beans and beet discrete
solids wastes.
Data for corn stover are included because
this material has a lignin content intermedi¬
ate between that of cannery wastes solids
and that of woody biomass. The sharp de¬
crease in the enzymatic release of simple
sugars observed with this sample suggests a
major structural impediment to enzymatic
attack in going from 9.7 percent to 14.4
percent lignin. While other factors such as
cellulose crystallinity and graft copolymeri¬
zation (Harkin, 1973; Caulfield and Moore,
1974) could be partially responsible for this
remarkable transition, the two key features
of these data are that all cannery wastes dis¬
crete solids examined appear to contain less
than 10 percent lignin and all appear to be
efficiently degradable to simple sugars in
yields greater than 78 percent with extra¬
cellular cellulase enzyme complex.
Recovery of fermentable sugars from can¬
nery wastes crude-fiber carbohydrate is
therefore a technically feasible endeavor.
However, cost effectiveness of such a ven¬
ture cannot be accurately assessed without
additional data. The principal drawback to
the use of commercially available cellulase
enzyme complex is the long residence time
( circa 48 hours) at 45 °C required for com¬
plete conversion and the danger of putrefac¬
tion at these temperatures, which could add
significantly to the cost of bioconversion.
There are two alternatives open to cope
with this problem: 1. Use of the thermotol-
erant cellulase enzyme complex from Thie-
lavia terrestris (Tuse et al., 1980), which is
active at or near conventional mashing tem¬
peratures, to effect a faster rate of cellulose
hydrolysis per unit time; or 2. simultaneous
enzymatic saccharification with commercially
available thermolabile cellulase and fermen¬
tation, a strategy similar in concept to the
Gulf Process (Emmert and Katzen, 1979).
Both of these options are currently under
investigation in our laboratory.
Bioconversion of Grain and Seed Dust
The key consideration relative to the bio¬
conversion of grain and seed dust will prob¬
ably be its market value to the graneries as
feedstock for alcohol production. Presently,
such wastes are sometimes sold for approxi¬
mately $1 1.00 per ton for pelletizing and use
as animal feed. This price is only about 10
percent of the market value of intact grain
and seed. Because of the severe economic
loss incurred in the removal of grain and
seed dust, currently U.S. export elevators
return some of the collected dust to export
grain and seed; this practice lowers the
quality of U.S. export commodities and is
contrary to the recommendation of U.S.
Government regulatory agencies, which have
“requested” that grain dust removed not be
returned to grain. Diversion of all collected
dust to fermentation feedstock requires that
a higher unit value than that at present be
placed on grain and seed dust wastes.
Critical information required to estimate
the potential value of grain and seed dust as
fermentation feedstock includes the alcohol
yield per ton, the production costs, and the
market value of the product (200 proof
alcohol). Data on the alcohol potential per
ton are contained in Table 4. Since conven¬
tional fermentation practices do not cur¬
rently utilize pentose sugars for the produc¬
tion of alcohol (see however, Batter and
Wilke, 1977; Anonymous, 1981a), the most
conservative estimate of alcohol potential
must be based on the hexose content. On
this basis, mixed grain and seed dust cur¬
rently available from the Superior facilities
should yield approximately 54.4 gallons of
200 proof alcohol per ton. Estimates of pro¬
duction costs (Katzen, 1980) for a 10 mil¬
lion gallon per year batch plant processing
grain established a base conversion cost of
1981]
Blondin, Comiskey and Harkin — Alcohol from Wastes
71
32.50 per gallon, exclusive of feedstock cost
but including a distillers byproducts value
equivalent to 38.60 per gallon. Since the
June 15, 1981 price quotations (Anony¬
mous, 1981b) for anhydrous alcohol aver¬
aged $1.80 per bulk f.o.b. gallon, the theo¬
retical grain and seed dust value capable of
being sustained would be $1.80 less produc¬
tion costs of 32.50 per gallon or $1,475 per
gallon equivalent. Since each ton of grain
and seed dust could be used to produce at
least 54.4 gallons of alcohol, the maximum
value per ton of feedstock would be $80.24,
or 7.3 times the value afforded by diversion
to animal feed and approximately 73 per¬
cent of the value of the intact commodity.
Marketing practices aimed at competitive¬
ness with current gasoline prices (approxi¬
mately $1.30 per gallon) would reduce the
value of $53.04 per ton or still 4.8 times
the value afforded by diversion to animal
feed. Finally, simultaneous bioconversion of
the pentose fraction of grain and seed dust
could convey maximum values of $107.80
to $171.30 per ton, respectively, depending
on marketing practices. Studies are presently
underway to determine the feasibility of pen¬
tose co-fermentation.
All of the above estimates are based on
the production of anhydrous alcohol for
blending to gasohol. Production of wet al¬
cohol for a straight fuel market would be
attended by a decrease in production costs,
and decrease in alcohol value relative to the
anhydrous alcohol market.
Summary
Grain elevator dust and process vegetable
byproducts are good examples of economic
liabilities which can be converted into as¬
sets through conversion to fuel-grade alco¬
hol. The ability of these two biomass waste
sources to support a viable fuel-grade alco¬
hol production industry is intimately tied
to the elimination of major costly industrial
waste disposal problems. The vegetable pro¬
cessing industry in Wisconsin spends several
millions of dollars annually to dispose of
high B.O.D. cannery effluent and a major
portion (greater than 30 percent) of the in¬
put crop as solid waste in a manner which
will comply with environmental standards.
Occupational Safety and Health Act, the re¬
quirements of the 1970 Clean Air Act, and
the incidence of grain dust explosions are
forcing grain elevator facilities to install ex¬
pensive air scrubbing equipment to collect
and dispose of grain and seed dust, currently
a near valueless byproduct. Utilization of
byproducts from these two sources as fuel-
grade alcohol feedstock would therefore at¬
tenuate the burdens of waste disposal and
regulatory compliance for the affected in¬
dustries, in addition to sparing fossil fuel.
Acknowledgments
Research was supported by the University
of Wisconsin-Madison College of Agricul¬
tural and Life Sciences and the Wisconsin
Division of State Energy. We appreciate the
generous assistance of Mark R. Olson and
James R. McCarville of the Superior Harbor
Commission and Don H. Penly of the Ocon-
omowoc Canning Company in the collection
of waste samples. Cellulose enzyme complex
was kindly provided by John Obst and by
the Enzyme Products Division of Miles Lab¬
oratories, Inc.
References Cited
Anonymous. 1981a. USDA process converts
xylose to ethanol. Chem. Engr. News
59(25) :54-55.
- . 1981b. Price quotes. Gasohol U.S.A.
3(7): 3.
Batter, T. R. and C. R. Wilke. 1977. A study
of the fermentation of xylose to ethanol by
Fusarium oxysporum. Lawrence Berkeley
Lab., Univ. of California, p. 160.
Blondin, G. A. and D. E. Green. 1970. The
mechanism of mitochondrial swelling. V.
Permeability of mitochondria to alkali metal
salts of strong acid anions. Bioenergetics 1 :
193-213.
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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
Bonnichsen, R. K. and H. Theorell. 1951. An
enzymatic method for the microdetermina¬
tion of ethanol. Scand. J. Clin. Lab. Invest.
3:58.
Caulfield, D. F. and W. E. Moore. 1974. Effect
of varying crystallinity of cellulose on enzy¬
matic hydrolysis. Wood Sci. 6(4) :375-379.
Converse, J. C. 1979. Ethanol production from
biomass with emphasis on corn. College of
Agricultural and Life Sciences, Univ. of Wis-
consin-Madison.
Cooper, J. L. 1976. The potential of food
processing solid wastes as a source of cellu¬
lose for enzymatic conversion. Biotechnol.
Bioengr. Symp. 6:251-271.
Emert, G. H. and R. Katzen. 1979. Chemicals
from biomass by improved enzyme tech¬
nology. Paper presented at 1979 ACS/CSJ
Joint Chemical Congr., Honolulu, Hawaii,
April 1-6.
Friedlander, R. 1981. Personal communication.
Gregor, H. P. and T. W. Jeffries. 1979.
Ethanolic fuels from renewable resources in
the solar age. Annals of the N.Y. Acad. Sci.
326:273-287.
Harkin, J. M. 1973. Lignins, p. 323-373. In
R. W. Bailey and G. W. Butler (eds.) Chem¬
istry and biochemistry of herbage, Vol. 1.
Academic Press, New York.
Humphrey, A. E. 1979. The hydrolysis of cel-
lulosic materials to useful products, p. 25-
53. In R. D. Brown and L. Jurasek (eds.)
Hydrolysis of cellulose: Mechanisms of en¬
zymatic and acid catalysis, Vol. 181. Ameri¬
can Chemical Society, Washington, D.C.
Katzen, R. 1980. Alcohol from corn. p. 123-
127. In J. K. Paul (ed.) Large and small
scale alcohol manufacturing processes from
agricultural raw materials. Noyes Data
Corp., Park Ridge, New Jersey.
Kosaric, N., D. C. M. Ng, I. Russell, and G. S.
Stewart. 1980. Ethanol production by fer¬
mentation: An alternative liquid fuel. Adv.
Appl. Microbiol. 26:147-227.
Mandeville, M. W. 1980. Solar alcohol: The
fuel revolution. Ambix Press, Port Ludlow,
Wash. p. 1-127.
Martin, C. R. 1978. Characterization of grain
dust properties. Paper presented at 1978
Summer Mtg. ASAE, Logan, Utah, June 27-
30.
Martin, C. R. and D. B. Sauer. 1976. Physical
and biological characteristics of grain dust.
Trans. ASAE 19:720-723.
Millett, M. A., M. J. Effland, and D. F. Caul¬
field. 1979. Influence of fine grinding on the
hydrolysis of cellulosic materials — acid vs.
enzymatic, p. 71-89. In R. D. Brown and
L. Jurasek (eds.) Hydrolysis of cellulose:
Mechanisms of enzymatic and acid catalysis,
Vol. 181. American Chemical Society, Wash¬
ington, D.C.
Morrison, I. M. 1972. A semi-micro method
for the determination of lignin and its use
in predicting the digestibility of forage crops.
J. Sci. Food Agric. 23:455-463.
Olson, M. R. 1981. Personal communication.
Penly, D. H. 1981. Personal communication.
Plaza, G. 1981. Personal communication.
Schnake, L. D. 1981. Grain dust: problems and
utilization. USDA, Economics and Statistics
Serv. Report No. ESS-6, p. 1-17.
Scott, R. W. 1976. Combined determinations
of glucose, mannose, and xylose by spectro¬
photometry. Anal. Chem. 48:1919.
Spatz, D. D. 1974. Reclamation of food waste
products through membrane processes. In¬
dustrial Wastes Jan./ Feb. : 20-24.
Tuse, D., B. J. Mason, and W. A. Skinner.
1980. Comparative activity profiles of Thie-
lavia terrestris and Trichoderma reesei cel-
lulases. Biosources Digest 2(4) :216-227.
Weckel, K. G., R. S. Rambo, H. Veloso, and
J. H. von Elbe. 1968. Vegetable canning pro¬
cess wastes. College of Agricultural and Life
Sciences, Univ. of Wisconsin-Madison, Re¬
search Report No. 38. p. 1-20.
Note
1 An inventory of extractable carbohydrate car¬
ried out during the early part of the 1981 vege¬
table pack has thus far revealed two general trends:
1. The total amount of extractable carbohydrate
wastes exceeds the estimates described herein by
an average of 38 percent; and 2. the weighted
average effluent carbohydrate concentration for
both the green pea and snap bean pack is less than
that of the expressate alone. Thus, while it is
theoretically possible to recover more sugar than
originally estimated, the reverse osmosis equipment
requirements specified in this report are sufficient
for the recovery of only 70 percent of projection.
MORAL ASPECTS OF THE ALLOCATION OF
PUBLIC HEALTH CARE FUNDS
Ronald A. Cordero
Department of Philosophy
University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh
When a society decides to devote some
portion of its public resources to health
care, significant questions about allocation
arise. First of all, of course, there is the
question of how much of the society’s total
resources ought to be allocated to health
care- — as opposed to defense, education, and
so forth. That, however, is not the question
with which this paper deals. For the pur¬
poses of the present inquiry, it will be as¬
sumed that the decision about what portion
of resources to allocate to health care has
already been made. The question here is how
the resources made available for health care
ought to be allocated to each of several
possible areas.
This matter acquires considerable impor¬
tance from the intimate connection between
good health and the good life (as discussed
by classical Greek philosophers). Whether
one thinks in terms of designing a society
in which individuals can achieve something
approaching the good life, or in terms of
evaluating existing societies with an eye to
the individual’s chance of attaining the good
life in them, the individual’s chance of en¬
joying good health must be taken into con¬
sideration. And the individual’s chance of
enjoying good health in a given society can
certainly be affected by the way that public
health-care funds are used in that society.
It should be kept clearly in mind that the
problem at issue here is not that of the
proper distribution of expensive medications
and scarce medical equipment. That matter
has been examined by a number of writers
in recent years, and some of the most inter¬
esting articles — including Nicholas Rescher’s
“The Allocation of Exotic Medical Life¬
saving Therapy” — have recently been re¬
printed in Ronald Munson’s excellent Inter¬
vention and Reflection: Basic Issues in Medi¬
cal Ethics.1 Such discussions, however, are
basically concerned with the distribution of
resources allocated for the treatment of ill
health. And this question can be seen as
subsidiary to the question at issue in this
paper — that of the proper distribution of
resources alloted to health care. Treatment
is just one of seVeral areas in which health¬
care funds can be spent, and part of the
question to be discussed here is just how
much of such funds ought to go for treat¬
ment in the first place.
I should like to suggest that by “stepping
back” to consider this matter of the alloca¬
tion of public resources among what must be
acknowledged to be competing areas in
health care, we may be able to see over the
tangles of equipment-and-medication allo¬
cation difficulties to discover something of
importance for future public policy decisions.
What kind of areas do I have in mind
when I speak of competing areas of health
care? Treatment is one, prevention is an¬
other, and research is a third. I do not
mean to suggest that this is the only way in
which the field of health care can be sub¬
divided — or that there are no areas of over¬
lap between these areas. I simply believe
that for the purposes of discussing how pub¬
lic funds for health care are to be employed,
it is important to consider this particular di¬
vision. As a matter of fact, as will be seen
shortly, one of these areas turns out to be
of particular importance from a particular
moral point of view.
I wish to begin by considering the “his-
73
74
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
tory” of a health problem, not as it affects
any particular individual, but as it affects a
whole society over a long period of time.
One could, of course, speak in terms of ac¬
tual examples, but I believe that the relevant
points can be made most clearly in the ab¬
stract. Consider, then, some health problem
that affects the members of some society.
(I use the expression “health problem” be¬
cause I wish to include functional disorders,
injuries, and behavioral problems as well as
diseases.) The problem may exist for many
generations before anything effective is done
about it, simply because the civilization does
not have the knowledge or the materials to
do anything about it. During this period of
the problem’s history, which for our pur¬
poses can be labelled “Stage One,” indi¬
viduals afflicted suffer — or at least experi¬
ence discomfort — without recourse. From
the point of view of a disease, Stage One is
a time of flourishing. With respect to in¬
juries, Stage One represents the period of
most serious consequences for the injured
parties. And in general, Stage One in the
history of a health problem is the worst
from the point of view of the individuals
affected.
Eventually, if the society in question is
fortunate, Stage One comes to an end: some¬
one discovers something that effectively re¬
duces the discomfort associated with the
problem. A medicine is found that allevi¬
ates the symptoms of the disease, or that
accelerates healing of the injury; or therapy
is developed to improve the existence of
persons with a particular emotional problem.
Such developments usher in Stage Two in *
the history of the health problem — the pe¬
riod of the problem’s containment and de¬
cline. The disease may continue to survive,
but its ravages are reduced. The injuries or
congenital defects may still occur, but the
severity of their consequences is lessened. In
Stage Two the society affected by the prob¬
lem is fighting back with some success.
The duration of Stage Two is every bit as
problematic as that of Stage One. Just as
some societies may cease to exist before any
effective treatment for certain health prob¬
lems is found, so other societies may never
get beyond Stage Two with respect to cer¬
tain health problems. There is no guaran¬
tee that a particular society will ever go
beyond “containing” a particular health
problem. But there is always a possibility
that the society may at length obtain the
information and equipment that will permit
it to control the problem so thoroughly that
it might as well not exist. It is at this point
that the problem can be said to pass into
Stage Three of its history.
In Stage Three the problem is completely
under control. The disease is entirely pre¬
vented — or it is completely cured if it does
occur. The physical deformity is entirely
repaired. The injury is induced to heal com¬
pletely, and the emotional disorder is recti¬
fied once and for all. The society, in brief,
no longer suffers from the problem because
the problem has been overcome.
In some societies, people may regard
Stage One as the unalterable status quo with
respect to certain health problems — or even
with respect to health problems in general.
They may mistakenly assume that suffering
caused by disease and deformity is an es¬
sential component of human existence.
In other societies, people may suppose
that certain health problems can be at
most controlled, and that a diminution of
the associated suffering is the best that can
be hoped. They may, in other words, ac¬
cept Stage Two as the unchangeable status
quo. In our own civilization, however, by
dint of good fortune and good work in re¬
cent centuries, we have come to appreciate
the possibility of Stage Three. Indeed, with
respect to certain health problems, we have
actually witnessed the arrival of Stage Three.
And we have come to look forward eagerly
to its advent with respect to many other
health problems.
As a matter of fact, indications are strong
that there is literally no limit to the number
of health problems that can eventually be
1981]
Cordero — Allocation of Health Care Funds
75
ushered into Stage Three of their history. It
may prove possible, in the course of time,
to bring all diseases, both major and minor,
under complete control. Colds and VD may
become as much a thing of the past as small¬
pox. We may find sure ways of preventing
mental illness. We may learn to regenerate
major organs. And it may even become pos¬
sible to eliminate the disorders associated
with aging. We may that is, ultimately
eliminate health problems altogether. Should
this last possibility strike you as entirely
without plausibility, may I simply invite
you to reflect on the advances in medical
knowledge that have been made in the last
several hundred years. Is it really very likely
that a thousand years from now — barring
some untoward development that could stop
the advance of knowledge — we will still be
plagued by hemorrhoids and hay fever? At
the very least, I think it must be admitted
that in the light of previous progress in the
containment and control of a wide range of
health problems, it is entirely possible that
Stage Three will come for the vast majority
of the problems we know at present. And
should new problems arise, there is no spe¬
cial reason to think that they will prove
less tractable than those we have already
overcome.
In order to appreciate an important ethi¬
cal issue which arises when the three-stage
history of a health problem is taken into
consideration in a discussion of the alloca¬
tion of public health-care resources, it will
be necessary to focus on a particular facet
of this history — the manner in which the
suffering associated with a health problem
varies from one stage to another. And in do¬
ing this it will be well, at least at the outset,
to limit consideration to a hypothetical so¬
ciety in which population size does not vary
significantly through the three stages of a
problem’s history. Assume, if you will, that
factors entirely unrelated to the problem in
question operate in such a way as to keep
the size of the population constant.
Stage One, then, is likely to be that in
which health problems occasion the greatest
amount of suffering (per unit of time).
When there is no effective means of pre¬
vention or treatment for a disease, an in¬
jury, a congenital deformity, or an emo¬
tional illness, it is likely to produce a maxi¬
mum of pain, discomfort, and sorrow —
both for the people directly affected and for
those who love, depend upon, or take care
of them. There may, of course, be excep¬
tions. Some health problems may prove
quickly terminal for the afflicted individual
in Stage One and may drag on and on in
Stage Two. In such cases, it is possible that
the total suffering undergone by a given in¬
dividual in Stage Two of a particular prob¬
lem’s history might be greater than that
undergone by a similarly afflicted individual
during Stage One. In general, however, it
would seem that, other things being equal,
it would be preferable to encounter a health
problem in Stage Two rather than in Stage
One of its history.
Accordingly, Stage Two can be accurately
described as the period in a health problem’s
history in which it is responsible for the sec¬
ond greatest amount of suffering. Part of the
control that people obtain over the problem
in Stage Two may be control over the pain
it causes to the person directly involved — or
it may be of such a nature as to prevent the
development of the problem into its most
painful phases. To be sure, the original con¬
trol attained over the problem may consist
merely in the ability to limit the number of
individuals stricken — and the severity of the
problem for those who do encounter it. In
any event, if one had to choose to live in a
society in which a particular health problem
might be encountered, one would still be well
advised to elect the society in which the
problem was in Stage Two. If the ravages
connected with the problem are not reduced
by that society’s containment measures, at
least the likelihood of having it in the first
place may be less because of those measures.
Stage Three, quite naturally, stands out
as the period in which a health problem
76
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
causes virtually no suffering at all. No one
dies from the problem; no one suffers ex¬
tended pain from it; no one is even seriously
inconvenienced by it. Most evidently, other
things being equal, one should choose to live
in the society in which a given health prob¬
lem is in Stage Three of its history.
The suffering caused by a health problem
over the course of its history can be repre¬
sented as a curve. This curve, which will be
referred to as the “total-suffering curve” for
a health problem, shows the suffering pro¬
duced by the problem as a function of time.
During Stage One, the curve will typically
be high and roughly parallel to the time
axis, although there may be cyclic fluctua¬
tions. Seasonal diseases may be responsible
for more suffering at certain times of the
year than at others; congenital birth defects
which prove quickly fatal may occasion more
suffering at times vof the year when more
children are born, and certain injuries, with
their associated suffering, may cluster around
times of the year when certain activities are
more popular. On the whole, however, the
total suffering curve for a particular health
problem will, in the stable-population so¬
ciety under consideration, run more or less
parallel to the time axis during Stage One.
At the onset of Stage Two, of course, the
curve will drop as the total suffering oc¬
casioned by the problem is reduced through
the development of means of containing the
problem. Then, if those containment meth¬
ods continue to be improved during Stage
Two, the curve will slope generally down¬
ward. Finally, when Stage Three arrives and
the problem is controlled to the point of
nonexistence, its total-suffering curve will
either level out just above the time axis or
will come to coincide with the time axis at
the zero suffering level.
(What sort of unit might be involved if
the total-suffering function for a particular
health problem were to be expressed pre¬
cisely? The time could be measured in, say,
days from an arbitrary point in time; but
what about the suffering? Intuitively, the
notion of the total amount of suffering
caused by a problem is nonproblematic: for
a given time, the more people that are suf¬
fering from the problem, and the more in¬
tensely they are suffering, the more total suf¬
fering there is. How this might actually be
measured is another matter. Perhaps it will
one day be possible to measure electrical ac¬
tivity in the brain that correlates with suf¬
fering — and to use that as a measure of the
suffering experienced by the individual in
question. Short of this, one might think in
terms of something like “unpleasant minutes
per day.” Of course, one ought to make
adjustments for the difference between really
awful minutes and merely uncomfortable
minutes caused by a health problem; but
even if this were not done, one could obtain
a quantitative indication of the suffering
caused by a problem each day by adding up
all the unpleasant minutes lived through by
different people affected that day. Note that
if two people suffered during the same min¬
ute, that would make two unpleasant min¬
utes experienced for that day.)
Naturally, as the individual total-suffer¬
ing curves for different health problems in
a society “zero out,” the curve representing
the grand total of all suffering in that society
will tend downward — so that, other factors
being equal, it will “become lower and lower
as health problems move into Stage Three
of their individual histories. And that, of
course, is something consummately to be
desired. The general notion of social prog¬
ress is closely bound up with the idea of suc¬
cessive reductions in the height of the grand-
total-suffering curve. As generally conceived,
the ideal society — even if it is only a sort of
Platonic limit to be approached but never
reached — would have a grand-total-suffering
curve running flat at zero.
It is at this point that the problem for
policy makers entrusted with the allocation
of public health-care funds becomes appar¬
ent. The society has, after all, other things
1981]
Cordero — Allocation of Health Care Funds
77
to which it is going to devote part of its re¬
sources, so the funds available for all health¬
care activities are limited. The result is that
certain of those activities will have to be
restricted at the expense of others. And the
problem is that the allocation of public re¬
sources to certain areas of health care ap¬
pears likely to give better results, in terms
of reduction of the total suffering associated
with a health problem, than would the allo¬
cation of those funds to other areas of health
care.
It should be evident that there is no point
in discussing the allocation of public funds
for health care during Stage One of a prob¬
lem’s history. During Stage One, either no
funds at all are provided for the alleviation
of the problem or else whatever resources
are made available are expended in such a
way that they produce no results at all. Per¬
haps time is devoted to incantations that
have no effect at all on the health problem.
Or perhaps money is spent on useless medi¬
cations or fruitless therapy. In any case,
no progress is made against the problem.
In Stages Two and Three, on the other hand,
the expenditure of resources on health prob¬
lems does produce results; so it is here that
the question of the proper allocation of pub¬
lic health-care resources arises.
In particular, the question is most pressing
during Stage Two of the history of a health
problem. In Stage Three, after all, the knowl¬
edge and material for complete control of the
problem are at hand; and available resources
are directed toward their application. (This
is not to say, of course, that public resources
will be sufficient for the continuing com¬
plete control of all health problems that can
be controlled. Some problems may, under
conditions of scarcity, slip back from Stage
Three into Stage Two.) During Stage Two,
however, a decision must be made as to
what proportion of the available resources
will be used for treatment of those already
afflicted by a particular health problem, what
proportion will be allocated for procedures
designed to keep others from becoming af¬
flicted, and what part will be reserved for
research designed to move the problem into
Stage Three of its history.
The effect of allocating public health-care
funds to each of these three areas deserves
careful attention. But let us, for the sake of
clarity, begin by considering how the total¬
suffering curve for a particular health prob¬
lem might behave if no public funds at all
were allocated to any of the three. Suppose,
that is, that all treatment, prevention, and
research are left to the private means of in¬
dividuals and organizations. It is, of course,
safe to suppose that private resources will
be expended in these areas. Most individ¬
uals, if they realize that effective means of
prevention or treatment are available for a
particular health problem, will choose to
allocate some part of their own funds to
these ends. And since people tend to place
a high value on their own health and that of
their loved ones, they may in fact be willing
to allocate a fairly large part of their income
or assets to treatment and prevention. This
alone will often insure that the total suffering
associated with a health problem will be kept
fairly low in Stage Two. Moreover, if no
public funds are available for prevention
or treatment, private groups may organize
for the express purpose of providing such
funds. With respect to research, on the other
hand, it may be only organizations (com¬
mercial or otherwise) that finance research
activities when no public funding is forth¬
coming. Few individuals have the knowl¬
edge, funds, and inclination to do research
on their own. It is important to realize,
however, that research can be done — and
the end of Stage Two brought about — with¬
out the use of public funds at all. It is un¬
likely, however, that under such conditions
Stage Two will end as soon as it would if
public funds were available.
Let us now consider the likely effect on
the total-suffering curve for a particular
health problem if public resources are al-
78
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
loted for dealing with that problem. Suppose,
to begin with, that in Stage Two of the his¬
tory of a particular health problem, public
health-care funds are available and are con¬
centrated in the area of prevention. In the
case of disease, this might mean that most
available funds would be earmarked for
eradication of environmental conditions
known to contribute to the spread of the
disease and for the manufacture and admin¬
istration of whatever immunizing agents
might be known. Few if any public funds
would be set aside for treatment of those
who, in spite of the preventive measures,
contracted the disease. And few public funds
if any would be used for research into ways
of eliminating the disease altogether. In the
case of a type of injury, the prevention-
centered approach would mean that avail¬
able public resources would go toward avoid¬
ing injuries of that sort in the first place,
through the use of existing techniques. So¬
ciety’s resources would not, in general, be
used for the treatment of those who sus¬
tained such injuries — nor for research into
new ways of preventing them or new ways
of repairing the damage.
Because of the preventive measures in
effect under this approach, the total-suffering
curve for a particular health problem would
be substantially lower during Stage Two than
it would be without public funds. The defi¬
nite integral of the total-suffering function
for Stage Two, that is, would be smaller
under this approach. Although no public
resources were devoted to treatment, the
mere fact that many fewer people would
have the problem means that there would be
less overall suffering. (The overall total of
“unpleasant minutes” for the entirety of
Stage Two would be less.)
The prevention-centered approach, how¬
ever, has two saliently unattractive features.
One, of course, is that members of the so¬
ciety are left more or less to fend for them¬
selves when they encounter a health prob¬
lem. The frequency of such encounters may
indeed be drastically reduced by the publicly
funded measures of prevention. There may
be, in comparison either to Stage One or to
Stage Two without public funds, a greatly
reduced likelihood of contracting a particu¬
lar handicap, or developing a given type of
emotional problem. But for those who do
have health problems in spite of the preven¬
tive measures in effect, the lack of public
assistance may be painful. If they can obtain
treatment through the private channels of
the marketplace, they may have no cause
for concern. But if treatment is unavailable
— either because of cost or because effective
methods have simply not been developed —
their chances of completing a good life
(again, in the classical Greek sense of that
phrase) may be significantly diminished.
The other outstandingly unattractive fea¬
ture of the prevention-centered approach is
that, for any given health problem, Stage
Three cannot be expected to arrive any
sooner than it would if no public funds were
allocated to the problem at all. It is most
likely that the advance of knowledge relevant
to the ultimate solution of the problem will
be much slower in the absence of public re¬
sources for research than if they were avail¬
able. True, advances may be achieved by or¬
ganizations or individuals operating with
their own means, but it is unlikely that such
advances will come as soon without public
funding for relevant research.
The upshot of this last point is absolutely
crucial. Under a prevention-centered ap¬
proach, the total-suffering curve for a given
health problem will not “zero out” as soon
as it would if public funds were alloted to
research. More lives will be touched by the
problem, and some lives will be touched by
it more often. As long as Stage Two lasts,
even those individuals who are not afflicted
by the problem themselves run the risk of
having their lives repeatedly saddened by the
affiliction of people they love. Advances in
knowledge are essential if the total-suffering
curve for a given problem is to come down
1981]
Cordero — Allocation of Health Care Funds
79
from its Stage-Two level to its Stage-Three
level. And unless a society benefits seren-
dipitously from a gift of knowledge from
some external source, research will be re¬
quired to obtain that new knowledge.
What if available public resources during
Stage Two of a particular health problem’s
history are devoted primarily to the treat¬
ment of those who experience the problem,
with little or nothing from public funds go¬
ing for prevention and research? This could
very well be the arrangement under which
the greatest overall amount of suffering
would occur before the onset of Stage Three.
With no publicly funded preventive mea¬
sures in place, a relatively large proportion
of the population might be affected by the
problem; and in the absence of publicly fi¬
nanced research, the problem might well
continue for a relatively long time — perhaps
even indefinitely. To be sure, the concentra¬
tion of public resources on treatment would
reduce the suffering of each afflicted indi¬
vidual. But some unhappiness would still be
occasioned by each occurrence of the prob¬
lem. And the number of occurrences could
keep the total-suffering curve higher than it
would have been if most or all available pub¬
lic resources had gone for prevention. More¬
over, the treatment-centered approach does
no more than the prevention-centered one to
reduce the duration of Stage Two.
For obvious reasons, the approach to pub¬
lic health-care fund allocation that involves
concentration on research is not without
serious drawbacks either. If few public funds
are expended on prevention during Stage
Two of a problem’s history, the number of
occurrences of the problem will be relatively
high. It will quite likely be as high as if no
public funds were available for health care
at all. In addition, the severity of the suffer¬
ing connected with most health problems
will, given the lack of public funds for treat¬
ment, be near a maximum. This might not,
to be sure, hold for all types of health prob¬
lems. Without publicly supported treatment,
some problems might prove fatal in a rela¬
tively short time. And there might, because
of this, be less suffering involved in each
occurrence than there would have been if
publicly funded treatment had been avail¬
able. For many problems, however, this will
not be the case. Lack of public resources
for treatment will simply mean greater suf¬
fering for each occurrence of the problem.
There is, nevertheless, one point that can
be urged in favor of the concentration of
public funds in the area of research. And it
is far from being an inconsequential point.
If the society in question has research capa¬
bilities that insure results in proportion to
resources allocated, then the concentration
of funds in the area of research will have the
effect of reducing the length of Stage Two
for any given health problem. This will not
occur, of course, when a society has only
inefficient research systems that simply burn
up resources without producing advances in
relevant knowledge. But when public re¬
sources produce or accelerate successful re¬
search, they have the effect of reducing the
amount of overall suffering a health problem
can cause in a society before it is ushered
into Stage Three. In fact, it may well be the
research-centered approach that would min¬
imize suffering from a given health problem
in the long run. It is true that with minimal
public funding for prevention and treatment,
the total-suffering curve for a problem would
remain high longer than it would under ei¬
ther of the other approaches already con¬
sidered. But the total-suffering curve would
also “zero out” sooner. And because of this,
overall suffering during Stage Two could
well be less than with either of the other two
approaches. (There would be more “un¬
pleasant minutes” per day in the early part
of Stage Two, but Stage Two could well
come to an earlier conclusion.)
So how are the policy makers who are to
allocate public funds for health care to pro¬
ceed? With respect to any given health prob¬
lem that has not yet been conquered, they
80
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
find themselves without any precise knowl¬
edge of how long Stage Two is going to last.
They do have at their disposal information
about the amount of suffering that the prob¬
lem in question has been causing. They have
some idea, that is, of how the total-suffering
curve for that problem has behaved in the
past, and so they may be able to make a
reasonable guess at how the curve will run
in the future. Perhaps the total-suffering
curve for the health problem in question has
been trending down during Stage Two,
and perhaps there is no reason to suppose
that this trend will change. In that case
the allocaters may even be able to pre¬
dict the time at which Stage Two will
end, by projecting the past trend into the
future. Or perhaps the total-suffering func¬
tion has been running roughly parallel to
the time axis. In this case, if there is no rea¬
son to expect a change, the allocaters can
predict that Stage Two will continue indefi¬
nitely unless something is done. Similarly, if
the total-suffering curve is actually trending
up during Stage Two, it may be reasonable
to expect a continuing increase, with no end
to Stage Two in sight.
Obviously, the assumptions that the allo¬
caters make about the future direction of the
total-suffering curve will be of the greatest
importance for their decision about how to
use public health-care funds. If the trend
is sharply down, there may be no reason to
allocate public funds (or additional public
funds) to the area of research. As long as
past funding (whether public or private)
continues, there may be every reason to sup¬
pose that Stage Three will arrive in an ac¬
ceptably short period of time. On the other
hand, if the total suffering curve has been
holding steady or moving upward, then there
is a strong argument for concentrating pub¬
lic funds — if that has not already been done
— in the area of research. The allocaters
would presumably like to minimize the over¬
all suffering caused by the health problem
during Stage Two of its history, and research
may present the only real possibility of bring¬
ing Stage Two to an end at all. It is impor¬
tant to remember of course, that the concen¬
tration of public health-care funds in the
area of research may involve removing pub¬
lic funds from the areas of prevention and
treatment. If substantial amounts of public
funds have been going into those areas in
the past, this diversion may result in a rise
in the total-suffering curve over the short
run. The point, however, is that it can also
be expected to lead to the end of Stage Two
— and thus to the minimization of overall
suffering from the problem during the course
of its history.
Will the allocaters actually find many in¬
stances of health problems with steady or
climbing total-suffering curves in Stage Two?
It may very well be that they will. This is
rendered much more likely by a fact which
has not been taken into account so far — the
fact of increasing populations. The previous
discussion of the behavior of total-suffering
curves under different allocation schemes
was conducted with reference to a hypo¬
thetical society in which the population re¬
mained constant throughout the history of
the health problem in question, In reality,
allocaters of health-care funds in today’s
world have to deal with the fact that popula¬
tions are growing rapidly. And this means,
in the case of many health problems, that
the total amount of suffering produced is
growing too. If a problem affects a certain
percentage of the population, then the more
people there are, the more suffering (the
more “unpleasant minutes”) there will be.
The health problem that had a nearly flat
total-suffering curve in a society of constant
size would have a rising total-suffering curve
in a society with an increasing population.
In times of rapidly increasing population,
research concentration of public funds for
certain health problems may be urgently re¬
quired if overall suffering from those prob¬
lems is to be kept to a minimum — or indeed
to any finite amount.
1981]
Cordero — Allocation of Health Care Funds
81
(And what about approaches to the allo¬
cation of public health-care funds that would
involve different “mixes” of prevention,
treatment, and research? It might, in fact, be
the case that some such “hybrid” approach
to funding in connection with a particular
problem would be the one that would turn
out to minimize overall suffering. Ideally,
what the allocaters want, we may presume,
is the allocation scheme that will produce
the total-suffering function with the smallest
definite integral for Stage Two of the prob¬
lem’s history. Unfortunately, it may be dif¬
ficult for the allocaters to predict with any
accuracy what functions would result from
different allocation “mixes.” When this is
the case, the relative dependability of re¬
search as a means of ultimately bringing
down the total-suffering curve may argue
strongly for the research-oriented approach.)
Thus — at least with respect to certain
health problems — the allocaters of public
health-care funds may have strong reasons
for concentrating those funds in the area of
research. This conclusion, however, immedi¬
ately suggests certain ethical complications.
On the one hand, from the point of view of
(act) utilitarianism, the overall reduction
in suffering likely to be obtained by favoring
research would seem to make it morally in¬
cumbent upon the policy makers to allocate
the funds in this way. On the other hand,
numerous deontological theories of morality
which recognize the existence of an indepen¬
dent principle of justice (in the sense of fair,
impartial, or even-handed treatment) would
appear to have difficulties with certain as¬
pects of the research-centered allocation
scheme.
Consider, to begin with, the utilitarian po¬
sition, which declares the morally preferable
course of action to be that which will, in the
long run, keep the overall sum of happiness
as far ahead of the overall sum of unhappi¬
ness as possible. Its analysis of the matters
under consideration here is quite straight¬
forward. If overall suffering from a particu¬
lar health problem can only be minimized
by a concentration of public health-care
funds in the area of research, then that is
what ought morally to be done. A careful
utilitarian would have to inquire, of course,
as to whether such a use of the funds might
not cause enough suffering in some other
area (unrelated to the health problem) to
offset the suffering saved by the research
concentration. This might rarely be the case.
(An unexpected side effect of the research
might, for example, be the development by
one of the companies involved of a substance
which would enable it to enslave the so¬
ciety.) I cannot, however, think of reasons
for supposing this to be the case in general.
Furthermore, it is highly likely that research
funded in connection with one health prob¬
lem will from time to time have results ap¬
plicable to the elimination of other health
problems. From the utilitarian point of view,
this possibility of an additional contribution
to the reduction of suffering in general cer¬
tainly strengthens the moral case for the
concentration of public health-care funds in
the area of research. In short, with respect
to many health problems, a utilitarian will
want to hear very strong arguments if some¬
one suggests that available public funding
ought not to go for research.
Are there, in general, strong arguments
against the sort of research concentration in
question here? The answer would seem to be
that there are not any that would impress a
utilitarian. If, however, the ethical analysis
of the matter at hand is conducted from the
point of view of a deontological moral
theory, then there may indeed be a reason
for hesitancy about concentrating public
health-care funds in the area of research.
In particular, there is a possibility that there
would be something unfair about the alloca¬
tion of most such funds for this purpose.
And on many theories, what is unfair is im¬
moral.
Various nonteleological theories could
serve as the basis for this sort of criticism.
82
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
What these theories have in common is their
belief in the existence of a moral rule against
unfair or partial distributions. Because of
the existence of this rule, they maintain, un¬
fair or biased distributions are immoral. The
theories differ with regard to the origin of
the rule: some think of it as existing of it¬
self, independent of the reason or volition
of any being; others hold it to be a necessary
product of human reason; others believe it
to have been laid down by a supreme ruler
of the universe; and others think of it as a
convention existing through the mutual
agreement of a number of individuals. The
ontological status of the rule is not, how¬
ever, of the first importance for the present
discussion. The important question here is
whether, in fact, this commonly recognized
principle of fair distribution does rule out
the concentration of public health-care funds
in the manner discussed.
It is undeniable that the research-centered
approach to a health problem would, to a
certain extent, sacrifice the interests of in¬
dividuals afflicted at present to the interests
of those who might be similarly afflicted in
the future. Would this be unfair? Both the
individuals suffering now and those who
might suffer in the future are — or would be
— interested in being free from discomfort
caused by the health problem. And the allo¬
cation of funds provided for dealing with a
particular health problem can be seen as the
distribution of freedom from discomfort.
Can it then be fair to spend public funds to
benefit future victims at the expense of pres¬
ent victims?
Suppose a choice were made to expend
public health-care funds for the benefit of
people living in a certain part of the country
at the expense of people with the same prob¬
lem living in another part of the country.
Here it would be difficult to claim that the
funds were being spent impartially or even-
handedly. If they were being spent for medi¬
cation, they ought — in the name of fairness
— to be spent for medication for people in
all parts of the country. And if the funds
were insufficient to procure medication for
everyone afflicted, then fairness would re¬
quire that recipients be chosen in some ran¬
dom manner. Certainly, the earmarking of
the treatment funds for just those people in
a particular part of the country would be
open to a charge of unfairness. Why then,
should it be any more fair to earmark pub¬
lic health-care funds for expenditures that
will benefit only those people living in the
future?
The question is not an easy one to answer.
There may not, in fact, be any entirely satis¬
factory answer. The situation may be one in
which a choice simply has to be made be¬
tween what would be completely fair and
what would minimize suffering. However,
some attempt can at least be made to de¬
fend the research-centered allocation scheme
from the charge of gross injustice. It can, in
particular, be suggested that the allocation
of funds for research does in fact effect a
sufficiently random distribution of benefits
to be at least reasonably fair.
In the interest of clarifying this possibility,
suppose for a moment that a king decides to
distribute his remaining bottles of fine cog¬
nac among his people. There are, unfortu¬
nately, many more people in the kingdom
than there are bottles in the cellar; and so,
desirous of being fair about the business, the
king has the lucky recipients chosen by lot.
This procedure would in all probability pass
muster from the point of view of the com¬
monly recognized nonteleological principle
of fairness. But what if the king decided to
give future citizens a chance at the cognac
as well? What if he had his minister decide
by lot how many of the bottles should be
given away now (by lot) and how many
should be given away by lot in a hundred
years. Would this be less fair? Perhaps one
could not claim it to be any more fair, even
though it would give a chance to more peo¬
ple. But one would, I think, be hard pressed
to find it partial. (Notice that the question
1981]
Cordero — Allocation of Health Care Funds
83
of whether a greater total of happiness might
not result from the receipt by some people
of bottles of a very great age is not really
relevant to the question of the fairness of the
scheme.)
In a similar manner, the research-centered
approach to the allocation of public health¬
care funds can be said to be reasonably im¬
partial in its distribution of benefits (freedom
from discomfort). It is not a special pre¬
selected group of individuals that receive the
benefits from the funds invested in research
into a particular health problem. It is who¬
ever happens to be around when that re¬
search finally effects the transition from
Stage Two to Stage Three of the problem’s
history. And this may or may not include
some of the people who are in existence
when the funds are allocated — just as the
recipients of the cognac under the doubly
randomized distribution system might or
might not include some who were alive when
the scheme was established. To be sure, to
the extent that the research-oriented ap¬
proach can reasonably be expected to pro¬
vide benefits preferentially to those living in
the future, it can be said to be unfair. And
indeed, it may always be the case that those
living long after the allocation of certain
funds for research will stand a better chance
of benefitting from them than those who are
very near the end of their lives at the time
of the allocation. To this extent, the re¬
search-centered approach may always in¬
volve a residual amount of unfairness. It is,
however, likely to be small. It would seem
to be a part of the nature of research that its
results are not predictable in any definite
manner. Past experience may indicate that
research pays off — without indicating just
how soon any particular program of research
is likely to do so. Thus at the time when
certain public health-care funds are allo¬
cated for research (rather than for treatment
or prevention), it will be impossible to say
precisely how soon benefits will be derived
by anyone. And because of this, the ap¬
proach can be said to distribute benefits in
a reasonably random way.
It thus appears that when a health prob¬
lem displays a Stage-Two total-suffering
curve that shows no sign of dropping, the
allocaters of public health-care funds in to¬
day’s societies — whether they are utilitarians
or are simply interested in keeping overall
suffering to a minimum — would be well ad¬
vised to favor research over prevention and
treatment. Such an approach would at least
not be terribly immoral with respect to the
commonly recognized rule of impartiality,
and it would definitely offer the brightest
prospect for the early advent of Stage Three.
Note
1 (Belmont, California: Wadsworth, 1979).
Rescher’s article originally appeared in Ethics, 79
(April, 1969), 173-86. Also of interest is Leon R.
Kass, “The New Biology: What Price Relieving
Man’s Estate?” Science, 174 (November 19, 1971),
779-88. The question of the relative importance of
different health-care subfields is taken up by Alan
Davis and Gordon Horobin in “The Problem of
Priorities,” Journal of Medical Ethics, 3 (Septem¬
ber, 1977), 107-9. They argue that prevention
should receive higher priority than treatment, with
primary responsibility being placed on the indi¬
vidual.
A RECENT DIALECT SURVEY OF SOME TRAITS
OF WISCONSINESE
Carrie Anne Estill
Department of Linguistics
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Students enrolled in Linguistics 101: Hu¬
man Language, were sent out to interview
speakers of English about a number of syn¬
tactic and lexical items. This paper repre¬
sents the first tabulated data from such a
series of interviews, collected over Thanks¬
giving vacation 1978.
The students were asked to interview one
speaker from each of the following age
groups; 15-25, 40-50, and 65 and older.
This type of sample is extremely useful for
showing language change, as well as being
convenient for gatherers since they could
interview a friend or sibling, a parent, and a
grandparent. Of the 360 questionnaires re¬
turned, 204 were tabulated. These speakers
were chosen because they had grown up in
Wisconsin, both parents were from the Great
Lakes or Upper Midwest States and their
grandparents came either from these same
states or a non-English speaking country. All
the speakers were Caucasian. Speakers from
the Chicago and Minneapolis areas were also
tabulated for the sake of comparison. No
attempt was made to differentiate socio¬
economic classes.
The first construction to be examined is
the use of ‘once’ to mean ‘right now’ or
‘right away’. The sentence presented to the
speaker was, “Come here once, I gotta tell
you something.” 67% of the young group
admitted using this construction, 45% of
the middle-aged group, and 25% of the
older group. When asked if they had heard
the construction before, nearly 100% stated
they had. Of the speakers in Chicago 20%
used the construction. Of those in the Min¬
neapolis area only 6% used sentences of
this type. The majority of speakers in Chi¬
cago and in Minneapolis denied having heard
this type of sentence before. So, we can see
that this construction is spreading in Wis¬
consin. If we look at the statistics for the
Milwaukee area, we find a higher percentage
of speakers using sentences of this type:
56% of the young group, 83% of the mid¬
dle-aged group and 33% of the older group.
This is significant because people in the
middle group are probably more conscious
of styles of speech than the other two groups.
The young group has not yet found a need
to develop styles, since their life experiences
have mostly been within the family and a
closed circle of friends. The older group has
cast off a variety of styles since they are no
longer as interested in job advancement as
they once were. The people in this middle
category have a great deal of influence over
the speech of the population as a whole via
television, schooling, advertising, etc. Per¬
haps the reason we see such a high percent¬
age of Wisconsin youth using this construc¬
tion is that it is spreading from Milwaukee,
as a focal area, to the developing speech of
the young in the state as a whole.
The second construction to be examined
is the use of ‘already’ to mean ‘right away’
as in the following sentence said of getting
into a car, “Get in already.” 43% of the
young group admitted using this construc¬
tion, 33% of the middle group and only
15% of the older group. Here again Mil¬
waukee county had higher percentages;
70%, 67%, and 67%. Chicago had 100%,
56% and 0%; Minneapolis had 0%, 33%
and 50% . So, both here in Wisconsin and in
84
1981]
E still — Some Traits of Wisconsinese
85
the Chicago area the construction seems to
be spreading, while in Minneapolis it is dy¬
ing out.
The third construction under discussion
is the use of ‘yet’ to mean ‘still’. The sen¬
tence used in the study was, “Is there turkey
yet?” asked by someone arriving late to a
Thanksgiving dinner who wants to know if
some turkey remains to be eaten. The per¬
centages for this construction remain rela¬
tively constant throughout the different
groups: 31%, 29% and 25%. In Chicago
only one speaker in fifteen used the con¬
struction and in Minneapolis only one in
sixteen. This type of sentence is primarily
used in rural counties across the central
part of the state: Fond du Lac, La Crosse,
Manitowoc, Sheboygan, Washara, and Win¬
nebago.
Construction four dealt with sentences of
the type, “Do you wanna come with?”. This
construction comes from the German verb
‘mitkommen’ ‘to come with’. This construc¬
tion can be found in all parts of the United
States where German immigrants comprize
a large percentage of the inhabitants and
where the German heritage is strongly felt.
In Wisconsin the percentages were 77%,
60% and 35%. In Chicago, where this con¬
struction is known to be wide-spread, the
percentages were 100%, 75% and 100%.
Minneapolis also had high percentages,
100%, 50%, and 100%. But the interesting
fact about this construction is that 91% of
the young women in Wisconsin used this
construction as compared to 44% of the
young men. This finding supports the socio¬
linguist William Labov’s assertion that
women are in the forefront of linguistic
change. As the primary teacher of children
both as mother and elementary instructor,
women instigate and carry on linguistic
change.1
The last construction looked at was the
use of the phrase “come by me” to mean
“visit.” The example used was spoken by
one friend to another over the telephone,
“Come by me on your way home from work
today.” This usage comes from the con¬
struction in German, “Kommen Sie vorbei.”
The percentage of users of this construction
was very small in Wisconsin and the con¬
struction seems to be dying out: 8%, 8%,
and 22%. No speakers in Chicago or Min¬
neapolis used this construction. The con¬
struction was recorded primarily in Fond du
Lac, Ozaukee, Sheboygan, and Wood coun¬
ties.
The most interesting lexical item studied
was the word used for an apparatus which
dispenses drinking water. We wanted pri¬
marily to study the percentage of speakers
who used the word ‘bubbler’ compared to
the words ‘fountain’, ‘water fountain’, and
‘drinking fountain’. We found a significant
difference in the percentage depending on
whether the apparatus was indoors or out¬
doors. For indoors the percentages of speak¬
ers who said “bubbler” were 58%, 32%,
and 33%. These increased to 76%, 59%,
and 37% when the bubbler was outdoors.
The percentage of speakers in Minneapolis
and Chicago who used the word ‘bubbler’
was insignificant. A very interesting fact the
indoor/outdoor distinction showed was that
34 people switched from some form of the
word ‘fountain’ to ‘bubbler’ when going from
indoors to outdoors, whereas only ten
switched from ‘bubbler’ to some form of the
word ‘fountain’.
I have spent some time trying to track
down the etymology of the word ‘bubbler’.
Ms. Marilyn Boeldt of the Kohler Company
in Kohler, Wisconsin has assisted me by pro¬
viding information from Kohler of Kohler
News, the company newspaper of the Kohler
Company. The first time the term ‘bubbler’
appeared was in 1914 when it occurred
alongside, and meaning the same thing as,
the technical term ‘bubbling valve’. It seems
as though the terms were in free variation,
in other words, used interchangeably in
Kohler’s 1914 catalogue. By 1919, the word
‘bubbler’ seems to have gotten the upper
86
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
hand as the primary word, replacing ‘bub¬
bling valve’. Since the type of porcelain
fountain with the bubbler on it became popu¬
lar for outdoor use, and the water cooler
and other types of dispensers were still used
indoors, it seems only logical that a signifi¬
cantly higher percentage of speakers would
use ‘bubbler’ for the outdoor fountain.
We also looked at the various words for
parents, considered as a collective unit. 1 3 %
used the word ‘folks’. 1% used the word
‘rents’, presumedly a shortening of ‘parents’.
The rest of the responses were for the stan¬
dard word ‘parents’. ‘Folks’ is found pri¬
marily in rural areas.
We hope that by continuing this project
we will be able to resolve some of the mys¬
teries of Wisconsin dialect and arrive at a
clearer picture of speech in our state.
Note
1 Labov, William, Sociolinguistic Patterns, Uni¬
versity of Pennsylvania Press, 1972, pp. 301-302.
THE CREATIVE ARTIST AS TRAVELER:
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON IN AMERICA
Meredith E. Ackley
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
On August 7, 1879, the S. S. Devonia
steamed down the Clyde carrying Robert
Louis Stevenson second class to New York.
The Amateur Emigrant is his record of his
experience on the Devonia and on an immi¬
grant train to California. Portions of The
Amateur Emigrant deleted in earlier editions
have been replaced in the collection From
Scotland to Silverado edited by James D.
Hart.1 In his introduction, Hart points out
the greater maturity of The Amateur Emi¬
grant compared to Stevenson’s earlier Trav¬
els with a Donkey and An Inland Voyage
(pp. xxxvii-xxxixO and suggests that the
deleted portions “deepen and extend the
sense of Stevenson’s second-class passage”
(p. xl).
The sense of Stevenson’s journey from
Glasgow to Monterey is of an experience
more meaningful, more universal, than sim¬
ply an uncomfortable three weeks com¬
pounded of noisome smells, sickness, heat
and vermin. The real journey that he records
is a symbolic statement of progressive loss of
identity. He is cut off and adrift in an un¬
charted void, traveling endlessly in a night¬
mare in which nothing is as it seems to be
or as it should be until at last even the desti¬
nation ceases to have significance. Through¬
out the work the images reinforce this aliena¬
tion. Only on the last page, devoted to his
eventual arrival at San Francisco, is there
any feeling of fulfillment, any small sense
of returning reality. Though he repeats the
word “new,” writing of “new creatures
within and without” watching the sun rise
on a “new day” in a “new country” (p.
146), the impression of the preceding hun¬
dred and forty-five pages is too strong to be
dispelled.
The depth to which Stevenson was af¬
fected by his experience is evident in a letter
written to Edmund Gosse about a month
after his arrival.
I fear this can hardly be called a letter. To
say truth, I feel already a difficulty of ap¬
proach; I do not know if I am the same man
I was in Europe, perhaps I can hardly claim
acquaintance with you. My head went round
and looks another way now; for when I
found myself over here in a new land, and
all the past uprooted in the one tug, and I
neither feeling glad nor sorry, I got my last
lesson about mankind; I mean my latest les¬
son, for of course I do not know what sur¬
prises there are yet in store for me. But that
I could have so felt astonished me beyond
description. There is a wonderful callousness
in human nature which enables us to live.2
It is the purpose of this paper to examine
the images that contribute to Stevenson’s
symbolic statement, images that in their
deeply ironic nature mark his increasing
disorientation. Traditionally, the ocean voy¬
age has been used as a symbolic projection
into the unknown. To Stevenson the signifi¬
cance of his voyage must have been poig¬
nantly apparent. Already estranged from his
family, he had been called to California
because of the serious illness of Fanny Os¬
bourne, his future wife. Unlike his com¬
panions on the voyage, though he has cut
himself adrift from his past, his purpose in
doing so has not been to find a new life of
greater promise. In the title and throughout
both parts of The Amateur Emigrant he
consistently uses the word “emigrant.” He
never becomes an “immigrant.” The usage
implies an emphasis on the “going out” or
87
88
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
cutting adrift rather than the “coming in” or
arrival.
For Stevenson the ship is the last bond
with the known, secure world of the land
that he has left. As a small projection of the
shore, it represents security in contrast to
the unknown sea, the unknown future. Thus,
it is described in terms of the known with
images familiar to dwellers on the shore. The
passengers belong for the space of the voy¬
age “to one small iron country on the deep”
(p. 10). They are a “little nationality” in an
“iron world” (p. 17) in which at night they
gather “at the aftermost limit of our domain,
where it bordered on that of the saloon”
(p. 15). So completely does Stevenson im¬
press this image of ship as world that the
substitution in the cliche, “And I would have
gone to the ship’s end and back again for an
oyster or a chipped fruit” (p. 76) passes
almost unnoticed.
On first seeing the Devonia, he describes
it as “a wall of bulwark, a street of white
deck houses, an aspiring forest of spars,
larger than a church, and soon to be as
populous as many an incorporated town in
the land to which she was to bear us (p. 3).
But beyond the known limits of this “parish¬
ful of people” (p. 26) stretches the sea and
the unknown future. The end of the journey
is an unidentified “land to which she was
to bear us” rather than a destination speci¬
fied by name.
David Daiches in his short study com¬
ments on Stevenson’s use of the contrast be¬
tween exterior and interior backgrounds,
specifically in Treasure Island .3 In The
Amateur Emigrant, the small, enclosed areas
of the ship are safe refuge from storms and
danger as, according to Daiches, the parlor
of the Admiral Benbow Inn would become
later. Though much about the ship and par¬
ticularly the steerage is offensive to Steven¬
son, even his cabin becomes a metaphorical
“oasis” (p. 4).
Stevenson extends the sense of a small
plot of humanity adrift in vast space with a
parallel image. At night the steerage passen¬
gers gather in a sheltered area near the deck¬
house to sing and link their arms to steady
themselves against the movement of the ship.
“It was a general embrace, both friendly and
helpful, like what one imagines of old Chris¬
tian Agapes. I turned many times to look
behind me on the moving desert of seas, now
cloud-canopied and lit with but a low noc¬
turnal glimmer along the line of the horizon.
It hemmed us in and cut us off in our swift¬
travelling oasis. . . . And small as was our
iron world, it made yet a large and habit¬
able place in the Atlantic, compared with
our globe upon the seas of space” (p. 17).
The Devonia is adrift in time as well as
space. Stevenson describes the futile attempt
of one of the passengers to retain a sense of
time. She was determined to keep her watch
on Glasgow time — the only “time” she has
ever known — until she reached New York.
They had heard reports, her husband and
she, of some unwarrantable disparity of
hours between these two cities. ... It was a
good thing for the old lady; for she passed
much leisure time in studying the watch.
Once, when prostrated by sickness, she let it
run down. It was inscribed on her harmless
mind in letters of adamant that the hands of
a watch must never be turned backwards;
and so it behoved her to lie in wait for the
exact moment ere she started it again. When
she imagined this was about due, she sought
out one of the young second-cabin Scotsmen,
who was embarked on the same experiment
as herself and had hitherto been less neglect¬
ful. She was in quest of two o’clock; and
when she learned it was already seven on the
shores of Clyde, she lifted up her voice and
cried “Gravey!” (pp. 7-8)
Images of a world devoid of habitual
reference points are even more marked in
Part II of The Amateur Emigrant. Fleetingly
in Pennsylvania the landscape reminds Ste¬
venson of England but this is a world in
1981]
Ackley — Stevenson in America
89
which all markers have been reversed and
“the sun rises with a different splendour” in
America. “It may be from habit, but to me
the coming of day is less fresh and inspirit¬
ing in the latter; it has a duskier glory and
more nearly resembles sunset; it seems to
fit some subsequential, evening epoch of the
world” (p. 104).
In this brief lightening of his spirits, Ste¬
venson makes explicit the contrast between
the images of known land and unknown sea.
“For we are creatures of the shore; and it is
only on shore that our senses are supplied
with a variety of matter, or that the heart
can find her proper business. ... If I must
indeed look upon the ocean, let it be from
along the seaboard . . . dotted at sundown
with the clear lights that pilot home bound
vessels” (pp. 105-106).
Unlike the ship, the train is never an oasis.
He cannot turn from the endless wastes to
its interior security. Perhaps, as a conse¬
quence, his descriptions of the Nebraska
plains are particularly vivid. “It was a world
almost without a feature; an empty sky, an
empty earth; front and back, the line of the
railway stretched from horizon to horizon,
like a cue across a billiard-board; on either
hand, the green plain ran till it touched the
skirts of heaven” (p. 123). Though he is
projecting the experience of the early set¬
tlers, the feelings are his own when he
writes, “Yet one could not but reflect upon
the weariness of those who passed by there
in old days . . . with no landmark but that
unattainable evening sun for which they
steered, and which daily fled them by an
equal stride. They had nothing, it would
seem, to overtake; nothing by which to
reckon their advance; no sight for repose or
for encouragement; but stage after stage,
only the dead green waste underfoot, and
the mocking, fugitive horizon” (p. 124).
He longs for the mountains, imagining, per¬
haps, the familiar shapes of the Highlands,
but “Alas! and it was a worse country than
the other. . . . Hour after hour it was the
same unhomely and unkindly world about
our onward path” (p. 127).
In addition to a diminished sense of time
and place, there is a consistent distortion
throughout the journey of the familiar bases
of social interaction and each contact is
fraught with an overwhelming irony. For
example, Stevenson paints a glowing picture
complete with battle metaphors of the popu¬
lar concentration of the emigrant. But, he
says, “This is the closest picture, and is
found, on trial, to consist mostly of embel¬
lishments. . . .” The truth is that, “We were
a shipful of failures, the broken men of En¬
gland” (pp. 10-12).
When Stevenson tries to find help for a
sick man lying on the deck, the crew mem¬
bers are concerned only over the possibility
that he may be another seaman and the stew¬
ard says, “That’s none of my business . . .
I don’t care” (p. 47-48). On the immigrant
train, the conductor refuses to answer a ques¬
tion and turns his back on Stevenson. Later
he is heard to explain, “It was ... his prin¬
ciple not to tell people where they were to
dine; for one answer led to many other
questions, as what o’clock it was; or, how
soon should we be there? and he could not
afford to be eternally worried” (pp. 120-
121).
This kind of irony pervades the descrip¬
tion of every one of Stevenson’s encounters
in Part II. From New York to Council
Bluffs he is not on the immigrant train and
thus has the comfort of a dining car. He asks
the waiter if it is the custom in America to
tip. “Certainly no, he told me. Never. It
would not do. They considered themselves
too highly to accept. They would even resent
the offer.” And still protesting, he pockets
the tip (p. 108) .
He meets a widow with children on the
train who allows him “to buy her children
fruit and candies; to carry all her parcels,
and even to sleep upon the floor” so that
90
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
she could have his empty seat. When she
leaves she says, “I am sure ... we all ought
to be very obliged to you” (pp. 109-110).
A railway official at Council Bluffs sells,
for his own profit, pillows and boards to be
placed between the seats for sleeping. The
price is two dollars but has fallen to one
and a half before the train leaves. At the
first stop, people come aboard selling the
pillows at fifteen to twenty-five cents with
no charge for the board (pp. 116-118).
When the train stops at Elco, Nevada,
three men approach Stevenson and one
offers him work saying, “I’m running a
theatre here, and we’re a little short in the
orchestra. You’re a musician, I guess?”
When Stevenson says he is not, “He seemed
much put out of countenance; and one of his
taller companions asked him, on the nail,
for five dollars.” Though his fellow passen¬
gers are encouraged at this indication of an
abundance of jobs, Stevenson says, “I am
not so sure that the offer was in good faith.
Indeed, I am more than half persuaded it
was but a feeler to decide the bet” (pp.
144-145).
The climactic instance of the discrepancy
between the seeming and the real is Steven¬
son’s description of the passing of immigrant
trains. “As we continued to steam westward
toward the land of gold, we were continu¬
ally passing other emigrant trains upon the
journey east; and these were as crowded as
our own. . . . Whenever we met them, the
passengers ran on the platform and cried to
us through the windows, in a kind of wailing
chorus, to ‘Come back.’ On the plains of
Nebraska, in the mountains of Wyoming, it
was still the same cry, and dismal to my
heart, ‘Come back!’ ” (p. 137).
In a world in which all familiar signs and
markers are missing, Stevenson loses his
identity. He has witnessed the same loss in
the steerage passengers. Stripped of individu¬
ality and dignity they are, as Hart mentions
in his introduction (p. xl), “human animals”
herded into “stalls” and “pens.” Animal
images are used throughout in descriptions
of the immigrants. Waiting to board the boat
for Jersey City they “stood like sheep, and
... the porters charged among us like mad¬
dened sheep-dogs” (p. 101). On the train,
“We pigged and stewed in one infamy” (p.
138), and as the cars approached, “there
would come a whiff of pure menagerie” (p.
133).
Stevenson shares the loss of individuality
with the immigrants. At Council Bluffs, he
stands “in front of the Emigrant House with
more than a hundred others, to be sorted
and boxed for the journey” (p. 115). The
process has begun on the ship on the super¬
ficial level of class distinction. He realizes
that by traveling second class he is seen as
lower class, treated by the steerage passen¬
gers as one of themselves and looked down
upon by the first class travelers. “For here
I was among my own countrymen, some¬
what roughly clad, to be sure, but with every
advantage of speech and manner; and I am
bound to confess that I passed for nearly
anything you please except an educated
gentleman. The sailors called me ‘mate,’ the
officers addressed me as ‘my man,’ my com¬
rades accepted me without hesitation for a
person of their own character and experi¬
ence, but with some curious information”
(p. 72).
With a touch of humor he introduces an
image to which he returns throughout Part I.
In the steerage there are males and females;
in the second cabin ladies and gentlemen.
For some time after I came aboard I thought
I was only a male; but in the course of a
voyage of discovery between decks, I came
on a brass plate, and learned that I was still
a gentleman. Nobody knew it, of course. I
was lost in the crowd of males and females,
and rigorously confined to the same quarter
of the deck. . . . Still, I was like one with a
patent of nobility in a drawer at home; and
when I felt out of spirits I could go down
and refresh myself with a look of that brass
plate, (pp. 5-6)
1981]
Ackley — Stevenson in America
91
Later he says, “I was taken for a steerage
passenger . . . and there was nothing but the
brass plate between decks to remind me that
I had once been a gentleman” (p. 72).
When a woman from steerage is taken ill
beneath the gaze of the first class passengers
on the hurricane deck, they assume Steven¬
son is her husband and he ruefully confesses,
“I was chagrined at this. Now was the time
for me to go and study the brass plate” (p.
74).
Next, his profession is called in doubt. “To
such of the officers as knew about me . . .
I appeared in the light of a broad joke. The
fact that I spent the better part of my day
in writing had gone abroad over the ship
and tickled them all prodigiously. Whenever
they met me they referred to my absurd oc¬
cupation with familiarity and breadth of hu¬
morous intention. Their manner was well
calculated to remind me of my fallen for¬
tunes. You may be sincerely amused by the
amateur literary efforts of a gentleman, but
you scarce publish the feeling to his face”
(P- 74) .
Eventually this entropic process reaches
to a basic level of his personality. “The steer¬
age conquered me; I conformed more and
more to the type of the place, not only in
manner but at heart, growing hostile to the
officers and cabin passengers who looked
down upon me, and day by day greedier for
small delicacies. . . . The offer of a little
jelly from a fellow-passenger more provident
than myself caused a marked elevation in my
spirits” (pp. 75-76). There is a complaint
about the food and Stevenson is asked to
look over the bill of fare and each day as he
leaves the steward fills his pockets with
greengages. “I have not been in such a situa¬
tion since I was a child and prowled upon
the frontiers of a dinner party . . . and if I
was still a gentleman on a brass plate, in
relation to those greengages I may call my¬
self a savage” (p. 77).
Stevenson is perfectly aware of the sym¬
bolic structure he is fashioning. He says,
“Travel is of two kinds; and this voyage of
mine across the ocean combined both. ‘Out
of my country and myself I go,’ sings the
old poet : and I was not only travelling out
of my country in latitude and longitude, but
out of myself in diet, associates and consid¬
eration” (p. 72).
Rain falls the whole time Stevenson is in
New York. His clothes are soaked and he
leaves them behind “for the benefit of New
York city.” He has mentioned clothes as
reflections of identity several times and here
he says, “With a heavy heart I said farewell
to them as they lay a pulp in the middle of
a pool upon the floor of Mitchell’s kitchen.
I wonder if they are dry by now” (p. 99).
Perhaps the most poignant statement Ste¬
venson makes on his experience is his con¬
clusion to a rather mundane event on the
train. He says of a drunkard who has been
thrown from the train, “He carried a red
bundle . . . and he shook this menacingly
in the air with one hand, while the other
stole behind him to the region of his kidneys.
It was the first indication that I had come
among revolvers, and I observed it with
some emotion” (p. 112). The drunkard,
intimidated by the conductor, staggers off
down the track followed by the laughter of
the passengers. Unobtrusively, Stevenson
makes the central statement of his. odyssey
in the next sentence. “They were speaking
English all about me, but I knew I was in
a foreign land” (p. 113).
Images of sickness and death, the final
loss of identity, complete Stevenson’s por¬
trayal of the process of disorientation. In his
hotel in New York, he can hear the men in
the next room, and “the sound of their voices
as they talked was low and moaning, like
that of people watching by the sick.” His
companion “tumbled and murmured, and
every now and then opened unconscious eyes
upon me where I lay. I found myself grow¬
ing eerier and eerier . . . and hurried to dress
and get downstairs” (p. 96). Later, on the
train, he says, “the shadows were con-
92
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
founded together in the long hollow box of
the car. The sleepers lay in uneasy attitudes
. . . flat upon their backs like dead folk”
(p. 128).
Stevenson has, indeed, come a long way
out of his country and himself. As he shapes
the scenes and events of the physical journey
from the Clyde to Monterey, they become
increasingly significant of his interior jour¬
ney- — a journey of the spirit which left him,
as he wrote to Gosse, with his head turned
around and looking the other way.
Notes
1 Cambridge, Mass., 1966. All quotations from
The Amateur Emigrant are from this edition.
2 Sidney Colvin, ed. The Letters of Robert Louis
Stevenson (New York, 1911), I, 289.
3 Robert Louis Stevenson (Norfolk, Conn.,
1947), p. 38.
RICHARDSON’S ARISTOCRATS: A STUDY IN THE
LIMITS OF FREEDOM
Jane Nardin
Department of English
University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee
Samuel Richardson’s fascination with
freedom and his fascination with the figure
of the aristocrat are closely related. As
Richardson conceives him, the aristocratic
man is, at least potentially, the freest of all
human creatures.1 Free from the pressures
which generally circumscribe conduct —
discipline in childhood, financial necessity,
and the social and legal sanctions which
punish anti-social behavior — the aristocrat
can define his selfhood and choose his own
destiny in a way that enthralled Richardson’s
imagination. His social position not only
liberates the English aristocrat from control
by others, but also offers him an opportunity
to govern the lives, and even the physical
reality, around him. To a great degree, he
can create his own world and his liberty at
times seems to be that of a God.
All Richardson’s major characters de¬
mand freedom and fight for it with desperate
tenacity. But characters like Pamela and
Clarissa ask only the irreducible minimum of
freedom: the liberty to obey God’s laws as
they themselves interpret them. They may
desire, but they would never demand, con¬
trol of their time, their employments, the
fates of those around them — or even of their
own fates where moral imperatives are not
involved. That Pamela and Clarissa expect
so little liberty-— and that their world at¬
tempts to deny them even that little — is a
function partly of sex and partly, in Pamela’s
case, of class. At one extreme of Richard¬
son’s world, then, are powerless women,
struggling for the basic freedom of moral
choice without which they will be less than
fully human and, at the other, are aristo¬
cratic men like Mr. B and Lovelace, demand¬
ing the right to impose all their impulsive
desires upon the reality around them.
The education of the gentleman was a
popular topic in conduct books of the sev¬
enteenth and eighteenth centuries. An un¬
published work of Defoe’s, The Com pie at
English Gentleman, discusses the absence of
discipline characterizing the usual gentle¬
man’s upbringing in a way that is close to
the view of the subject which Richardson’s
novels express. The indulgent mother of a
son born to inherit a great estate will be
unwilling, Defoe asserts, to subject him to
the discipline of his social inferiors in a pub¬
lic school. Such a mother will yield to her
natural fondness and to her pride in her
son’s social superiority and will engage a
tutor willing to be no more than a toady to
her heir. The son himself will early under¬
stand his importance as the future repre¬
sentative of a great family and the power
that his position gives him over his parents.
Thus he will be deprived of the discipline
which most children receive at school and at
home.2 Similar criticisms of aristocratic edu¬
cation appear in other conduct books of the
period, such as Richard Allestree’s The Gen¬
tleman’s Calling (1679) and Clement Allis’s
The Gentile Sinner (1660). Both Richard¬
son’s libertine villain/heroes, Mr. B and
Lovelace, fit the pattern traced by Defoe
and other conduct book writers: they have
been raised primarily by mothers who could
not bear to see them contradicted or cor¬
rected. And each boy is the only male rep¬
resentative of an ancient family and the heir
to a great estate.
In adulthood, Richardson’s aristocrats
prove to be even freer from coercive pres-
93
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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
sures than they were as children. Provided
they are minimally careful not to injure their
estates, they need not worry about money.
Their peers in the aristocracy and gentry
will accept them on the basis of their social
position and will regard a hefty amount of
misconduct as appropriate to, or at the very
least tolerable in, someone of their status.
The idea that the aristocrat is born for pleas¬
ure, not duty, was an all too common one,
both Richardson and many writers of con¬
duct books felt. This point could hardly be
made more emphatically than in the scenes
in Pamela where Mr. Williams tries to get
one of the neighboring gentry to intervene
on behalf of the imprisoned girl and encoun¬
ters in succession apathy, mild sympathy
overruled by an unwillingness to antagonize
so powerful a man as Mr. B, and finally, on
the part of Sir Simon Darnford, the feeling
that B’s treatment of his servant is quite
acceptable since he is merely exercising a
modified droit du seigneur. “ ‘He hurts no
family by this’ ” Sir Simon comments (p.
138), while the parish minister remarks
tolerantly that “ ‘Tis what all young gentle¬
men will do’ ” (p. 139). 3
If neither the conscience implanted by a
strict upbringing, financial necessity, nor so¬
cial pressure, provide effective checks on the
aristocrat’s freedom of action, that leaves
only the coercive power of the law as a pos¬
sible limiting force. But Richardson makes
it clear that the determined aristocrat has
little reason to fear legal punishment for
even the most heinous behavior. The aristo¬
crat’s role as local Justice of the Peace,
ideally a duty he owes to society, if abused
becomes a means of escaping punishment, or
even of furthering his own wickedness. Mr.
B issues a warrant for Pamela’s arrest, which
he intends to use should she manage to es¬
cape him. Indeed, the many mock trial
scenes in the two parts of Pamela poignantly
emphasize the abuse of authority of which
B is guilty. Pamela, the innocent party, must
play the culprit, while the guilty B, with all
the power of society to back him, usurps the
roles of accuser and judge. Lovelace reflects
cynically on his chances of escaping punish¬
ment for the rape of Clarissa and concludes,
quite accurately, that between Clarissa’s
natural disinclination to air the matter in
court, the sympathy his connections and
good looks would procure from any jury,
and the readiness of juries to believe that a
rape victim must have encouraged her as¬
sailant, he is quite secure. Lovelace con¬
siders a variety of audacious crimes, includ¬
ing murder, in the course of Clarissa, and if
in end he decides not to commit most of
them, it is not fear of the law that stops him.
The theory upon which England’s consti¬
tution is based, that an aristocrat’s stake in
the country is a sufficient guarantee for his
good behavior, since it would be irrational
for him to do anything either to injure the
nation or imperil his own share in it, is one
which Richardson finds laughably simplistic.
It is cited several times by Lovelace’s ac¬
quaintances as a reason why Lovelace surely
will not commit this or that enormity (eg.
Vol. IV, p. 144, p. 253). 4 Such reasoners,
Lovelace notes, are definitely wrong to as¬
sume that he must always “prefer his inter¬
est to his pleasure” (Vol. IV, p. 248). In
fact, his stake in the country actually makes
Lovelace more willing to defy the law than
a poorer man would be — for he can always
flee to the continent and live there comfor¬
tably on what he can salvage of his fortune.
“All countries of the world are alike to me,”
he claims (Vol. II, p. 39). The code of
honour, which might be regarded as a sur¬
vival of an earlier age’s system of enforcing
justice, though it threatens sanctions for bad
behavior, is not much feared by aristocrats
who, like B, choose their victims from the
lower classes, or who, like Lovelace, are
masters of all offensive weapons.
Freedom from fear, from want, from the
coercion of other men, in both childhood
1981]
Nardin- — Richardson's A ristocrats
95
and maturity — what sort of personality will
such a situation produce? Richardson’s para¬
doxical answer is that too much freedom
creates a personality which will enslave itself
far more effectively than it could be enslaved
by any outside force. The process can be
seen in a mild form in Mr. B, far more dra¬
matically in Lovelace — of Richardson’s ma¬
jor aristocratic characters only Sir Charles
Grandison escapes unscathed.
Pride — the need to respect oneself and
to be respected by others — is one of the
strongest human drives in the world of
Richardson’s novels. But the need for re¬
spect can assume a multitude of shapes and
align itself with a dazzling variety of ideas
and emotions. Pamela, having no social
status to be proud of, glories in her honesty
and repeatedly reminds Mr. B that, though
not his social equal, she is his superior in
the eye of God. It is pleasantly ironic that
after she becomes Mr. B’s wife, the nature
of Pamela’s pride changes and she remarks
that her only source of self-congratulation
is that “I have been raised to a condition
where I have power to do good” — for “what
am I in myself to be proud of?” (p. 528).
The alliance between Pamela’s strict moral
standards and her need for self-respect is
clearly demonstrated by this shift. The pros¬
titutes in Clarissa are also motivated by pride
in their almost frantic desire to see “the di¬
vine Clarissa” brought down to their own
level. Her degradation will prove “the sex’s”
universal frailty and will thus excuse their
own weaknesses.
The eldest son of an ancient family, raised
in an environment where everyone around
him is his inferior and his slave, develops a
distinctive type of pride. He has never been
forced to live up to a demanding moral code
and hence cannot pride himself on his suc¬
cesses as a moral agent. Totally undisci¬
plined, he has never developed a conscience
and so cannot derive self-respect — as Pam¬
ela and Clarissa do — from his consistency in
obeying its orders. But he has received con¬
stant deference and submission from those
around him, and it is natural that his pride
will be gratified only so long as he continues
to receive such tokens; tokens which, as he
well knows, are tributes paid to his social
position, rather than to his individual merit.
So the aristocrat will be proud not of what
he is, but of the way other people treat him.
Lovelace displays the most radical dis¬
junction imaginable between his own con¬
sciousness of inner moral value and the
outward deference he exacts. Lovelace’s
pride is always of the bottom line variety:
if he can gain deference and submission in
the end, he does not care how much he
need lie, cheat, or abase himself along the
way, as his treatment of Clarissa demon¬
strates. In his attempts to make her his
pliant and deferential mistress, Lovelace is
not merely guilty of the most varied and
despicable misconduct, but further, Clarissa
continually catches him misbehaving and
responds with heartfelt contempt. But Love¬
lace perseveres, for he believes that his final
triumph over Clarissa will cancel all inter¬
vening humiliations, though he is keenly
aware of the ridiculous, degraded figure he
often cuts in her eyes. Deference is more im¬
portant to Lovelace than any of life’s more
solid pleasures. He feels no desire to seduce
Rosebud once his power over her has been
acknowledged.
Lovelace’s pride feeds on the degradation
of others and in the process degrades Love¬
lace himself — yet this destructive pride is a
direct result of Lovelace’s extreme, but char¬
acteristic, aristocratic childhood. And the
characteristic freedom of the aristocrat has
molded Lovelace’s personality in ways that
are even more dramatic. Because Lovelace
has never been forced to obey any rule ex¬
cept that of his own desires, he finds the idea
that his freedom should be circumscribed in
any way both humiliating and intolerable.
Lovelace does not merely refuse to obey the
96
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
laws of morality or the laws of England, he
refuses to be bound by any rules of thought
or language which might impede him in his
endeavor to make the world around him con¬
form to his desires.5
Perhaps the most striking of the freedoms
which Lovelace demands is his tacit refusal
to be bound by the “laws” of empirical evi¬
dence. Lovelace likes to describe himself as
an empiricist who bases his generalizations
on his own wide experience and on a series
of “experiments” which he has carefully
performed. But as Clarissa progresses it
becomes clear that Lovelace is simply a spe¬
cial pleader trying to prove the premise that
Clarissa’s morals can be corrupted and not,
as he likes to think, an unbiased experi¬
menter testing the limits of virtue as a par¬
ticipant/observer. Lovelace’s pride is largely
responsible for his tenacious commitment to
the idea that all virtue is a sham and that
every woman has her price. For if all virtue
is a sham, Lovelace, like the prostitutes who
share his desire to degrade Clarissa, need
feel no shame about his own lack of virtue.
Thus Lovelace goes on “trying” Clarissa
even after he has collected an overwhelming
amount of evidence that her resistance is as
sincere as it is violent and that her health is
crumbling under the strain of her fear. Quite
early in the novel, when Lovelace is still us¬
ing adjectives like “blooming” and “glowing”
to describe Clarissa, Belford is shocked by
her weak and haggard appearance. (Vol.
IV, p. 94) Clearly Lovelace must ignore
the physical damage to Clarissa if he is to
continue his attempt to make the bottom
line of their relationship come out as he
wishes. What he pretends is an empirical
generalization about the universal corrupt¬
ibility of women, is really an ideological po¬
sition to which he is so deeply committed
that he will ignore any amount of evidence
suggesting its falsehood, in his desperate at¬
tempt to make it true. Lovelace’s interpreta¬
tions of the events he observes become ever
more bizarre and strained as the novel pro¬
gresses and perhaps his attitude toward evi¬
dence is most clearly shown by his request
that Belford pretend to him that the dying
Clarissa is recovering: “I will go abroad
rejoicing and believing it and my wishes and
imaginations shall make out the rest.” (Vol.
VIII, p. 321) Thus, by the end of the novel,
Lovelace acknowledges that he is not an
empiricist, but an artist determined to make
the visions of his imagination a reality.
Lovelace does not allow his thought pro¬
cesses to be restricted by the rules of logical,
consistent reasoning any more than he al¬
lows them to be trammeled by the demands
of empirical evidence. “Regardless shall I be
in all I write of connection, accuracy, or of
anything but my own imperial will and
pleasure,” he tells Belford (Vol. Ill, p. 63).
Up to a point this is playfulness on Love¬
laces ’part, but beyond that point he becomes
quite serious in his refusal to accept an un¬
palatable conclusion merely because it fol¬
lows logically from valid premises. In such
a situation, Lovelace is always prepared to
take elaborate evasive action. His letters
are filled with the most maddeningly per¬
verse arguments, always bolstering the con¬
clusion to which he is emotionally com¬
mitted. Concerning the basic question of
whether he must continue his attempts on
Clarissa, Lovelace sometimes argues that be¬
cause Clarissa does not love him, it is neces¬
sary that he punish her by seducing her. But
at other times her attitude seems more favor¬
able and at those times Lovelace tells him¬
self that if Clarissa does love him, then he
must seduce her because he has a good
chance of getting away with it. Lovelace
never admits these two arguments cannot,
simultaneously, be true — nor does he admit
that each argument undercuts the other. If
Clarissa loves him there is no reason for
punishment, and if she doesn’t, his seductive
wiles are unlikely to succeed. He continues
to use the two arguments in all their logical
incompatibility as supports to the conclusion
at which he has already arrived.
1981]
Nardin — Richardson’ s Aristocrats
97
Lovelace often defines a category most
perversely in order to bolster his decision
that a particular individual must be treated
as Lovelace wishes to treat him, because he
is a member of that category. When he wants
to strengthen his resolutions against Clarissa
— and that is most of the time — Lovelace
likes to remind himself that a “triumph”
over her will be a “triumph over the sex,”
which once wounded him in the person of
the “quality jilt” who played him false, and
secondarily a triumph over his enemies the
Harlowes. (Vol. Ill, p. 83) It is true that
Clarissa is a woman and a Harlowe, but by
defining her in terms of those crude cate¬
gories, Lovelace ignores both her extra¬
ordinary qualities as an individual and the
unpalatable fact that mistreating her will,
as Belford repeatedly points out, serve,
rather than frustrate, James Harlowe’s pur¬
poses. The categories Lovelace chooses are
not those which best describe Clarissa or her
situation, but they are the ones which most
effectually bolster his resentful attitude and
this is what he is after.
Lovelace’s attitude toward language is
nearly as libertarian as his attitudes toward
evidence and logical reasoning. Lovelace
seems to find restrictive and humiliating the
idea that he ought to be satisfied to follow
the linguistic conventions within which most
people confine their communications. Thus
he invents the Roman style for writing to his
fellow rakes — and stipulates that they can¬
not take offense at anything written in that
style. The Roman style thus permits Love¬
lace to use words freely without being af¬
fected by the usual consequences of such a
practice. Nor does Lovelace care to be bound
by the vocabulary of standard English. His
neologisms are numerous; clearly he thinks
that he can create a language fit to express
his thought. Lovelace’s constant, dazzling
use of figurative language strains against the
rules of both logic and language. Through
the force of his bizarre metaphors, his re¬
fusal to confine himself to the literal mean¬
ings of words, Lovelace hopes to prove that
reality is what it appears to him to be. His
frequent descriptions of Clarissa as a bird
seem intended to demonstrate — to himself
and Belford — not merely that she is basi¬
cally animal, though she seems to soar an¬
gelically, but also that what he is doing to
her is not important. These metaphors are
an attempt to escape the conclusions which
would have to follow logically if he described
her in standard English, as a woman pos¬
sessing an immortal soul.
The freedoms which Lovelace demands
for himself are complex, varied, and radical,
and include a refusal to be bound by the
commonly held “laws” of identity. We have
seen that Richardson’s aristocrats are gen¬
erally treated with a consistent respect that
is unaffected by the nature of their behavior.
Perhaps as a result of this, Lovelace has
come to believe that he possesses a self, to
which other people respond, that is some¬
how completely separable from the perso¬
nality he manifests in his actions. When his
feigned illness succeeds in upsetting Clarissa,
Lovelace is convinced that her love for him
has not been affected by his past misbehav¬
ior and that he therefore has “credit for a
new score” of misconduct. (Vol. V, p. 1 ) He
thinks, in other words, that there is an inner,
essential Lovelace whom Clarissa adores —
and that her image of that Lovelace cannot
be destroyed by anything the outer Lovelace
may do. This idea is consistent with the
exemption from consequences which Love¬
lace has always experienced, but it is not
true of Clarissa’s feelings for him. As Love¬
lace’s behavior cumulatively and unmistake-
ably demonstrates his violence and sadism,
Clarissa realizes that the man who attracted
her is not the “real” Lovelace and her feel¬
ings readjust themselves accordingly. To the
moment of her death, Lovelace cannot be¬
lieve that this process has actually occurred,
that it is irrevocable, and that the “self” he
has in Clarissa’s eyes is now based on the
evidence of his actions. Lovelace’s delight in
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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
disguises suggests his plastic approach to the
idea of personal identity: he can temporarily
become whomever it suits his purposes to be,
without compromising that inner, essential
Lovelace.
Lovelace believes that he has the power
to influence, indeed create, both the world
Clarissa perceives and the world that actu¬
ally surrounds her. Lovelace has tricked
Clarissa into taking up residence in Mrs.
Sinclair’s brothel, he has arranged to have
accomplices impersonate various emissaries
from Clarissa’s family, he has invented elab¬
orate circumstantial tales concerning a house
which must be ready for occupancy before
he and Clarissa can marry — yet he feels
sure that he can keep the evidence of all
these deceptions secret as long as he wants,
that the reality he has created for Clarissa
and the world he wants her to perceive can
be kept separate and that he can control
both. But Lovelace overestimates the plas¬
ticity of empirical fact even in the hands of
a master deceiver. Clarissa gradually, by
bits and pieces, picks up the evidence Love¬
lace’s schemes would deny her and when she
realizes that she is imprisoned in a brothel,
she can successfully apply her superior wit
to the problem of escape.
And this is what happens with all the ex¬
cessive freedoms which Lovelace claims:
moral truths and empirical facts reassert
their primacy in the teeth of his most deter¬
mined efforts to prove that he has the power
and will to set them aside. The aristocratic
claim of total liberty overreaches itself and
produces total enslavement, a situation in
which no effective courses of action are
open. Lovelace’s greatest problem stems
from the fact that what he thinks of as em¬
pirically based generalizations which he is
testing — “once subdued, always subdued,”
and the like — but which are really cynical
axioms to which his pride is deeply com¬
mitted, are simply not true in the theistic
world of Clarissa. Lovelace is trying to cre¬
ate a debased, animalistic reality which sets
God’s law aside and Richardson believes
that God will not let this happen: the divine
spark of real virtue that never deserts Clar¬
issa results from the mission and teachings
of Christ and is stronger than Lovelace’s
best efforts to eradicate it. As Belford points
out repeatedly, toward the close of the novel,
the hand of Providence can be clearly seen
punishing all those who have played roles in
Clarissa’s downfall. If a man is trying to
remake God’s world in his own evil image,
to prove the truth of falsehoods, he will
naturally fail, as Lovelace does. The evi¬
dence of his misconduct will accumulate in
spite of his attempts to conceal it, the good
in men will assert itself no matter how hard
he tries to make universal corruption the
order of the day.
Nor is Lovelace’s boasted freedom circum¬
scribed only by God’s laws; he also finds
that his own past actions acquire a momen¬
tum which, to his surprise, severely limits
his present freedom of action. For example,
in his war against the idea of virtue, Love¬
lace seduced and degraded Sally Martin and
Polly Horton, who subsequently became
prostitutes and partners in Mrs. Sinclair’s
brothel. During the period when Clarissa is
residing at Mrs. Sinclair’s, Lovelace is often
inclined to acknowledge the hopelessness of
his designs on her, to do her justice, and
marry her. But Sally and Polly never permit
Lovelace to retreat from his worst purposes
— their pride, as we have seen, is involved
in seeing Clarissa reduced to their own level.
They ridicule Lovelace’s best and most in¬
telligent impulses as unmanly weakness and
effectually prevent him from changing his
mind in time. Yet Sally and Polly are what
Lovelace has made them and the strong and
evil influence they exercise is the direct re¬
sult of his past actions.0 Further, since Love¬
lace’s pride is fed on the outward respect he
receives from others, he is peculiarly sus¬
ceptible to the influence of different com¬
panies: he is eager to earn the prostitutes’
applause by displays of cynical machismo,
1981]
Nardin — Richardson’ s A ristocrats
99
but occasionally he is just as moved, in Clar¬
issa’s presence, by an impulse toward the
virtue which will earn her approval. A man
whose pride is of this externalized sort, will
have less control over his actions than the
man who cares only for the approval of his
own conscience.
Lovelace’s seduction attempts acquire a
forward motion which also limits his free¬
dom: each failed attempt is a humiliation to
be redressed only by success on the next at¬
tempt, which therefore must be made. This
means that the final attempt to subdue Clar¬
issa, the rape, is virtually inevitable from the
start. And the rape shows Lovelace to Clar¬
issa in his true colors, thus destroying any
possibility that she will become either his
wife or his mistress. Lovelace’s oft-repeated
belief that he can have a wife at any time
proves false, and he finds himself totally cut
off from Clarissa, even before she makes her
final escape in death. Lovelace suspects this,
wondering if he has “put it . . . out of my
own power to be honest. I hate compulsion
in all forms; and cannot bear, even to be
compelled to be the wretch my choice has
made me ... I am a machine at last and no
free agent.” (Vol. VI, p. 4) By claiming
excessive freedom and letting his own law¬
less desires rule his behavior, Lovelace ma¬
neuvers himself into a position where all op¬
tions are closed to him, where he lacks the
power even to obey his own impulse to re¬
form. In Clarissa, the truest freedom is the
freedom the heroine finds at the end: to live
by God’s laws and to achieve a perfect union
with God’s goodness in death. The total
freedom of the aristocrat is not merely an
illusion, but an illusion which enslaves.
If Richardson is, in part, using Lovelace
to demonstrate that the quintessential aristo¬
cratic upbringing censured by Defoe, Alles-
tree, and other writers of conduct books does
indeed produce a lawless and destructive
personality, how does it happen that his re¬
maining aristocratic protagonists, Mr. B and
Sir Charles Grandison, are ultimately able
to lead lives of happiness and social utility?
In Mr. B’s case it seems clear that his edu¬
cation differed somewhat from the conduct
book paradigm and provided a foundation
on which a reformation could later be based.
Like the mothers in The Compleat English
Gentleman, B’s mother could not bear to see
him (or, for that matter, his sister the future
Lady Davers) thwarted. But where Love¬
lace’s mother seems to have been motivated
in her indulgence by her snobbish sense of
her son’s social superiority, B’s mother,
Pamela tells us, was a true Christian with a
sense of duty to inferiors, who overindulged
her children through mistaken impulses of
kindness. The fact that she spoiled her
daughter as thoroughly as she spoiled the
male heir to the family name and possessions
does indeed suggest that her motive was
squeamishness, rather than pure snobbery.
B was apparently influenced by his mother’s
sincere commitment to Christianity, even as
he tried to reject it. Though the indulgence
and deference which characterized his up¬
bringing produced in B the typical sort of
aristocratic pride, B feels, unlike Lovelace,
that the Christian standard of moral judge¬
ment really does matter. He is uneasy when
he knows himself to be morally wrong, and
particularly so when others tell him of it.
B’s basic commitment to Christian moral
standards, in conjunction with the love he
feels for Pamela — a love which is far more
sincere and less physical then he will admit
to himself — makes him a peculiarly half¬
hearted and inefficient seducer and rapist.
A part of B wants, Lovelace-like, simply
to dominate Pamela and to bring her down
to his own moral level, but another part of
B responds to Pamela’s repeated charge that
his immoral behavior has destroyed his dig¬
nity in her eyes, with a wish to earn Pamela’s
approval by deserving it. Under Pamela’s
tutelage, B finally comes to realize the truth
which always evaded Lovelace: that obedi¬
ence to God’s laws earns one maximum re¬
spect from others, and from oneself, and
100
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
eliminates the discrepancy between one’s
sense of inner deficiency and the outward
respect necessary to one’s pride, that plagues
the rakish aristocrat. At the end of the novel,
B is happy in Pamela’s almost slavish def¬
erence, in the chorus of adulation his gen¬
erous behavior and good taste gain him, and
in the conviction that he is now on fine terms
with God. The sense of superiority which
Lovelace vainly sought by degrading others,
B finds by elevating himself.
Nonetheless, the reader may find that
there are difficulties raised by the almost
effortless way B’s problems are resolved
and these difficulties are perhaps clues to
the depth of Richardson’s distrust of aristo¬
crats. The first difficulty is B’s mother. How
could a truly Christian woman possibly
allow her children to have their own way
in everything, knowing what all Christians
know about man’s innate sinfulness and the
need for control? Second, there is the prob¬
lem raised by B’s pride. Clearly, Richardson
finds the idea of an aristocrat whose pride
is not one of his strongest passions to be un¬
thinkable and B and Sir Charles Grandison
are every bit as proud as Lovelace himself.
Therefore Richardson is afraid to trust the
permanence of B’s reformation to such a
feeble reinforcement as the approbation of
his own conscience. B needs Pamela’s pas¬
sionate adoration and the approbation of
his social equals thrown into the scale if his
pride is to fight on the side of his reforma¬
tion. It is easy enough to see why B’s re¬
formation would earn Pamela’s approval,
but the chorus of admiration with which
B’s neighbors greet his behavior is hard to
credit. The same snobbish attitudes which
make it so hard for B to admit to himself
that he is truly in love with a servant have
been shown throughout the novel to be the
predominant social values held by the gen¬
try. If B’s original reluctance to marry Pam¬
ela is as strong as we have been led to be¬
lieve, then surely his neighbors, actuated
by the same feelings, would not receive the
match so warmly. B’s pride is gratified and
the novel’s moral— that virtue is rewarded —
is driven home by their warmth, but at the
expense of consistency.
Some of the other ways B’s marriage to
Pamela gratifies his pride and his feeling that
as an aristocrat he ought to be freer than
other people, are more skillfully managed.
Marriage to a social inferior assures B of a
degree of submission, deference, and grati¬
tude almost unthinkable in a woman of his
own class. Further, it is rather charming to
see B take advantage of his marriage to a
servant to order the government of his fam¬
ily according to his own notions and to make
it stricter and more moral than the families
of his neighbors. Like Pamela earlier in the
novel, B senses that he can redress any so¬
cial disadvantages which his wife’s lack of
birth and wealth may have laid him under,
by compensatory superiority in the moral
sphere. B is convinced that he has gained not
merely respect, but also aristocratic distinc¬
tion and true freedom — the freedom to be¬
have better than his neighbors; the only free¬
dom to differ which does not offend God —
from his decision to marry Pamela. But
Richardson’s reluctance to test B’s reforma¬
tion in the fire of unpleasant consequences
suggests a conviction that the aristocrat,
raised in pride and liberty, must be bribed
to behave. Like those of the exemplary little
girls in the nursery stories Pamela later tells
her children, B’s virtues bring social success
too mechanically. Richardson can’t convinc¬
ingly imagine the upbringing which made B
reclaimable and he can’t quite trust B’s re¬
formation without stacking the cards in its
favor.
In Sir Charles Grandison, Richardson
presents his readers with an aristocrat who
certainly has no need to reform. Even con¬
firmed lovers of Richardson find Sir Charles
a bit difficult to swallow — and the reason for
this is not only the fact that Sir Charles is
so perfect that he cannot grow or learn.
Clarissa is nearly as exemplary as Sir Charles
and if readers find her a much livelier and
more convincing character, the explanation
1981]
Nardin— Richardson’s A ristocrats
101
cannot simply be Sir Charles’s marginally
greater moral excellence. The problems with
Sir Charles seem to arise from the complex
and sometimes contradictory virtues he must
embody, the sheer number of thematic func¬
tions he is expected to perform, for these
varied functions create tensions within his
character from which Clarissa’s is relatively
free. In order to embody completely Rich¬
ardson’s conception of the ideal gentleman,
as it is his function to do, Sir Charles must
at once be the proud aristocrat and the
humble Christian, the man of action and
the man of accurate self-awareness, the idol
of women and the devotee of the virtue of
chastity, the accomplished swordsman and
the convinced pacifist, and so forth. No won¬
der his character seems to buckle beneath
the weight of these contradictory virtues.
Sir Charles’s character must be impossibly
complex because he embodies the aristo¬
cratic ideal at a time of transition. As Mar¬
garet Doody puts it, “The rejection of the
old ideal of the noble warrior hero in favor
of the ideal of benevolent gentleman may be
regarded as a part of a concerted effort of a
whole society to make adjustment to a kind
of communal life other than that of the small,
self-contained unit, protected by the leader
who can wield a sword.”7 Lovelace is a
sword-wielding aristocrat of the old sort
trying unsuccessfully to exercise domineer¬
ing power in a peaceful modern society. B is
an aristocrat who shifts, fairly painlessly,
from the old to the new style. But in creating
the character of Sir Charles, Richardson
tried to guard his exemplary gentleman from
criticism by proponents of either style of
aristocrat— to give Sir Charles the military
skill, the pride, passion, and style of the old
warrior hero, but to make it quite clear that
his commitment to the Christian ideals of
benevolence and social duty is so strong that
his “warrior” traits stand no chance of con¬
trolling his actions.
Like B and Lovelace, Sir Charles is clearly
shown to be the product of his upbringing.
Only son and favorite child of a selfish, care¬
less, amoral father and a responsible, self-
disciplined, Christian mother, Sir Charles
received a moral education which was prob¬
ably more effective than it would have been
had both his parents been decent people.
His mother provided not merely the disci¬
pline, but also the example, while his father’s
life was a tacit warning of what to avoid.
Schooled in the art of self-defense by his
father, Sir Charles also learned a truly
Christian abhorrence of the code of honor
from his mother. The respect in which his
mother was held, her effectiveness in keep¬
ing the family running smoothly, proved to
her son the value of the feminine virtues
and prevented him from taking his father
as a model, though his strong sense of filial
duty forbade him to reject his father’s mas¬
culine values completely. Sir Charles’s youth
was not free from the valuable lessons of
affliction which, in Richardson’s view, too
many aristocrats escape altogether. Sir
Charles lost his beloved mother when he
was only sixteen and at that time was sent
into prolonged exile on the continent, for
his father did not want the heir at home to
witness his own misbehavior.
As usual, Richardson has carefully pro¬
vided his character with an education which
accounts for his most prominent traits. Un¬
like Richardson’s other aristocrats Sir Char¬
les has always known discipline and frustra¬
tion, so we have a legitimate reason for the
fact that he prides himself more on the inner
moral rectitude he has developed, than on
the deference he receives. Nonetheless, the
very elaborateness of the explanation offered
for this phoenix of an aristocrat suggests
that Richardson finds in him something very
odd, in need of more than the usual amount
of discussion. Such an education as his — an
aristocratic mother so free from snobbery or
laxity, an aristocratic father setting so unat¬
tractive an example, nature providing the
afflictions which wealth can frequently spare
a child — is an anomaly very different from
the typical aristocrat’s education discussed
in the conduct books.
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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
Carefully and elaborately as Richardson
has accounted for Sir Charles’s commitment
to Christian values, he is almost as unwilling
to try Sir Charles’s virtue, as he was to try
Mr. B’s reformation, in the fire of unpleas¬
ant consequences. Although Sir Charles is
occasionally treated cruelly and contemptu¬
ously by the old fashioned sort of arrogant
aristocrat — like General Della Porretta —
the self-controlled dignity with which he
bears and reproves affronts always ends by
winning him greater admiration and defer¬
ence than he could have earned by any
other method. And since this usually hap¬
pens with almost magical speed, Sir Charles
is never forced to choose between satisfying
the demands of his conscience and gratifying
his desire for respect, except for vanishingly
brief periods. Richardson tells us repeatedly
that Sir Charles is a proud man, but that his
is a proper pride, which can only be gratified
by consciousness of internal worth and
which can stand against any amount of out¬
ward discouragement — the opposite of the
pride produced by the typical aristocratic
childhood. We also learn that Sir Charles is
too proud to owe an obligation and that his
pride receives its greatest satisfaction from
his own consciousness of his great social
utility: “My chief glory will be, to behave
commendably in the private life,” he tells
Harriet when they discuss their plans for
the future. He does not need public notice
to bolster his sense of worth. Clearly Rich¬
ardson’s point is that there are many sorts of
pride and that those who have been properly
educated do not need deference in order to
have self-respect. But after making this
point, Richardson gives Sir Charles enough
deference to satisfy even a Lovelace. It is
probably not Sir Charles whom Richardson
distrusts here, but rather his own readers,
who, not possessing Sir Charles’s firm moral
standards, may need a great deal of encour¬
agement to follow his example of good con¬
duct.
Like all of Richardson’s main characters,
Sir Charles values his freedom highly. But
for him, as a conscientious man, aristocracy
means the freedom to behave better than his
neighbors, to be more generous, to obey the
laws of morality more consistently and
strictly. And these things his wealth and
liberal education enable him to do. This sort
of freedom is social, for the man who values
it is a benefit to all his fellows. And it is real
freedom, because it is based on a realistic
understanding of what a rich, good and de¬
termined man can, with God’s aid, accom¬
plish. Sir Charles is not an impulsive do-
gooder, but an empirical scientist — of the
sort Lovelace falsely claimed to be — who
studies situations before he acts and who
judges in terms of valid moral standards.
Where Lovelace could only dream of pos¬
sessing the freedom and power to reduce the
reality around him to his own moral level,
Sir Charles actually can raise the moral
quality of the society around him through
example, encouragement, and judicious aid.
Where Lovelace boxes himself into a corner
by claiming excessive, impious freedoms,
Sir Charles, through his benevolence, con¬
tinually extends the circle of his influence
and power. More and more people fall under
his spell, emulate his virtues, leave him their
property, and thus his scope for changing the
world around him is ever on the increase.
Paradoxically, the aristocrat who voluntarily
obeys the laws of God and man proves freer
than the aristocrat who claims that, “The
law was not made for such a man as me.”
( Clarissa Vol. IV, p. 109)
The egalitarianism of Richardson’s novels
disturbed many of his contemporaries. His
claim that in a Christian world the soul of a
servant like Pamela is every bit as important
as the soul of her master, seemed radical
and dangerous. Sir Charles Grandison is the
most conservative of Richardson’s novels,
for its moral scheme is not the Christian
egalitarianism of Pamela and Clarissa, but
rather the notion of the Great Chain of Be¬
ing, which is repeatedly discussed by the
1981]
Nardin - — Richardson3 $ A ristocrats
103
novel’s characters. If one thinks of reality
as a great chain, then all creatures are essen¬
tial to God’s plan, but some are clearly
higher than others. And this is the moral
idea that stands behind Grandison’s social
conservatism. Only those who are free from
sordid compulsion, and who are well edu¬
cated, can reach the greatest heights of moral
discrimination and action of which humanity
is capable. Such people need not be of the
highest branches of the aristocracy — indeed
we have seen that Richardson is deeply
distrustful of an aristocratic education, and
neither Sir Charles nor Harriet comes from
a really great family, as Lovelace does — but
they must at least be well-off and well-
taught. Sir Charles and Harriet, with their
incredible power to make the finest moral
distinctions and their almost super-human
ability to live up to their convictions, repre¬
sent the top rung on a moral ladder. In
Grandison Richardson develops an idea
which was to become important in the work
of later eighteenth and early nineteenth cen¬
tury novelists like Fanny Burney and Maria
Edgeworth: that the aristocrat can, because
of his greater opportunities to act and learn,
become a better man than any member of
the working or middle classes. But even in
Grandison , his most conservative work,
Richardson’s suspicion of the aristocracy
prevents him from arguing this proposition
wholeheartedly and convincingly. Richard¬
son’s distrust of aristocrats impels him to
hedge his ideal gentleman with a dizzying
number of special conditions, explanations,
qualifications— so many that they begin to
undercut each other and to destroy the cred¬
ibility of Sir Charles’s character.
The importance of Richardson’s work for
the way aristocrats are treated in later novels
cannot be overestimated. The two types of
aristocratic characters which, in a multiude
of varying forms, reappear in novels through¬
out the late eighteenth and nineteenth cen¬
turies first find novelistic expression in Rich¬
ardson’s work. The dark aristocrat, whose
moral character has been destroyed by priv¬
ilege, and the exemplary aristocrat, whose
great opportunities have enabled him to
reach a standard of excellence beyond the
reach of ordinary mortals, have prototypes
in other literary genres and in social theory,
but as far as the novel goes, they are both
Richardson’s creations. Richardson liked the
idea of an ideal gentleman but he was never
really able to evade his conviction that the
freedom of the essential aristocrat was a dan¬
gerous and destructive state of being. This
conviction underlies the characterizations of
B and Sir Charles and undermines the read¬
er’s belief in their virtues.
Notes
1 In Britain the term “aristocrat” has never been
completely clear in its application, for the British
aristocracy is not a closed caste. I am using the
term loosely here, to mean a man who has, or will
inherit, a peerage, or who possesses, or will in¬
herit, a great landed estate. B and Sir Charles fall
into the latter category.
2 Daniel Defoe, The Compleat English Gentle¬
man (London, David Nutt, 1890).
3 All references to Pamela incorporated in the
text are taken from: Samuel Richardson, Pamela
or Virtue Rewarded (New York, W. W. Norton
and Company, 1958).
4 All references to Clarissa incorporated in the
text are taken from: Samuel Richardson, Clarissa
Harlowe: or The History of a Young Lady, 9 vols.
(Philadelphia, J. B. Lippincott Co., 1902).
3 See John Carroll, “Lovelace as Tragic Hero,”
University of Toronto Quarterly, 42 (1973), pp.
21-24, for a similar, but abbreviated, discussion of
the excessive freedoms Lovelace claims.
6 For a more extended discussion of the evil in¬
fluence that the women of the brothel have upon
Lovelace, see: Judith Wilt, “He Could Go No
Farther: A Modest Proposal about Lovelace and
Clarissa,” PMLA, 92 (1977), pp. 19-33.
7 Margaret Doody, A Natural Passion: A Study
of the Novels of Samuel Richardson (Oxford, The
Clarendon Press, 1974) p. 242.
8 Samuel Richardson, Sir Charles Grandison
(London, Oxford University Press, 1972) Vol. Ill,
p. 99.
JAMES JOYCE AND JACOB BOEHME
Generose Gabel
Baker University
Baldwin City, Kansas
In the “Proteus” section of Ulysses, there
is a clear and precise reference to Jacob
Boehme and to his book, The Signature of
All Things. Boehme’s name is still somewhat
familiar to students of theology and philoso¬
phy. He is said to have influenced philoso¬
phers from Hegel to Heidegger and theolo¬
gians down to Tillich, Berdyaev, and Marcel.
But he has been better known in earlier ages
than our own. For those who may not be
familiar with Boehme, here is a brief life of
this writer in whom Joyce was very inter¬
ested, and to whom he therefore referred
rather more widely in his writings than is
generally realized.
Jacob Boehme was born near Gorlitz in
what is now East Germany in 1575, and
lived in that town most of his life. He was
a shoemaker by trade, who later sold his
shoemaking business to become a draper,
and dealer in woolen articles.
Boehme was always very religious, and in
his maturity he had two religious experiences
which not only colored, but really shaped the
rest of his life. Under the influence of these
experiences, he felt compelled by God to
write down what had been revealed to him,
and he wrote so rapidly and compulsively
that he has been considered by some critics
the first of the “automatic” writers.
As an untrained theologian, however,
Boehme got into a great deal of trouble with
his pastor and other religious leaders, so
eventually he wrote some of his works in
the language of alchemy. As Evelyn Under¬
hill puts it, some ancient religious writers
used the language of alchemy to convey
religious “secrets to the elect, whilst most
certainly concealing them from the crowd.”1
It can already be seen, that Joyce would
have found a writer like Boehme interesting
because of his hermetic writings as well as
his sometimes strange philosophy. Joyce
would have seen similarities between Boehme
and that old favorite of Joyce’s, Giordano
Bruno. There were also aspects of Boehme’s
life as religious rebel, and martyr of a kind,
which must have attracted Joyce. So it is no
wonder that we find Stephen musing upon
Boehme as he says in “Proteus,” “Signatures
of all things I am here to read . . . ,” and
goes on to meditate on particular signs as
he sees them along the strand.
Stephen’s reflections in this section mirror
the thoughts of other philosophers besides
Boehme. Aristotle is one of these. It is not
surprising that this is so, because Boehme’s
philosophy in his Signature of All Things is
very similar to Aristotle’s. The thinking in
“Proteus” is united by many links of asso¬
ciative logic. As the section continues and
we see Stephen meditating on Proteus or a
Protean God, we go even deeper into Boeh¬
me’s theories. For the most striking of all
Boehme’s theories and the one which most
interests modern philosophers is that of the
evolutionary nature of God.
Boehme actually taught that the God¬
head evolved, and in fact, is eternally evolv¬
ing. This theory seems to be evidenced in
Stephen’s thinking in this section because
no matter what trend his thoughts take, still,
by associative logic, he keeps coming back
to thoughts of the Godhead, which he thinks
of as a kind of Proteus. He muses: “God
becomes man becomes fish becomes barna¬
cle goose becomes featherbed mountain.”
(50:13-14)
Stephen also refers to the Godhead as
“Mananaan,” the old Irish sea god, and
104
1981]
Gabel — James Joyce and Jacob Boehme
105
finally as the Demiurge. These references,
too, are very much in line with the nature
of Boehme’s version of God. Mananaan, like
Proteus, is a changing God. The term “De¬
miurge” comes from Gnosticism, and this
is related to Boehme because many of his
doctrines reflect Gnostic doctrines, just as
they do Cabalistic teachings.
There are other aspects of Boehme’s doc¬
trines present in the “Proteus” section, such
as his ideas of Adam Kadmon, of Lucifer,
and so on. The more one knows of Boehme’s
writings, the more one can see reflected in
this episode. Some of these doctrines have
implications which continue throughout
Ulysses. It is, however, in Finnegans Wake
that one finds the most frequent references
to Jacob Boehme.
The Boehme allusions in Finnegans Wake
are done somewhat in the same manner as
Joyce’s many allusions to Giordano Bruno.
The Boehme usages are part of intricate and
amusing wordplays, yet often they are also
thematically linked. For instance, one of the
main ideas in Finnegans Wake is the fall of
HCE or Finnegan, which has also been
interpreted by many critics as Adam’s fall
or the fall of Everyman. However, there
have been some critics who have seen this
as the fall of divinity itself. Atherton, for
example, sees it thus.2 William York Tindall
identifies HCE as the God of the Cabala.3
Now the idea of a God falling into nature
is a Gnostic idea which looms large in the
works of Boehme, which is very likely where
Joyce met it. There was also a phase of
Boehme’s development in which he was
rather pantheistic. For him, nature was God’s
body. So HCE’s body, scattered all over the
landscape fits very well with this conception.
There are a number of symbols which
Boehme uses in connection with God that
are in turn used by Joyce in marvellous types
of word play connected with HCE or with
Shaun, HCE’s son who seems to supplant or
become his own father in some sense, thus
becoming God himself. These symbols are
the rainbow, flowers, creative thunder, and
the number “7”.
In Boehme’s symbology the rainbow was
the throne of God as well as a part of his
body. In the Wake, too, in the very first
pages, we find the “regginbrow ringsome on
the aquaface.” This is probably a reflection
in water of the rainbow, or a reflection of
the eyebrow of God, or a reflection of the
eyebrow of HCE who is God. There are
also the rainbow girls who surround Shaun
as he grows in importance. Their presence
seems to indicate his growing divinity.
The rainbow girls and Shaun also play
the game of “Angels, Devils and Colours.”
This is very significant because flowers were
symbolic of angels in Boehme’s theology.
Each color revealed the nature it signified.
The rainbow girls in this chapter are both
angels and flowers.
Boehme also used thunder as a creative
symbol in his writings, and said, for instance,
that it occurred when the Father first recog¬
nized Himself (during the evolutionary pro¬
cess) and then also when the Father recog¬
nized His Son. The thunderclap is, of course,
also extremely significant in the Wake.
“Seven” is an old mystic number which
Boehme uses frequently in regard to God,
and he uses it in especially significant ways.
One of these is the number of emanations in
his evolutionary God. Joyce uses the number
frequently when referring to HCE and also
to Shaun as he seems to become HCE. In
one place, HCE is attired in seven articles
of clothing.4 In Chapter 13 Shaun also wears
seven articles of clothing.5 These references
all strengthen the claims to divinity of HCE
and his son.
There are many other word clues that
Joyce makes use of when he embellishes a
Boehme theme and even employs in groups
by themselves. Such words usually occur
within restricted passages or are scattered
over no more than a page or two. The kinds
of words are all associated with Boehme’s
life or works. (Incidentally, these symbols
106
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
can all be found neatly grouped in the In¬
troduction to the Law edition of Boehme’s
works which was published in England be¬
tween 1764 and 1781, and which remains
the most famous English edition of Boehme’s
works. )
One of the most important of the symbols
just mentioned is the lily. The lily above all
is Boehme’s sign. Boehme compared union
with the Divine to “the scent of the lily,”
and “the blossoming of the lily.” He had a
lily engraved on his own signet ring, and a
lily also appeared on his grave marker.
Another clue word is ladder. Boehme
spoke often of having climbed up a ladder
in his soul to where he found his God. The
Trinity, the word “three,” and even the word
“four” are also associated with Boehme. The
Trinity is used because Boehme wrote so
much about the origins of God, and “four”
is used because in his theologizing Boehme
was said to have discovered a fourth person
in God, a discovery which was always vehe¬
mently denied by Boehme. Wool, gloves,
shoes, boots, hammering, etc., are all fre¬
quent clues, and obviously are all connected
with Boehme’s trades.
There are also a great many word plays
on Boehme’s own name. The name is also
correctly spelled “Bohme,” and in England
it sometimes appears as “Boehm.” The name
is also frequently mispronounced. Joyce nat¬
urally makes the most of this, making the
name appear as “Bohemia,” “Beam,”
“Bean,” and in many other variations. Thus,
the words “Lily of Bohemey” which appear
in the Wake (246:18) and have been taken
to mean “The Bohemian Girl,” are also a
reference to Boehme and his lily. Similar
clues can be easily multiplied. These terms,
or word clues, are usually employed when
Boehme is tied to a theme. So with the
HCE/God theme already described, many
of these terms also occur.
There are several other themes in the
Wake to which the Boehme word clues are
tied, and other kinds of clues, such as Boeh¬
me’s given name, Jacob (which is also James
and is therefore also Shem) which could be
explored more fully. One final point is still
to be made. In pointing out Joyce’s frequent
use of Jacob Boehme in his works, I do not
wish to imply that Joyce subscribed to Boeh¬
me’s doctrines. In Joyce’s younger days,
when he discovered some of his other fa¬
vorites — Vico and Bruno, he may have come
across Boehme also. At this stage of Joyce’s
life, he may have been interested in the
mystical aspects of Boehme’s writings. The
young Stephen of Portrait exhibits a definite
interest in mysticism, however much he may
or may not mirror Joyce’s own early inter¬
ests. As a mature adult, Joyce seems to have
been interested in mysticism only in so far
as he was interested in the arcane, hermeti-
cal, or the extremely unusual. Joyce was
interested in Jacob Boehme. His interest,
however, was as he himself said in regard
to Vico, to “use him for all he was worth.”
Such use, like so many other Joyce uses, has
forever enriched Finnegans Wake as well
as our enjoyment of it.
Notes
1 Evelyn Underhill, Mysticism (New York: E. P.
Dutton and Co., Inc., 1961), p. 142.
2 James Atherton, Books at the Wake (New
York: Viking Press, 1974), p. 31.
3 William York Tindall, A Reader’s Guide to
Finnegans Wake (New York: Farrar, Straus &
Giroux, 1972), p. 174.
4 James Joyce, Finnegans Wake (New York:
Viking Press, 1971), p. 30.
5 Ibid., p. 404.
THE LABYRINTH: A FOUNDATION OF CHURCH
AND CITY SYMBOLISM
Sister Marilyn Thomas
Marian College
Fond du Lac , Wisconsin
Novelists commonly describe the city in
labyrinthine terms. The changing definition
of the term is significant. To the ancients,
the labyrinth connoted paths of intricate de¬
viation leading eventually to a center for
the initiated from which demons were ex¬
cluded by the very device of the labyrinth.
In the Middle Ages that center still held in
the guise of walled towns with a centrally-
located church giving order to the whole
complex. In the nineteenth century that cen¬
ter begins to be eclipsed by secular institu¬
tions and by the twentieth century, novels
question even the validity of presupposing
that a center exists to be found. Conse¬
quently, in considering the interrelationship
of church and city, one is led to consider the
labyrinth with its circular core as symbolic
foundation of the city. Before considering
the correspondence between center and per¬
iphery, it will be necessary to consider each
concept separately in its symbolic uses and
meaning. Correlations between the dynamics
of the labyrinth and those of the city will
then be more apparent.
According to anthropologists, geogra¬
phers, and psychoanalysts, the geometric
concept of circularity is one of the most uni¬
versal and basic to men’s understanding of
the world. Universally it is a symbol of
wholeness and harmony. It is, according to
Yi-Fu Tuan, “a recurrent motif in the arts
of ancient eastern civilizations, in the think¬
ing of ancient Greece, in Christian art, in the
alchemical practices of the Middle Ages, and
in the healing rites of some nonliter&te peo¬
ples.” As an archetypal image of the recon¬
ciliation of opposites, the circle also appears
in the design of traditional and idealized
cities. People everywhere show evidence of
structuring space by placing themselves at
the center “with concentric zones ... of de¬
creasing value beyond”; illustrating thereby
the universality of center and periphery as
organizational concepts. Related to circu¬
larity, according to Tuan, are the concepts
of open and enclosed. Whereas openness
often signifies freedom, adventure, light, and
society, closure suggests the womb, security,
darkness, and privacy. When one or the
other becomes threatening, however, the
victim experiences either agoraphobia or
claustrophobia.1
One of the most ancient uses of the cir¬
cular as symbol remains even today in the
visible traces of burial grounds. As a conse¬
quence of studies conducted particularly in
England and the British Isles, A Hadrian
Allcroft has cited evidence which demon¬
strates that architectural features of burial
grounds for dawn man were most frequently
circular. As containers of the bones of the
venerated dead, these grounds took on a re¬
ligious character. Another feature of these
circular burial grounds was a vertical image
located at the center. Whether tree, rock, or
pole, this vertical object served symbolically
as a link between heaven and earth, between
the mcirocosm of man and the macrocosm
of the universe. In short, “religion and burial
being inseparable, the same circularity which
marked the burial place marked also the
temenos; tomb and temple had one common
plan.”2 Because these grounds became tem¬
ple sites, the cemetery served as the founda¬
tion of the city with the temple as religious
apd legal center of authority.
The circular burial ground with vertical
107
108
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
dimensions, then, was a place of ritual ven¬
eration with cosmic orientation. And as such,
it represents the bare bones of an architec-
ural structure which eventually received the
name church. The word church itself shows
in its etymology this connection between
circularity and consecration. In Old English,
church is derived from “cirice” meaning cir¬
cle. Just as burial grounds were set aside,
i.e., consecrated for religious ritual by the
presence of bones, so too the church altar-
stone used for the ritual sacrifice of the
death-resurrection mystery must contain the
bones of a venerated, deceased member. The
idea of a plot of ground taking on a sacred
character is developed by Mircea Eliade in
The Sacred and the Profane. According to
his thesis, man encountered the world as dif¬
ferentiated: land from sea, and sky from
both, for instance. But ways of imposing
meaning by categorizing were invented only
as part of an historic process. Until these
ways of imposing significance evolved, the
earth was amorphous, or to use Eliade’s
term, profane. What designated certain times
and places as sacred in opposition to pro¬
fane, then, was their being differentiated
from the mass, set aside or consecrated, as
the word sacred implies. Consequently,
meaningful assembly with the presiding pres¬
ence of ancestors in consecrated burial
ground came to be seen as a sacred act. Fur¬
thermore, since scientific findings have estab¬
lished the circular burial ground as the first
meeting place chosen because of its sacred
character, burial ground bears a real relation¬
ship to the structure later known as the
church. Even after circularity disappeared
as a common feature of burial grounds the
dead continued for some time to occupy the
area immediately surrounding the church.
This practice remains even today in country
churches. Similarly cathedrals entomb their
venerated dead beneath the nave. The prac¬
tice of burying the dead around city churches
was discontinued for practical rather than
symbolic reasons. There simply was not
enough land available and people recognized
the danger to their health. Nevertheless, the
notions of church and cemetery remain
closely associated culturally even today. For
modern churches without crypts still have
bones in their altarstones and often in their
cornerstones.
Because circularity has always been asso¬
ciated symbolically with perfection and the
vertical with transcendence, it is appropriate
that these geometric shapes be incorporated
into the church with its orientation in the
supernatural and absolute.
Circularity is associated symbolically with
the ideal city as well as the ideal church,
however. And in fact, the two are often as¬
sociated together as one large circle: the
church as the center, the city organized con¬
centrically around it. According to Lewis
Mumford, the city had its birth in the burial
ground, just as the church did. “Urban life,”
he writes, “spans the historic space between
the earliest burial ground for dawn man and
the final cemetery, the Necropolis, in which
one civilization after another has met its
end.”3 Like the church, then, the ancient
city received its birth and special character
from the burial ground that constituted its
center.
Examples of circular cities founded on
burial sites are still with us in the world of
fact as well as fiction. Rome, for example,
was supposedly circular at its founding “with
the mundus (the place of departed souls)
at the center.”4 Even today Rome is called
the Eternal City because it is the reputed
seat of Christ’s vicar on earth and capital
of Christendom. This city derives its greatest
significance, then, from its being the
center of the universal church. Moreover,
St. Peter’s Basilica was built on a cemetery;
and tradition has it that the basilica was
built over St. Peter’s tomb.5
One must also consider Jerusalem, which
was placed at the center of the world in med¬
ieval maps. The wheel maps of the Middle
Ages, with Jerusalem located at the hub of
1981]
Thomas — The Labyrinth
109
the wheel, “expressed the beliefs and experi¬
ences of a theological culture.”6 This city,
like Rome, is also envisioned as a church in
its designations as “Heavenly Jerusalem,”
“New Jerusalem,” and “City of God.” More¬
over, medieval man depicted the temple of
Jerusalem at the center of a circular walled
city.
Circular models also guided the founding
of relatively recent cities in history. Paris,
for example, was “concentric in pattern and
focused on the Cathedral of Notre Dame on
the Isle de la Cite.”7 Other medieval cities
circular in topographical orientation and in
which the cathedral occupies a central loca¬
tion include the following: Toulouse and
Limoges in France; Cologne, Hanover, and
Frankfort-am-Main in Germany; and the
cities of Buda in Hungary and Vienna in
Austria. In most instances, the medieval city
core included the presence of a cathedral or
church. For the word “cite” or city “referred
to the initial ecclesiastical nucleus.”8 These
churches, in turn, were either founded on
burial sites or enclosed relics of the dead
after the structures were completed. Al¬
though the foundations of London, laid be¬
fore the Middle Ages, are not circular, St.
Paul’s original cathedral was built on a Ro¬
man burial site as a matter of intent rather
than convenience, according to Tuan.9
In the world of philosophical and theologi¬
cal speculation, Plato’s utopia as well as St.
Augustine’s City of God are based on cir¬
cular plans. The former combines the circle
with the square, while the latter is purely
radial. Literary cities portrayed as circular,
often with church as center, expressed man’s
desire to translate heaven to earth. For ex¬
ample, in Marcel Proust’s Remembrance of
Things Past, the town of his childhood is re¬
membered as resembling a medieval town
“as scrupulously circular as that of a little
town in a primitive painting.”10 Patterned on
the image of perfection, the city ideally was
to transcend the vagaries of life and reflect
the predictability of the cosmos.
Often, too, these cities were surrounded
by circular walls which, before they were
used for defenses, were designed to suggest
completeness. While signifying wholeness,
walls also served to fix the limits of the city.
Within these walls, man’s life acquired a
sense of direction and purpose. According to
Yi Fu Tuan, “the wall was the clearest ex¬
pression of what the city builders took to be
the limits of their domain.”11 Mumford also
emphasizes that walls were used as construc¬
tions for defense purposes only late in their
history. He also cites the importance of
church bells in determining the city’s limits.
Beyond their sound, one was also beyond the
city’s boundaries and in that area designated
as profane.
Contrary to present day attitudes that
idealize the country, medieval conceptions
idealized the city. According to a German
proverb of the Middle Ages, “ ‘City air sets
a man free.’ ” To philosophers of Aristotle’s
time and after, the city stood for a perfect
society. Heathens lived in the country or on
the heath; peasants (pagus) or pagans lived
in the rural districts.12
Combining the horizontal and the vertical,
the circular city aspired toward an order
based on the vault of heaven itself, and in
its aspiration came to symbolize that order.
In the same way, the church was also viewed
as image of the cosmic order. In Byzantine
church architecture, for example, the vault
of the church was an image of heaven with
the floor as paradisiacal earth. The dome as
vault of heaven was preserved through Re¬
naissance and into modern times. Public
gestures of man’s desire for the transcendent,
expressed by the church in ziggurat, pyra¬
mid, steeple or temple, has its counterpart
first in the church as the center, then in its
monument and fountain at lesser “cen¬
ters.” With their vertical-horizontal tension
united in the circle construct, city and church
symbolize the “antithesis between transcen¬
dence and immanence, between the ideal of
disembodied consciousness (a skyward spir-
110
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
ituality) and the idea of earth-bound identi¬
fication.”13 A sense of vertical striving is
tempered by a horizontal call to rest.
Both church and city, then, acquired their
rudimentary beginnings within the circular
burial ground as place of religious ritual and
communal assembly. The labyrinth stands
in conjunction with circularity as well in its
combination of the vertical and horizontal,
signifying perfection. Although not all laby¬
rinths of fact or fiction are circular in shape,
the ritual dance associated with them always
includes circular movement, indicating their
basically circular nature. The general con¬
struction of the labyrinth consists of a cen¬
tral area circular in form surrounded by a
series of concentric, winding paths intended
to confuse the uninitiated.
According to the myth of Theseus,14 which
expresses the mythico-religious significance
of the labyrinth, the center was a sacred
space. Within it, the Minotaur (half-man,
half-bull) signified the union of mortality
and immortality (the bull being a symbol of
divinity for the ancients). In slaying it, The¬
seus performed an act of defiance even while
fulfilling a requirement of a religious cult.
According to this cult, it was necessary that
the bull, surrogate for the king-god, be slain
in the king’s stead, thus insuring the king’s
continued life as well as the lives of his sub¬
jects. Like the ambiguous nature of the Mi¬
notaur (god-man) as well as the labrys
(double-bladed axe) with which Minotaur
was slain, the myth has a double interpreta¬
tion. According to one theory, Theseus per¬
formed a saving act by slaying the Minotaur
because in doing so he guaranteed the peo¬
ples’ lives.15 In another interpretation, how¬
ever, Theseus was a usurper in that he em¬
bodied the Greeks’ hatred of the Cretan
bull-cult. 1G By slaying the Minotaur he sym¬
bolically destroyed that cult, displacing it
and substituting that of Athena and the cult
of the ram.
Whatever the correct interpretation, it is
clear that the labyrinth itself was a center of
religious ritual; that it was circular in struc¬
tural orientation; and that it celebrated the
death-resurrection mystery in a fertility cult.
In all these elements it resembles in nature
and function a role later played by church
and city. Like the church as locus of the
celebration of life and death mysteries, the
labyrinth was the locus of man’s attempt to
“overcome death and renew life.” According
to C. N. Deedes, it was in the labyrinth that
“the living king-god went to renew and
strengthen his own vitality by association
with the immortal lives of his dead ances¬
tors.”17 Communion with the dead was also
the purpose behind burial rites celebrated
on burial sites. Evidence in the remains of
stone circles in England and the Scandi¬
navian countries demonstrates the relation¬
ship between circular burial ground and laby¬
rinth: “When we come to examine some of
the stone circles of Scandinavia,” writes
Deedes, “we find that they are actual laby¬
rinths, conforming in design to the plan of
those on the coins of Knossos.”18
While burial ground and labyrinth are
clearly related as just demonstrated, city
and labyrinth are also closely related con¬
ceptually as well as actually. These relation¬
ships are the links of a chain, then, joining
labyrinth to church and church to city, cir¬
cularity being the common feature uniting
all three. One link, however, remains dangl¬
ing by itself unless the following question is
answered: what is the relationship between
city and labyrinth?
The labyrinth, related as it is to church
through its association with burial ground,
has a more direct relationship to church as
well as city in its medieval representation in
cathedrals themselves. As W. H. Matthews
has pointed out, medieval churches contain
labyrinths in art on floors and walls. While
some are called “ways,” others have the
name “Jerusalem” inscribed at their centers.
A labyrinth has also been found with the
words “Sancta Ecclesia” at its center. Conjec¬
ture is that these labyrinths served as minia-
1981]
Thomas — The Labyrinth
111
ture pilgrimages to holy cities for those who
could not make the actual trip. A “Chemin
de Jerusalem” could be walked with one’s
index finger on the wall if one could not
traverse the roads on foot.19 Not only the
church, but the city as well began as a mag¬
net drawing people together to celebrate
mystery; the city, too, was “the goal of pil¬
grimage.”20
Various pseudonyms for labyrinths also
establish a connection between them and
cities; “Ruins of Jerusalem,” “City of Ni¬
neveh,” “Walls of Jericho,” and “Babylon”
are some of the names given to labyrinths.21
According to legend, Ariadne’s dance was
performed in Troy, and in fact was respon¬
sible for the city’s fall in that, while the dance
was being performed around the walls, the
Greeks wheeled their wooden horse through
its gates. The notion of troia (“a winding”)
was then carried as far north as Scandinavia
where it survives as a labyrinthine maze in
earthworks and stone circles. Labyrinth and
city are notions related to each other, then,
through Troy, a city whose name indicates
the labyrinthine.
Not only are labyrinth and city joined by
historical evidence; the two are related con¬
ceptually as well. A tension between exclu¬
sion and inclusion characterizes both laby¬
rinth and city. While the labyrinth’s inner
winding passageways promise the possibility
of extension, its external windings protect
the center from violation by the uninitiated
in the same way that the burial place was
protected from grave-robbers by intricate
passages. According to Paul Kuntz, “the
labyrinth was able to protect a city, a tomb
or sanctuary, but in every case, it protected
a magical-religious area which excluded
those not invited or initiated.”23 The center
was a place secluded, while the periphery
protected it from invasion.
Besides the tension between exclusion
and inclusion, labyrinth and city embody a
similar tension between injunction and per¬
mission. While injunctions take shape as laws
designed to protect the community and regu¬
larize worship, permissions contain the more
vital designation of possibilities and freedom.
Exposure and seclusion, permission and in¬
junction, then, are some of the psychological
dynamics of the architectural construct of
both city and labyrinth, each with its sacred
core surrounded by peripheral deviations.
For the city this core often took the shape
of a citadel with its law court and temple;
for the labyrinth, it was bull-ring of ritual
celebration. Just as cities often had circular
walls enclosing them, the labyrinth had “a
circular crenelated enclosure.”24 Related to
both city and labyrinth, the injunctive na¬
ture of laws as reflected in visible walls,
served to define the interior space of city
and labyrinth as sacred or set apart. Citadel
and center asserted symbolically man’s desire
to overcome death, to unite heaven and
earth, to join the transcendent and the im¬
manent. In their life-giving powers labyrinth
and city were a common “means of bringing
heaven to earth.”25
Notes
1 Yi-Fu-Tuan, Topophilia: A Study of Environ¬
mental Perception, Attitudes, and Values (Engle¬
wood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, 1974), p. 17.
2 Hadrian Allcroft, The Circle and the Cross
(London: Macmillan, 1930), I, p. 22.
8 Lewis Mumford, The City in History: Its Ori¬
gins, Its Transformations, and its Prospects (New
York: Harcourt, Brace, and World, 1961), p. 7.
4 Tuan, p. 153.
5 Encyclopedia of World Art, VIII (London:
McGraw-Hill, 1962), pp. 324-349; 527.
6 Tuan, p. 41.
7 Tuan, p. 159. For geometric significance in
town planning see John Archer, “Puritan Town
Planning in New Haven,” Journal of the Society
of Architectural Historians, 34 (May 1975), pp.
140-149.
8 Robert Dickinson, The West European City:
A Geographical Interpretation (London: Rout-
ledge and Kegan Paul, 1951), p. 252.
9T. G. Bonney, Cathedrals, Abbeys, and
Churches of England and Wales (London: Cassell
and Co. 1891 ), p. 44.
112
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
10 Marcel Proust, Swann’s Way, trans. C. K.
Scott Moncrieff (New York: Modern Library,
1928), p. 59.
11 Tuan, p. 230.
12 Tuan, p. 150.
13 Tuan, p. 28.
14 Works consulted regarding the myth of The¬
seus and the Minotaur include the following:
Apollodorus, The Library, 2 vols., trans., James
Frazer (London: William Heinemann, 1921).
Michael Ayrton, The Maze Maker (London: Long¬
mans, Green, and Co., 1967).
Ronald Burrows, The Discoveries in Crete (Lon¬
don: John Murray, 1908).
Diane De Turo Fortuna, “The Labyrinth of Art,”
Diss. Johns Hopkins Univ., 1967.
Edith Hamilton, Mythology (New York: New
American Library, 1942).
Ovidus, Metamorphoses, trans., Sir Samuel Garth
(New York: Heritage Press, 1961).
Plutarch, The Lives of the Noble Grecians and
Romans, Vol. I, trans. Thomas North (Oxford:
Basil Blackwell Press, 1928).
Louis Herbert, ed. Mythology of All Races (New
York: Cooper Square Publishers, 1964).
15 Phillippe Borgeaud, “The Open Entrance to
the Closed Palace of the King: The Greek Laby¬
rinth,” in Context,” History of Religions, 14
(August 1974), p. 1-27. Also, S. H. Hooke, ed.,
The Labyrinth: Further Studies in the Relations
Between Myth and Ritual in the Ancient World
(New York: Macmillan, 1935), ix.
16 C. N. Deedes, “The Labyrinth,” in The Laby¬
rinth, ed. S. H. Hooke, p. 29.
17 Deedes, p. 42.
18 Deedes, p. 38.
19 W. H. Matthews, Mazes and Labyrinths: A
General Account of Their History and Develop¬
ment (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1922).
20 Mumford, p. 10.
21 Matthews, p. 56.
22 Deedes, p. 6.
23 Paul Kuntz, “The Labyrinth,” Thought: A Re¬
view of Culture and Idea, 47 (Spring 1972), p. 11.
24 Deedes, p. 6.
25 Mumford, p. 31.
AFRO-AMERICANS IN EARLY WISCONSIN
Barbara J. Shade
Division of Education
University of Wisconsin-Parkside
The Upper Great Lakes Territory, later
to evolve into the states of Wisconsin, Michi¬
gan, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and part of
Minnesota, became a home for Africans and
their descendants almost from the time of
its discovery. In their efforts to develop this
territory, the French established trading posts
as well as military and religious settlements.
Their purpose, like that of the English to
the South, was to establish a source of eco¬
nomic resources that would be channelled
back to the coffers of Europe.
Soon after their entry into the territory,
the French added to the soldiers, mission¬
aries and envoys some 500 Africans from
Guinea, West Africa.1 These Africans con¬
stituted a substantial portion of pioneers as
the French moved deeper into the Mississippi
Valley. Within five French settlements along
the Mississippi, i.e., Kaskaskia, Kaaki, Fort
Chartres, Saint Phillipi, and Prairie de
Roche, well over 300 Africans were counted
along with the 1100 Europeans, indicating
that Africans comprised nearly twenty per¬
cent of the population in the Mississippi
territory.2
While Africans served as sources of popu¬
lation and labor for the New World, the
French had apparently not concluded that
Africans were to be treated solely as prop¬
erty with little ability to make decisions over
their lives. Therefore, Africans functioned
in many of the same capacities as the French.
Records indicate that Africans, like the
French, served as fur trappers and traders,
as packhorsemen, cooks, and voyageurs.
According to the hierarchy among the
French, groups of traders were formed with
a chief trader responsible for collecting the
goods and furs and seeing that these were
transported to New France and Canada for
exchange. A number of these chief traders
and entrepreneurs were known to be Afri¬
cans.3
Although Africans were accepted as free
agents in trading roles, they were also used
as slaves, especially by those who appeared
to be of some social importance. For exam¬
ple, in the early 1700’s a French priest re¬
corded the baptism of Charles, a Negro slave
of M. de Vercheres, the commandant of one
of the military posts established by the
French within the territory.4 Similar records
note the presence of other slaves in the
homes of wealthy traders.
Exactly how the French were able to rec¬
oncile the contradictory roles assigned to
Africans in the same territory is not clear.
From all indications, however, they did not
appear to limit contact between the two
groups, for records indicate several instances
of independent voyageurs and fur traders
marrying slaves. One such incident is that of
Bon Coeur, a French-American fur trader,
who married Marguerite, also known to be
of African descent.
According to the records, Marguerite was
travelling through the Great Lakes territory
with her master, Sieur Boutin, on their way
to one of the settlements in Illinois, when
she met Bon Coeur. As love would have it,
they were soon married by a French priest
and a year later had a daughter, Veronique,
who was baptized in 1743. Exactly how this
marriage affected the slave status of Mar¬
guerite is open to speculation. The baptismal
records seem to indicate that all three mem¬
bers of the Bon Coeur family became the
slaves of Sieur Boutin; however, there is
also evidence that Bon Coeur remained a
113
114
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
fur trader and continued his work among the
Indians.5
The population of the Upper Great Lakes
area did not remain stable. Although the
French were the dominant residents of the
territory between 1687 and 1763, numbers
of British fur traders and settlers also re¬
sided in the area. During the French & In¬
dian War, the French and British fought
numerous battles over the right to control the
territory. By the treaty which ended the war
in 1763, the British gained control of the
area, Canada and the upper Mississippi. Un¬
willing to become British subjects, many of
the French settlers and their African coun¬
terparts migrated down the Mississippi and
established a fur trading post around the St.
Louis area. According to Moses Strong, this
migration consisted of approximately 2500
people, of which 900 were Africans.6
This rather large emigration from the ter¬
ritory left few African-Americans; not many
more were to come with the British. This
was but the first of several population drops
during the development of Wisconsin which
helped generate the myths that: ( 1 ) African-
Americans could not tolerate the climate of
these extreme northern states, and (2) Wis¬
consin has not had a sufficient African-
American population to warrant investiga¬
tion of their historical contributions.
Those African-Americans who remained
in the territory were independent fur traders
who lived and worked among the Indian
tribes, slaves of Frenchmen who chose to
stay, and Africans who had intermarried with
French settlers. Among these French Afri¬
can-Americans who remained in the terri¬
tory were two individuals who later figured
prominently in the settlement and develop¬
ment of Wisconsin, Illinois, and Minnesota.
They were Joas (Jean) Bonga and Jean
Baptiste Point de Sable.
Joas (Jean) Bonga or Bunga, though
later listed as free, was said to be a slave
of Captain Daniel Robertson, the British
officer in command at Mackinac between
1782 and 1787. There are indications that
the French chose to sell their slaves to the
British, but historians have speculated that
Bonga was acquired by the British officer
from Indian traders who had previously cap¬
tured him from the French around Missouri
during the Revolutionary War.
Upon joining the Robertson household,
Joas met and married another Robertson
slave, Marie Jeanne, also of African descent.
To Marie Jeanne and Joas were born two
daughters, Rosalie in 1786 and Charlotte
in 1782. 7 Historians have placed a great
deal of emphasis on the fact that Joas and
Marie Jeanne did not marry until 1794,
which meant that their children were illegiti¬
mate.8 It should be noted, however, that the
relationship between Joas Bonga and his
wife was not very different from those of
other fur traders in the area, British and
French included. As pointed out by Louise
Kellogg, fur traders were required to live
far from the posts to carry on their business
with the Indians.9 Within the territory sur¬
rounding the trading posts, there were few
priests, and it was not until one became
available that a couple chose to repeat their
vows of marriage — often after years of living
as man and wife. This may very well have
been the case with the Bongas.
Bonga descendants became prominent in
the development of Wisconsin, Michigan,
and Minnesota. A son of Joas and Marie
Jeanne, Pierre Bonga, followed his father’s
footsteps and became a successful trader
among the Chippewas, as did the grandson,
George Bonga. It was apparently this George
Bonga who served as an interpreter to Gov¬
ernor Lewis Cass in the treaty negotiations
with the Indians at Fond du Lac in 1820. 10
Among those free Americans of African
descent living with the Indians in the terri¬
tory was Jean Baptiste Point de Sable. De
Sable came to the Northwest Territory and
established himself as an independent fur
trader. There are various theories about his
point of origin, some claiming that he came
1981]
Shade — Afro-Americans in Early Wisconsin
115
from the West Indies, others suggesting that
he was a runaway slave from Kentucky. As
an independent trader, he set up a trading
post among the Indians in 1779 on the site
that was to become Chicago, Illinois.
By 1783, the newly formed federal gov¬
ernment of the United States had obtained
control of the territory around the Great
Lakes and had taken over the fur trading
industry. Because the numbers of Africans,
both West Indies and native born, had in¬
creased to the point where half of the popu¬
lation of some southern states had become
African-American, and because the issue of
slavery was becoming a rather complex prob¬
lem that the new government did not wish to
deal with, some consideration was given to
colonizing the new territory with the new
African immigrants.11 This idea was aban¬
doned when the states decided it would be
better to contain the people of color and
slavery in the southern region. Apparently
it was assumed that transportation of the
Africans would mean the establishment of
the institution of slavery in the north. Thus,
in the ordinance establishing the Northwest
Territory a clause was included prohibiting
slavery or involuntary servitude of any type.
This must also have meant that there were
to be no Africans, for a few years later the
congress passed the Fugitive Slave Act of
1793 which forced the return of slaves reach¬
ing the territory on their way to Canada
and freedom.
The effort to exclude African-Americans
from the Northwest Territory was not suc¬
cessful. There were, of course, some Afri¬
cans still residing in the territory, having
come with the French. Others arrived as
runaways and to avoid recapture found it
often to their advantage to settle with the
Indians in the area. As had occurred during
the French regime, many interracial mar¬
riages took place and, finally, cultural ab¬
sorption. One of the best examples of this is
the LeBuche-Duchouquette-Gagnier-Menard
family.
In the early years of the Northwest Terri¬
tory, two settlements existed in the area that
was to become Wisconsin — Prairie du Chien
and Green Bay. These two settlements de¬
veloped largely because they were close to
the military posts established to help settlers
in the area, to fight Indians, and to main¬
tain control over the fur traders remaining
in the region. Of the two, Prairie du Chien
was apparently the larger. In his recollec¬
tion of the early days at this settlement,
James Lockwood wrote:
Among the other inhabitants of notoriety at
that time was a Mrs. Menard, of mixed
African and white blood. She came from one
of the French villages below and then mar¬
ried to Charles Menard, a Canadian of
French extraction. She had been married
twice previously. . . .13
Mary Ann LeBuche, or Aunt Mary Ann,
as she was known, served as a midwife,
nurse and healer. From all indications, her
obvious African features created no diffi-
culy for her. During her lifetime, she bore
13 children to three husbands. She and her
first husband, Duchouquette, a Frenchman,
had two sons. Of the sons, Francois Du-
Chouquette is mentioned in historical notes
of John Jacob Astor’s expedition to the
mouth of the Columbia River. After Du-
Chouquette, Aunt Mary Ann married Claude
Gagnier, also French, by whom she had
three sons and three daughters.14
The Gagnier children evidently became
respected citizens of Prairie du Chien and
participated in the community with little dif¬
ficulty and little discrimination. It was re¬
corded that one of the boys was a black¬
smith while the others became wealthy farm¬
ers.
Registre Gagnier, one of these latter sons,
figured in a significant historical event of the
time. He resided on his farm approximately
three miles from Prairie du Chien, together
with his wife, two children, and a hired man
by the name of Lipcap. As the story goes,
116
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
Chief Red Bird of the Winnebagoes arrived
at Fort Crawford in Prairie du Chien, deter¬
mined to avenge some insults suffered by
members of his tribe. When his efforts to
provoke a fight were not successful at the
Lockwood trading post, Red Bird and his
companions went to visit the Gagniers,
friends of his for many years. After accept¬
ing Gagnier’s hospitality. Red Bird surprised
his host and shot him. At the same time,
Wekuw, another Winnebago, shot the hired
hand. Mrs. Gagnier and her ten-year-old
son managed to get away, but the 18-month-
old daughter was captured, stabbed and
scalped. Surprisingly, the child lived.15
Red Bird and his associates were pursued
by Colonel Henry Dodge, who later be¬
came the territorial governor of Wisconsin,
and by soldiers from Fort Howard. Although
Red Bird died in prison, his associates were
tried, sentenced and afterward pardoned on
condition that the Winnebagoes would turn
over to the United States their rights in the
lead mining area — the land that was to figure
prominently in the economic development
of the State of Wisconsin.
Gagnier was not the only African-Ameri¬
can to die in this uprising. After killing Gag¬
nier, Red Bird and his companions returned
to a small settlement of Winnebagoes who had
camped at the mouth of the Bad Ax River.
During the celebration which followed, sev¬
eral keel boats came by on the way to Prairie
du Chien with supplies. The keel boats were
attacked by the Winnebagoes and one man
was killed — . . a little Negro named
Peter.”16
The most hostile, conflict-ridden and per¬
haps most emotional period in the history of
America occurred between 1800 and 1865.
For African-Americans it was a period in
which their difficulties intensified, the search
for freedom became an obsession and the
institution of slavery was finally abolished.
It was during these years that Wisconsin
moved from frontier to territorial status and
finally became a state. For Wisconsin, as for
the rest of the nation, the need to make de¬
cisions about citizens of African descent was
a major consideration, and led to some of
the state’s most important moments in his¬
tory.
With the opening of the Erie Canal and
the promise of fertile land for farming, set¬
tlers from New York, Maryland, Vermont
and other Northeastern states joined foreign
immigrants in the Northwest Territory. They
brought their belief in the need for an open-
labor market with free labor, and the asso¬
ciated view that slavery should be abolished.
These individuals settled primarily in the
Eastern part of the state. At the same time,
from the states of Missouri, Kentucky, Ten¬
nessee and Virginia came another group of
migrants interested not only in farming, but
also in the wealth of the mines. These set¬
tlers brought their human chattels and a dif¬
ferent set of beliefs about people of color.
The largest number of slaveholders and
others sympathetic to slavery settled in West¬
ern Wisconsin.
The census of Wisconsin Territory in
1840 listed 185 free African-Americans and
eleven slaves. At this time the original four-
county census had grown to thirty-two coun¬
ties, with African-Americans residing in
sixteen of them.17 The majority of free Afri¬
can-Americans lived in Grant, Iowa, Mil¬
waukee, Calumet, and Brown counties. The
slave population was found in Grant County,
where ten slaves — three males and seven fe¬
males — resided, and in Iowa County, where
there was one male slave.
The presence of these slaves stimulated a
statewide controversy. Those who favored
slavery continued to maintain their property
in spite of the fact that to do so was con¬
sidered illegal under the Northwest Ordi¬
nance. Slaveholders included such prominent
men as territorial Governor Henry Dodge,
his son-in-law William Madden (Chaplain
of the territorial legislature), James Morri¬
son, George W. Jones, and James Mitchell.18
Those who opposed slavery were led by the
1981]
Shade — A fro- Americans in Early Wisconsin
117
crusader Reverend Edward Mathews, rep¬
resentative of the American Baptist Home
Mission Society. The pressure applied by
Reverend Mathews and his followers stimu¬
lated all the slaveholders in the state with
the exception of James Mitchell, a Methodist
minister, to emancipate their slaves, but in
name only. Thus, by May of 1848, all slavery
was abolished and Wisconsin was admitted
to the Union as a free state.
Elimination of slavery, however, did not
insure full citizenship to African-Americans
in Wisconsin. The state constitution, de¬
veloped at a convention with no African-
American delegates, granted the right to
vote to all citizens who were male, twenty-
one years of age or older, and residents of
the state for one year. This ruling was inter¬
preted as designating only those males who
were foreign or native-born Europeans and
those Indians who were citizens of the
United States but not members of a tribe.
Voting rights would be granted to other
citizens, namely African-Americans, only if
Wisconsin voters agreed.19
In addition to those denying the African-
American the right to vote prior to the civil
war, laws were also passed excluding anyone
of African descent from serving in the state
or community militia or on neighborhood
road crews. According to the Highway Act
of 1849, a poll tax payable in labor was re¬
quired of all male inhabitants of the state
except those of color and paupers, idiots and
lunatics.20
African-Americans in Wisconsin, were
however, accorded some legal rights, among
them the right to : 1 ) hold private or public
meetings; 2) testify in courts against whites;
3) seek redress of grievances through the
courts; 4) own or purchase property; 5) travel
without restrictions; 6) seek a free public ed¬
ucation; 7) serve on juries; 8) marry inter-
racially; and 9) work in an occupation.21
When compared with the laws of the sur¬
rounding states, Wisconsin’s acceptance of
African-Americans appeared to be liberal.
Ohio, Indiana, Illinois and Iowa, for exam¬
ple, had developed laws governing African-
Americans that closely resembled the Black
Codes in the South. Although they fared bet¬
ter in Wisconsin, the African-Americans of
the state decided that they must have the
right to vote and, with the assistance of mem¬
bers of the Euro-American community, set
about to obtain it.
Securing the right to vote for citizens of
African descent required several state-wide
referenda and finally a court suit. The first
referendum on the issue, held in 1847, was
defeated by the exclusively European-Ameri-
can electorate by a two-to-one margin. As
might be expected, the largest number of
votes in favor of granting the right to vote
to ctizens of African descent was cast in the
state’s eastern countries and most opposing
votes came from the western portion of the
state. Citizens of the Madison and Dane
County area voted overwhelmingly against
granting suffrage.22
In 1849, another referendum on the issue
was held. After some rather emotional de¬
bates, the Second State Constitutional Con¬
vention in Madison empowered a new state
legislature to grant “colored persons” the
right to vote. There was, however, a stipula¬
tion that this could be done only if a major¬
ity of the votes cast in the particular elec¬
tion were in favor of the proposal. This
stipulation proved to be a tremendous bar¬
rier, since the vote in favor of granting suf¬
frage to African-Americans was only 5265
out of a total of 31,000 votes cast in the
election. The State Board of Examiners,
therefore, declared the issue defeated.23
The issue was again an important question
for voters in the 1857 general election; and
again it was defeated. The disenfrancise-
ment of the African-American citizen con¬
tinued until 1866, when a court suit initiated
by Eziekiel Gillepsie, a Milwaukee citizen,
resulted in declaration of the election results
of 1849 as valid.24
The questions surrounding the role of
118
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
citizens of African descent in American
states and cities created the same emotional
fervor and divisiveness in Wisconsin as it
did in other geographical regions. For the
most part, the division appeared to have
regional and geographical bases. Those in
favor of full equality were located largely
in the eastern portion of the state, where
immigrants from non-slaveholding states had
settled; and those who held the most ardent
anti-black views were found in the western
counties. The philosophical differences on
the issue became even more pronounced as
the debate on slavery and equality reached
a fevered pitch throughout the country.
Euro-American rejection of the African-
American as a social being and citizen
heightened in 1861. As the Civil War
loomed, white Wisconsinites, and Dane
County residents in particular, became in¬
creasingly concerned about the possibility
of African-Americans migrating to their
cities and farms in greater numbers than ever
before. This concern soon generated several
attempts to pass laws similar to those of
Ohio, Indiana and Illinois that would ex¬
clude, or at least restrict, the migration of
African-Americans in Wisconsin.25
The first effort in this area was the intro¬
duction of a Negro Exclusion Bill in 1862
by Saterlee Clark, a Democratic senator
from Dodge County. This bill would have
dictated that: “(1) no blacks would be per¬
mitted to enter Wisconsin after August 1,
1862; (2) circuit courts would have to reg¬
ister blacks already residing in Wisconsin;
(3) those blacks already residents would
have to carry a certificate which proved they
resided in Wisconsin prior to the August 1
deadline; (4) no one could contract for any
additional blacks or mulattos to come into
Wisconsin to work; and (5) a $50 fine
would be levied against any black who ar¬
rived illegally or any person who hired
them.”
The bill, as proposed, was defeated. How¬
ever, in October, 1862, as refugees from the
South began to arrive in Wisconsin from
camps in Illinois, the issue was again joined,
and noted white Madisonians led the fight.
Among these leaders were the editors of the
Wisconsin Daily Patriot, S. D. Carpenter
and Horace A. Tenney. These gentlemen
contended that Wisconsin must forestall the
migration of the African-Americans, for
they would come into the state, take jobs as
laborers or domestics, and soon consider
themselves equal to white laborers. If this
happened, they claimed, Negroes would “eat
the bread of whites and white trash would
end up standing aside for the ‘colored gen¬
try.’ ” Such a situation was seen as abso¬
lutely untenable. Such equal treatment, ac¬
cording to Edward G. Ryan, leader of the
Wisconsin Democratic party, went against
the principles on which America was
founded. As far as he was concerned, Amer¬
ica was in the possession of the “white race,”
and the government of the country was de¬
signed to be carried on by “white men for
white men.”
The dangers of “black migration” to Wis¬
consin became so controversial that Peter
Deuster, a German immigrant and the editor
of the Milwaukee Seebote used the issue in
his campaign and was elected to the State
Assembly because of his promise to see that
African-Americans were not allowed into
Wisconsin. Soon after his election, he intro¬
duced a resolution that called for their ex¬
clusion. His reasons for asking for this re¬
striction were that:
1. Blacks coming to Wisconsin would end
up being injurious to white labor in that
they would take jobs white men should
have.
2. Blacks given such jobs would take posi¬
tions from whites who had gone off to
fight for the Union; therefore, it was the
duty of the legislature to protect the jobs
and homes of those soldiers.
3. Blacks should also be excluded because,
if permitted to migrate to Wisconsin, they
would soon become destitute and end up
in the poor house or jail.
1981]
Shade — Afro-Americans in Early Wisconsin
119
Although the Deuster resolution was killed
by being sent to a committee which refused
to report it on the floor, its language and
presentation represented the mind set that
was to deny African-American equality
again and again.
In 1863, the state legislature began to re¬
ceive petitions asking it to act again on a
Negro exclusion bill. As a result, the third
attempt was made through a legislative com¬
mittee formed to study the issue. In his ac¬
count of this incident, Edward Noyes sug¬
gests that the petition campaign that
prompted this third effort was connected to
the formation of Democratic Clubs across
the state under the auspices of the Knights
of the Golden Circle. But regardless of their
origin, the petitions came into the legislature
and contained the names of prominent citi¬
zens of Wisconsin as well as those of poor
and recent foreign-born immigrants. One
signer was George William Featherston-
haugh, Jr. who was the first signer of the
Wisconsin Constitution in 1848 — a consti¬
tution which had as its first article that all
citizens of Wisconsin were free and equal.
Dane County and Madison, in particular,
presented the second largest number of pe¬
titions, only slightly fewer than Dodge
County.
The legislative committee responsible for
reporting on exclusion suggested that, in the
interest of fairness and equality, nothing
should be done. In their opinion, all indi¬
viduals had a right to be judged on their own
merits and to move about America as they
pleased. In spite of their report, a minority
opinion was issued by Oscar F. Jones from
Dodge County and a third Negro Exclusion
Bill was introduced. The provisions of this
bill would: (1) make the exclusion act not
applicable to bona fide African-American
residents of the state; (2) fine any person
or corporation bringing an African-Ameri¬
can into the state a sum of $200; (3) make
all employers of African-Americans furnish
a surety bond. The bill also specified that if
an African-American became needy or a
public charge, the employer would have to
forfeit a total of $500 to the city or village
in which the African-American lived.
The bill and its substitute was tabled in
the Assembly; in the Senate, it was sent to
the Committee of Benevolent Institutions
where Senators Miles Young of Grant Coun¬
ty S. S. Wilkinson of Sauk County led the
opposition that resulted in its defeat. Al¬
though no further efforts were made to pro¬
hibit their immigration, the African-Ameri¬
can population of Wisconsin had been served
a warning that their presence was unwel¬
come.
Notes
1 Woodson, Carter G. A Century of Negro Mi¬
gration, Washington, D.C.: Association for the
Study of Negro Life and History, 1918.
2 Woodson, Carter G. Ibid.
3 Porter, Kenneth. The Negro on the American
Frontiers. Wisconsin Historical Collections, Vol¬
ume 11, 207.
4 Wisconsin Historical Collections, Volume 19,
page 11.
5 Wisconsin Historical Collections, Volume 19,
page 9, page 67. Wisconsin Historical Collection,
Volume 11, page 204.
6 Strong, Moses. History of Wisconsin Territory,
1836-1848. Madison: State Printers, 1885.
7 Wisconsin Historical Collections, Volume 19,
pages 83, 91, 97, 157.
8 Wisconsin Historical Collections, Volume 18,
page 497. Porter, Kenneth, op. cit., page 82.
u Kellogg, Louise, The French Regime in Wis¬
consin. Wisconsin Historical Collections, Volume
1.
10 Bennett, Lerone. The Shaping of Black Amer¬
ica. Chicago: Johnson Publishing Co., 1975.
11 Woodson, Carter G., op. cit.
12 Gordon, Milton. “Assimilation” in Greer,
Colin, Ethnic Experiences in America.
13 Lockwood, James. Early times and events in
Wisconsin. Wisconsin Historical Collections, 1903,
Volume 2, pages 98-196.
14 Lockwood, Ibid. Porter, Kenneth, Ibid.
15 Wisconsin Territorial Census, 1850. Lock¬
wood’s Narratives (1816). Although other indi¬
viduals of French-African descent intermarried
with Indians, the Gagnier-Menard families seemed
to marry Europeans in the area, a practice which,
120
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
though infusing African blood, soon led to the
absence of African identity and color in later gen¬
erations. In fact, in later census records, the mem¬
bers of the family previously identified as having
African blood were listed as European Americans
or were not given a race identity at all.
16 Lockwood, James, Ibid. Snelling, William M.
Early Days at Prairie Du Chein, and the Winne¬
bago Outbreak (1867). Wisconsin State Historical
Society Collections, Volume 5, pages 146-147.
17 Wisconsin Territorial Census, 1840.
18 Carter Clarence, Edwin (Ed), An Abolition¬
ist in Territorial Wisconsin, Wisconsin Magazine
of History, Volume 52, 1968-69. 3-17.
19 Fischel, Leslie. Wisconsin and Negro Suffrage,
Wisconsin Magazine of History, 46, 1963, pages
180-187.
20 Fischel, Leslie, Ibid.
21 Current, Richard, History of Wisconsin, Vol¬
ume 2, page 146. 1976.
22 Molstad, John. Wisconsin Attitude Toward
Negro Suffrage, Bachelors Thesis, University of
Wisconsin, 1900.
23 Fischel, Leslie, Ibid.
24 Fischel, Leslie, Ibid.
23 Noyes, Edward. “White Opposition to Black
Migration Into Civil War Wisconsin,” Lincoln
Herald, 1971, 73, 181-193.
EARLY PROBLEMS WITH LITTORAL DRIFT AT
SHORELINE HARBORS ON THE GREAT LAKES
James G. Rosenbaum
Milwaukee , Wisconsin
Abstract
In the mid- 1800’s, surveys on the Great Lakes documented and commented
upon the shoreline changes caused as newly constructed harbor jetties began to
interfere with the littoral drift. These jetties caused a predictable pattern of up-
drift accretion, downdrift erosion, and bar formation at the harbor mouth.
This early work can provide a gauge, or control, of the effects of an isolated
littoral barrier on an otherwise natural shoreline. In many areas, modern controls
are not available, because shorelines are now extensively modified by engineering
works.
Introduction
At a shoreline harbor, breakwaters and
jetties interfere with the normal littoral drift,
causing changes in shoreline configuration.
The beach commonly advances along the
area updrift from the structure; a bar usually
forms at the harbor entrance; downdrift
shoreline erosion increases so that the shore¬
line will recede. These problems began to
be widely discussed in engineering journals
in the last quarter of the nineteenth century
(Johnson, 1957). The history of the harbor
breakwater at Madras, India, was among the
earliest to receive widespread attention (Ver-
non-Harcourt, 1882; Spring, 1912-1913).
However, this paper will show that as early
as the 1830’s, surveys made along the shore¬
lines of the Great Lakes documented and
discussed shoreline changes that were caused
by breakwater and pier1 construction. It is
the author’s impression that many of these
early surveys have been overlooked, possibly
because their publication was limited to early
government documents.
1 Technically, a pier may be either of open
framework or of solid rock, rubble, etc.; the term
jetty is more precise in this context, i.e. a solid
barrier extended outward from shore into naviga¬
ble water. However, these were usually called
piers on the Great Lakes and that term is used in
this paper as synonymous with jetty.
As settlement progressed along the Great
Lakes, it became apparent that there were
few satisfactory natural harbors. In most
southern areas, the shoreline is regular and
smoothly curved. Rivers and estuaries that
drain into the lakes were commonly sep¬
arated from the lake by spits (Eaton, 1828;
Stockton, 1838; Cram, 1839). Entrance
channels were dredged through the spits,
their sides stabilized by jetties, whereupon
the littoral drift promptly extended the shore¬
line lakeward on the updrift side of the jet¬
ties and deposited shoals at the channel
mouth. Erosion appeared along the down-
drift shoreline. Engineers were primarily in¬
terested in the maintenance of a navigable
channel, so their work on the littoral drift
problem was mainly concerned with shoaling
and bar formation at the harbor mouth. En¬
gineers debated whether it was feasible to
prevent bar formation by extending the piers
farther lakeward, or by orienting the piers in
a special way, or whether the bar should sim¬
ply be removed by regular dredging (Gra¬
ham, 1858a; Cram, 1839). However, some
of the shoreline surveys extended for con¬
siderable distances updrift and downdrift of
the harbor structures, and show an aware¬
ness of the effects of harbor structures on
littoral processes of the neighboring shore¬
line. This early work is compatible with
121
House Ex.Doc N?L2^ Sesv 33^ Cony
Fig. 1. Grand River harbor, Ohio, 1854 (redrafted from Potter, 1854a). The successive sur¬
veys, made from 1826 through 1854, document progressive shore accretion updrift of the piers.
Downdrift, a minor zone of accretion trends into a zone of progressive erosion. The full extent
of the zone of erosion is not shown.
1981]
Rosenbaum — Littoral Drift at Shoreline Harbors
123
contemporary understanding of the effects
of shoreline structures (e.g. Johnson and
Eagleson, 1966; King, 1972; Rosenbaum,
1976), so most of the observations cited will
not require extensive comment.
The Surveys
The following surveys were selected for
their early date, for their coverage or dis¬
cussion of the shoreline updrift and down-
drift of the harbor structures, or for their
depiction of a large number of successive
shorelines.
Harbors on the South Shore of Lake Erie:
In a report on harbors along the Ohio and
Michigan shore of Lake Erie (Kearney and
others, 1839), it was observed that the har¬
bor piers:
“were commenced within the line of the
shore, as it stood when the piers were begun;
since which, in nearly every case, the shore
has advanced in the direction of the length
of the piers-in some cases to no great extent,
while in others, especially the more east-
wardly of the harbor, the beach has in¬
creased very much.” (pp. 147-148).
At Grand River, Ohio, the piers:
“extend beyond the present shore, the west
pier 555 feet, and the east pier 635 feet, the
beach having advanced, since commence¬
ment of the work, 1,180 feet on the west,
and 440 feet on the east side of the piers.”
(p. 180).
and it was noticed that
“A sand shoal has formed here as at Con-
neaut and Ashtabula, in advance of the piers,
and it has continued to progress with the
extension of the work.” (p. 180).
First appropriations for harbor improve¬
ment at Grand River were made by the Fed¬
eral government in 1825 (Abert, 1846). A
map published in 1854, of successive shore¬
line surveys (Potter, 1854a), provides a
record of progressive effects of the harbor
piers (Fig. 1). Surveys were made in 1826,
1833, 1839, 1844, 1853, and 1854. A bar,
with depths as little as 2.5 m (7.6 ft.) had
formed at the head of the piers. A large
area of accretion formed to the west of the
piers. A much smaller area of accretion
formed to the east, in an area that had been
a reentrant near the end of a spit. Farther
east, downdrift, the shoreline progressively
eroded over the period of record. This zone
of erosion apparently extended far beyond
the limits of the survey, since the progressive
landward displacement of the shorelines is
constant, or increasing, at the downdrift
limits of the map. Similarly situated zones of
accretion and erosion are shown on maps of
the harbors of Ashtabula (Potter, 1854b),
Conneaut (Potter, 1854c), Buffalo (Pettes,
1854), and Presqu’ile (Williams, 1838). It
is interesting that another map of Grand
River harbor (Potter, 1854d) is identical
to that in Fig. 1, except that the notations
“Potter’s Survey 1833” and “Lieut. Wood¬
ruff’s Survey 1844” have been deleted. These
notations identify previous shorelines in the
area downdrift of the jetties, in which there
had been shoreline recession. Conceivably,
this omission was an effort to direct attention
away from unfortunate consequences of
breakwater construction.
Another description of problems with lit¬
toral drift is presented in a report of Black
Rock harbor (Brown, 1837). This harbor
is now a northern extension of Buffalo har¬
bor.
“The pier which projects from the main
shore for the purpose of arresting the sand
in its progressive motion along the beach,
and preventing it from accumulating in the
Black Rock basin, has received no injury.
The accumulation of sand against the south
side of it, has, however, been so great, that
it begins to pass around the outer extremity
of the work, and the pier must be extended,
or, which could perhaps be more economical,
a new one constructed, about 300 yards to
the south of it, as was recommended last
year, in order to accomplish the object in
view. The cause, however, which produced
this motion of the sand, is constant and uni¬
form in its action, and I believe that nothing
will effectually remedy the evil short of en¬
tirely protecting the shore between Buffalo
124
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
Fig. 2. Chicago harbor (Cram, 1839) before first pier construction.
1981]
Rosenbaum — Littoral Drift at Shoreline Harbors
125
Chicago harbor, 1837 (Cram. 1839), showing early effects of the harbor piers
blocking the littoral drift.
126
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
Fig. 4. Chicago harbor, 1839 (Cram, 1839).
1981]
Rosenbaum — Littoral Drift at Shoreline Harbors
127
and Black Rock from the surf of Lake Erie,
or confining the sand in its place by a series
of parallel piers projecting from the beach
at suitable intervals, over nearly the whole of
the distance included between the present
pier and Buffalo Creek. The effect of this
latter mode would be to cut this beach into
small portions, each of which would assume
such a direction that the surf caused by the
prevailing westerly winds would no longer
produce a progressive motion towards the
north, in the particles of sand of which the
beach is composed. . . .”
A year later, Williams (1839) repeated
his concern that “the sands are accumulating
opposite the existing Black Rock pierhead to
an alarming degree . . . tending to fill up
the harbor, and also expressed alarm over
the recession of the shore to the north of
the pier, where the Erie canal was becoming
endangered.
Chicago Harbor, Lake Michigan
Figures 2, 3, and 4 (Cram, 1839) show
the progressive changes of the mouth of the
Chicago River following pier construction.
The precise date of the survey for Fig. 2 is
unknown, but is evidently before pier con¬
struction, the first appropriation for which
was made in 1833 (Abert, 1846). Figure 3,
dated October 15, 1837, exhibits a lakeward
shift of both the shoreline and sand bars up-
drift of the piers, and a diminution of the
sand bar and retreat of the shoreline down-
drift of the piers. Figure 4, dated September,
1839, shows the piers to have been extended,
and the updrift shoreline accumulation to
have been enlarged.
Although Figs. 2-4 document updrift
shoreline accretion, bar formation at the har¬
bor mouth, and downdrift shoreline reces¬
sion, the first specific comments on the latter
problem appear in a letter of February 17,
1840, in which the Mayor and Common
Council of Chicago petitioned the Federal
government to protect the city from the “en¬
croachments of Lake Michigan,” encroach¬
ments that were caused by effects of the har¬
bor piers (Raymond and others, 1840).
The officials maintained:
“That the construction and extension of the
piers forming the harbor at this place, having
caused such a change in the action and effect
of the waters on this shore of Lake Michi¬
gan, that immediately on the north side of
said piers land is gradually forming, while
on the south side thereof, it is rapidly dis¬
appearing. That, on the south side, this en¬
croachment of the lake has progressed to an
alarming extent, as will appear from the
diagram hereto annexed. That, unless it be
speedily arrested, a large portion of the best
part of our city will soon be overwhelmed.
That the cost of erecting a permanent barrier
against this invasion will be great; that our
city is poor, its revenues are scarcely ade¬
quate to meet its current expenses, much
less to undertake a work of this magnitude
and expense.”
A map, Fig. 5, accompanied this letter.
The line surveyed in 1821 probably corre¬
sponds to the edge of higher ground shown
in Fig. 2, rather than to the shoreline of the
spit; maximum retreat of the shoreline be¬
tween 1821 and 1840 was at least 61m (200
ft. ) . A notation on the copy of this map at the
office of the Corps of Engineers in Chicago
indicates that first work on the harbor piers
was done in 1833, not in 1836, as indicated
on the published version. It is possible that
existing work was rebuilt in 1836, accounting
for the discrepancy.
Further comment on the littoral processes
causing bar formation at the Chicago harbor
mouth was given by Col. J. D. Graham of
the United States Army Topographical Engi¬
neers, who, beginning in 1854, supervised
detailed surveys that included yearly posi¬
tions of the accreting shoreline in the area
to the north of the piers (Graham, 1857,
1858b). In a report (Graham, 1858a) he
advised:
“A reference to the six maps of Chicago
Harbor . . . will be sufficient to convince any
128
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
Fig. 5. Chicago harbor, 1840 (redrafted from Raymond and others, 1840). A notation on the
copy of this map at the Chicago office of the United States Army Corps of Engineers indi¬
cates that first pier work, done on the south pier, was commenced in 1833, not in 1836, as
here indicated. The earlier date coincides with the earliest appropriation (Albert, 1846).
Fig. 6. Successive shorelines from 1833 to 1869 at the Chicago harbor (adapted from
Wheeler, 1869). The line surveyed in 1821 probably corresponds to the edge of higher ground
shown in Fig. 2.
130
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
one that however often this bar may be re¬
moved by dredging, it will re-form itself by
the deposits caused by the meeting of the
littoral or shore current of the lake with the
obstruction of the east end of the north pier;
and, moreover, that it will always assume
identically the same direction, shape, and
dimensions, as to width, which it had before
being cut away by dredging. . . . Here, then,
we have the uniform effect of a fixed hy¬
draulic law. . . .” (p. 1103).
Shoreline changes at Chicago from 1833
to 1869 have been summarized in Fig. 6,
which is based on an unpublished map by
Wheeler (1869). Similar published maps
are those by Graham (1857, 1858b). The
outline of the spits has been manually trans¬
ferred from Fig. 2, and the 1840 shoreline
south of the river has been transferred from
Fig. 5. The 1836 shoreline south of the
river is that shown on Chicago Harbor
Auxiliary Map A32 (Anon., n.d.). Dates
entered parallel to the north jetty indicate
the year of construction of the respective
jetty segment, and were obtained from Rey¬
nolds (1865) and Chicago Harbor Auxiliary
map A74 (Anon., n.d.). Wheeler’s map and
the Auxiliary Maps are in the collection of
the Chicago District Office, U.S. Army Corps
of Engineers.
To the north of the harbor jetties, yearly
changes in shoreline position following jetty
construction are indicated. The original
shore presumably corresponds to the water’s
edge of the sandy area shown in Fig. 2. The
shore of 1821 may represent the edge of
higher ground, also indicated in Fig. 2.
The position of the paired spits has been
approximated from Fig. 2. The approximate
position of these spits was also shown by
Alden (1902). In that work, the river
mouth between the spits falls along a line
between Madison and Washington Street,
rather than east of Randolph Street, as indi¬
cated here. Alden also positioned the spits
about 100 m (300 ft.) farther lakeward
than shown here.
In Fig. 6, the position of the sand bar is
after Wheeler (1869). The 12 ft. bottom
contour is hardly affected by the jetty work
of 1868 and 1869, suggesting that the bar’s
position was determined by littoral condi¬
tions that prevailed before the addition of
those outermost jetty segments.
South of the harbor jetties, shorelines of
1821, 1836, 1840, 1844, and 1853-1869
are indicated. If the 1821 shoreline repre¬
sents the edge of high ground, a narrow
band of low riverbank probably separated
it from the Chicago River, as indicated on
Fig. 2. However, this low ground is not
shown in Fig. 6.
It is evident that by 1853 there had been
substantial retreat of almost the entire shore¬
line downdrift of the jetties. In that year, or
in 1852, railroad track was laid south of the
Chicago River along a right-of-way granted
in 1852 (Hart, 1853). This grant required
that the railroad construct a breakwater to
protect the eroding shoreline south of the
Chicago River (Brownson, 1915, p. 55).
Track was laid on a trestle in shallow water,
the trestle being protected by a shore-paral¬
lel breakwater. The natural shoreline, which
had advanced to Michigan Avenue, was
thus made part of a lagoon, and erosion in
this area was halted, although it is likely
that such relief was at the expense of areas
downdrift of the breakwater’s termination.
As at Grand River, Ohio, the zone of
erosion downdrift of the harbor jetties ap¬
parently extended well beyond the down-
drift limits of the surveyed area. Near the
survey’s limits, at Twelfth Street, the
1853-1869 shoreline is 77 m (235 ft.) land¬
ward from the 1821 shoreline, and 99 m
(300 ft.) inland from the 1836 shore.
The survey of 1844 is the last record of
the natural shoreline in the area between the
Chicago River and Madison Street. This area
became the site for landfill, on which the
railroad yards were later constructed.
In 1871, Col. D. C. Houston compared
the erosion problem at Chicago to that oc-
1981]
Rosenbaum — Littoral Drift at Shoreline Harbors
131
curring at Minnesota Point, Duluth-Superior,
on Lake Superior, noting that:
“at Chicago and vicinity, where the lake
drift caused by northeasterly storms is south¬
ward, that when a pier is built out into the
lake and the drift arrested, the shore to the
south is cut away, and works of some kind
are necessary to protect it. Large amounts
of money have been expended in such pro¬
tections on the lake front of Chicago, south
of the harbor.” (Newton, 1872).
Discussion
Figures 1-6 depict situations in which
harbor piers acted as littoral barriers, caus¬
ing accretion along the updrift shoreline, re¬
cession along the downdrift shoreline, and
deposition on the lake bottom near the piers’
entrance. Unfortunately, with the possible
exception of Fig. 5, these surveys do not
extend far enough downdrift to enable one
to determine the limits of the zone of shore¬
line recession. Fig. 6 suggests that this zone
is very large.
The surveys demonstrate that there is a
progressive reduction in the rate of advance
of the shoreline updrift of newly constructed
piers. Graham (1858a) noted this trend in
suggesting that:
“in proportion as the general direction of
this new shore line approaches to a coinci¬
dence with the direction or thread of this
littoral current, the increase is much less
rapid, nearly in the inverse ratio of the
elapsed time.” (p. 1104).
The advance of the shoreline into the lake
presumably allows a progressively larger
portion of the littoral drift to migrate past
the piers. It is also conceivable that the rate
of the shoreline advance is slowed due to the
geometry of the area of accretion, in which
the accretion takes place along the hypote¬
nuse of similar triangles, so that the avail¬
able drift material must be distributed over
an ever larger area. One must be cautious,
however, in considering relationships be¬
tween the length of the piers and the rate
of change of successive shorelines shown on
these maps, since the piers were built in
stages. The piers shown were usually more
extensive than the initial piers which first
impeded the littoral drift at each site.
Lake level changes cannot account for
rapid local variations of either the rate or
direction of shoreline change shown on these
maps. Records show that the shoreline in the
areas updrift of the piers advanced at the
same time that downdrift shores retreated.
The map of Grand River harbor (Fig. 1),
records the shoreline in 1826, 1833, 1839,
1844, 1853, and 1854, periods of both ris¬
ing and falling lake levels (Williams and
others, 1838; Whipple, 1859?; Henry and
Lamson, 1861), yet it shows progressive
accretion updrift of the harbor piers, and
progressive erosion over most of the area
downdrift of the piers.
Some of the surveys show little shoreline
change, or even slight accretion, along the
shoreline immediately downdrift of the
downdrift pier (Kearney and others, 1839;
and Figs. 1, 4, 5, and 6). When present,
these accretions are smaller than those occur¬
ring updrift of the piers, and are succeeded
downdrift by an extensive area of erosion.
The piers apparently cause a local reversal
of the littoral drift along a small part of the
downdrift shoreline (Sato and Irie, 1970;
Johnson and Eagleson, 1966), thus causing
the minor accretion along the piers’ down-
drift flank.
These surveys provide a guage of the ef¬
fects of an isolated littoral barrier on an
otherwise natural shoreline. Today, various
groins, seawalls, rubble mounds, and revet¬
ments line large sections of the shore, and
make it difficult to evaluate the effects of a
single structure. The individual or cumula¬
tive effect of the proliferation of modern
structures may interfere with the normal
littoral drift, and thus mask or reinforce the
effect of any particular structure under con¬
sideration. In the early case histories just dis-
132
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
cussed, there are few, if any, smaller struc¬
tures to complicate the interpretation.
Conclusions
In the 1830’s, survey on the Great Lakes
began to document the problems caused by
littoral drift at shoreline harbor works. Most
of these surveys were performed by the
United States Army Topographical Engi¬
neers. The surveys found a recurring pattern
of beach accretion along the shoreline that
was updrift of the harbor piers, sediment
deposition on the lake bottom near the har¬
bor entrance, and beach erosion and shore¬
line retreat along the downdrift shoreline,
problems that began to receive a great deal
of attention half a century later (Vernon-
Harcourt, 1882; Spring, 1913-1914), and
which have continued to plague breakwater
and pier construction to the present.
Acknowledgments
I appreciate the assistance of the staff of
the Milwaukee Public Library, the U.S.
Army Corps of Engineers — Chicago District,
and the Chicago Historical Society. I thank
Dr. R. H. Dott, Jr. and Dr. Howard Pincus
for reviewing the manuscript. Figs. 1, 5 and
6 were re-drafted by Irina Fiveysky.
References Cited
Abert, J. J. 1846. Report of the Secretary of
War, in answer to a resolution of the Senate,
calling for a statement of appropriations for
construction and repair of roads, fortifica¬
tions, and harbors, and for the improvement
of rivers. Bureau Corps of Topographical
Engineers, House Reports v.4, n.741, 30th
Cong., 1st Sess., 1847-1848, Serial-527,
pp. 283-305.
Alden, W. C. 1902. Chicago Folio, No. 81,
Geol. Atlas of the U.S. U.S. Geol. Survey.
Washington, D.C. 14 pp.
Anonymous, n.d. Chicago Harbor Auxiliary
Map A32. Collection of the Chicago Dis¬
trict, U.S. Army Corps of Eng. Also Map
A74, same source.
Brown, T. S. 1837. Documents accompanying
the report of the Chief Engineer — B. Senate
Docs, v.l, n.l, 25th Cong., 2nd Sess., 1837-
1838, Serial 314, p. 319-325.
Brownson, H. G. 1915. History of the Illinois
Central Railroad. University of Illinois
Studies in the Social Sciences, v.4, nos. 3-4,
182 pp.
Claussen, M. P., and Friis, H. R. 1941. De¬
scriptive Catalogue of Maps published by
Congress 1817-1843. Washington, D.C.,
104 pp.
Cram, T. J. 1839. Report on harbor improve¬
ments on Lake Michigan, by Captain T. J.
Cram, Captain Topographical Engineers, in
Report from The Secretary of War, trans¬
mitting copies of reports of the Topographi¬
cal Bureau in relation to internal improve¬
ments in the Territory of Wisconsin, in obe-
diance to a resolution of the Senate of the
15th instant, January 31, 1840. Senate
Docs., v.4, n.140 26th Cong., 1st Sess.,
1839-1840. Serial 357, pp. 16-21.
Eaton, J. H. 1828. Letter from the Secretary
of War, transmitting a survey and estimate
for the improvement of the Harbor of Chi¬
cago on Lake Michigan. House Docs, v.3,
n.69, 21st Cong., 1st Sess., 1829-1830, Se¬
rial 197, 3 pp.
Graham, J. D. 1856. Map G. No. 44 Chicago
Harbor & Bar Illinois. From survey made
11-14 Nov., 1856. Nat’l. Archives Collec¬
tion, Washington, D.C. Scale 1:2400.
- 1857. Map G. No. 52 Chicago
Harbor & Bar Illinois. From survey made in
April, 1857. Senate Doc. No. 1, House Doc.
No. 2, 35th Cong., 2nd Sess., 1858-1859,
Serial 978, scale 1:2400.
- 1858a. Lieutenant Colonel J. D. Gra¬
ham’s report (No. 230) on the Lake harbor
works under his direction, for the year 1858.
Office, General Superintendence of Lake
Harbor works, Chicago. Senate Ex. Docs.
v.3, n.l, 35th Cong., 2nd Sess., 1858-1859,
Serial 976, pp. 1099-1192.
- 1858b. Map G. No. 58, Chicago Har¬
bor & Bar, Illinois, from survey made be¬
tween the 7th of August and the 2nd of Sep¬
tember 1858. Senate Ex. Docs, v.4, 36th
Cong., 1st Sess., 1859-1860, Serial 1026.
Scale 1:2400.
1981]
Rosenbaum — Littoral Drift at Shoreline Harbors
133
Hart, H. 1853. City of Chicago, Cook Co.,
Illinois. Chicago Hist. Soc. Collection. Scale
1:4800.
Henry, D. F., and Lamson, A. C. 1861. Table
#3, Profile of the Curves of the Annual
Oscillations in the Five Great Lakes and
Detroit River, for the Years, from 1851 to
1861, compiled from data in the office of
the Survey of the North and North West
Lakes under the direction of Captain George
G. Meade. Senate Ex. Docs., v.3, n.l, 36th
Cong., 2nd Sess., 1860-1861, Serial 1081.
Houston, D. C. 1871. Official letter, quoted in
W. H. Newton, Report of W. H. Newton,
C.E., to the Governor of Wisconsin for Spe¬
cial Survey of Superior Harbor, November
22, 1872. Madison, Wis. 29 pp.
Johnson, J. W. 1957. The littoral drift problem
at shoreline harbors. Journal of the Water¬
ways and Harbors Division, American So¬
ciety of Civil Engineers, v.83, n.WWl, pa¬
per 1211, 37 pp.
- , and Eagleson, P. S. 1966, Coastal
Processes, in Ippen, A. T., ed., Estuary and
Coastline Hydrodynamics. New York, Mc¬
Graw-Hill, pp. 404-492.
Kearney, J., Smith, H., and Bowes, J. R. 1838.
Message from the President of the United
States, showing the operations of the Topo¬
graphical Bureau during the year 1839; Ap¬
pendix D, Report of the Board of Inspection
of Lake Harbors, Detroit, July, 1839. Senate
Docs, v.l, n.58, 26th Cong., 1st Sess., 1839-
1840, Serial 355, pp. 146-271.
King, C. A. M. 1972. Beaches and Coasts (sec¬
ond edition). London, Edward Arnold,
570 pp.
Pettes, W. H. 1854. Map of the Buffalo Har¬
bor, N.Y., Topographical Bureau: labelled
Senate Ex. Doc. n.l, 2nd Sess., 33rd Cong.;
bound in House Docs, v.l, pt.3, 33rd Cong.,
2nd Sess., 1854-1855, Serial 779, and in
Senate Ex. Docs, v.3, 33rd Cong., 2nd Sess.,
1854-1855, Serial 748, scale 1:3600.
Potter, J. 1854a. Grand River Harbor, Ohio.
House Ex. Doc. No. 1, 2nd Sess., 33rd
Cong., scale 1 :4800.
1854b. Ashtabula Harbor, Ohio. Senate
Ex. Doc. n.l, 2nd Sess., 33rd Cong., scale
1:2400.
1854c. Conneaut Harbor, Ohio. Senate
Ex. Doc. n.l, 2nd Sess., 33rd Cong., scale
1:4800.
The above three maps made under auspices
of Office General Superintendent of Public
Works, Cleveland. Howard Stansbury, Capt.
Top’l Engrs. in Senate Ex. Docs, v.3, 33rd
Cong., 2nd Sess. 1854-1855, Serial 748.
(b) and (c) are also in House Ex. Doc. v.l,
pt.3, 33rd Cong., 2nd Sess., Serial 779, In
the latter volume, (a) has been slightly al¬
tered, see Potter, 1854d.
- . 1854d. Grand River Harbor, Ohio.
Senate Ex. Doc. n.l, 2nd Sess., 33rd Cong.,
in House Ex. Doc. v.l, pt.3, 33rd Cong.,
2nd Sess., Serial 779, scale 1:4800.
Raymond, B. W., and others. 1840. Petition of
the Mayor and Common Council of the City
of Chicago, praying an appropriation to
protect that city from the encroachments of
Lake Michigan. Senate Docs., v.4, n.195,
26th Cong., 1st Sess., 1839-1840, Serial 357,
4 pp. with map, approx, scale 1:4800.
Reynolds, W. F. 1865. The main part of the
harbor of Chicago, Ill., Surveyed July-Sept.,
1865. Colin. Chi. Distr., U.S. Army Corps
Engrs. Scale 1 :3600.
Rosenbaum, J. G. 1976. Shoreline structures as
a cause of shoreline erosion: a review, in
Tank, R. W., ed., Focus on Environmental
Geology: a collection of case histories and
readings from original sources (second edi¬
tion). New York, Oxford University Press,
pp. 166-179.
Sato, S., and Irie, I. 1970. Variation of topog¬
raphy of sea-bed caused by the construction
of breakwaters. Proceedings of the Twelfth
Coastal Engineering Conference, American
Society of Civil Engineers, pp. 1301-1319.
Spring, F. J. E. 1913. Coastal Sand-travel near
Madras harbour. Minutes Proceedings Insti¬
tution of Civil Engineers, v.194, 1914, pp.
153-246.
Stockton, T. B. W. 1838. Report from the
Secretary of War, in compliance with a reso¬
lution of the Senate of the 14th instant,
transmitting a copy of the survey of the
harbor of City West. Senate Docs., v.3,
n.225, 25th Cong., 2nd Sess., 1837-1838,
Serial 316, 3 pp.
134
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
Vernon-Harcoart, L. F. 1881-1882. Harbors
and estuaries on sandy coasts. Minutes Pro¬
ceedings Institution of Civil Engineers, v.70,
1881-1882, pp. 1-32.
Wheeler, J. B. 1869. Chicago Harbor and Bar,
Illinois, from survey 20 July-30 Aug., 1869.
Colin. Chi. Distr., U.S. Army Corps of
Engrs. Scale 1:4800.
Whipple, A. 1859? Chart A, chart of annual
oscillations of lake surface. Senate Ex. Doc.
n.2, 36th Cong., 1st Sess., bound in Senate
Ex. Docs, v.4, 36th Cong., 1st Sess., 1859-
1860, Serial 1026.
Williams, W. G., and others. 1838. Harbor
Improvements on Lake Erie, in Documents
accompanying the Report of the Topographi¬
cal Engineer. Senate Docs, v.l, n.l, 25th
Cong., 3rd Sess., 1838-1839, Serial 338,
pp. 373-395. Includes four maps; two Pres-
qu’ile harbor, one each of Dunkirk and
Cataraugus harbors.
- . 1839. Appendix B: Annual report of
Captain W. G. Williams, U.S. Topographical
Engineer and General Superintendent of
Harbor Improvements, on the southeast
shore of Lake Erie. Submitted September
30, 1839, in Message from the President of
the United States showing the operations of
the topographical Bureau during the year
1839. Sen. Doc. v.l, n.58, 26th Cong., 1st
Sess., 1839-1840, Serial 355, pp. 107-139.
CHEMISTRY AT THE UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN,
1848-1980
Aaron J. Ihde
University of W isconsin-Madison
Despite the enthusiasm of proponents for
the new university created when Wisconsin
became a state in 1848, the fledgling institu¬
tion got off to an inauspicious start. It ap¬
peared improbable, during its first quarter-
century, that a hundred years later it would
rank among the top dozen universities in the
country, with strong faculties in more than a
score of academic fields, including chemistry,
biochemistry, and chemical engineering.1
When Professor John Sterling met 17 stu¬
dents for the first preparatory class on Feb¬
ruary 5, 1849, chemistry was not even a part
of the curriculum. It was not until May,
1854, that S. P. Lathrop joined the faculty
in time to teach chemistry to the two stu¬
S. Pearl Lathrop (1816-1854)
Prof, of Chemistry and Natural History, 1854
dents who soon became the first graduates of
the university.2
During the next 25 years chemistry had
little prominence in the curriculum. The pro¬
fessor of chemistry was also professor of
natural history, or of agriculture. Lathrop,
the first professor, died before the end of
1854. His successor, Ezra S. Carr, did not
appear in Madison until January, 1856.
While some of the students found him a
worthy teacher, he expended much energy
on campus politics and resigned in 1867,
just prior to being discharged. His professor¬
ship of chemistry and natural history went
to a recent graduate of Lawrence University
and the Chicago Medical College, John Da-
Ezra S. Carr (1819-1894)
Prof, of Chemistry and Natural History, 1856-1868
135
136
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
vies, the third occupant of the chemistry
chair to come out of the medical profession.3
The coming of Davies was coincident with
the beginning of better days for the univer¬
sity. It had barely survived its first decade
because of financial problems. The second
decade was hardly better since the Civil War
decimated enrollments, causing further prob¬
lems which were only partially resolved by
admission of women to the normal depart¬
ment, set up for the training of schoolteach¬
ers.
The post-war years, however, were good
ones for higher education in America. Pas¬
sage of the Morrill Act provided land grants
by which the federal government encouraged
the states to establish colleges of agriculture
and mechanic arts. Wisconsin did not follow
the paths of Ohio, Indiana, Michigan, Iowa,
California, and other states who set aside
their land grants for state colleges of agri¬
culture and engineering. Instead, the Wis¬
consin legislature, in spite of considerable
opposition, assigned its land grant to the
existing university. While this may have de¬
layed the growth of a viable agricultural
college, it injected strength into the existing
university without preventing the ultimate de¬
velopment of a leading agricultural pro¬
gram.4
In line with the mandate to provide in¬
struction in agriculture, the university
brought W. W. Daniells to the campus in
early 1868 as the first professor of agricul¬
ture. A graduate of the Michigan Agricul¬
tural College (present Michigan State U),
he had just spent a year in Harvard’s Law¬
rence Scientific School studying chemistry
with O. Wolcott Gibbs. Since Wisconsin
farm boys stayed away from the new agricul¬
tural department in droves, Daniells’ princi¬
pal activity was teaching chemistry and man¬
aging the college farm. During his first year
in Madison his title became Professor of
Agriculture and Analytical Chemistry. Even
in his first term he taught chemical analysis
to a single student, using a carpenter’s bench
in the basement of University Hall (Bascom)
as a work table.5
During the next decade Davies’ work fo¬
cused more and more on physics and astron¬
omy while Daniells took over great responsi¬
bility for chemistry. The agricultural pro¬
gram was a disappointment, whether be¬
cause of or in spite of Daniells is unclear. At
any rate, ‘book lamin’ was unpopular with
Wisconsin farmers and their sons stayed
home or enrolled in other courses. Mean¬
while Daniells became disenchanted with
management of the university farm, which
was expected to show a profit. In 1880 when
the chemistry program was given depart¬
mental status with Daniells as its first chair¬
man and sole professor, he was happy to
turn the agricultural program over to Wil¬
liam Henry, the new botany professor.
The university had reached the point where
professors were expected to be specialists in
a single discipline. Davies had already aban¬
doned chemistry and was now the chairman
W. W. Daniells (1840-1911)
Prof, of Agriculture and Chemistry, 1868-1880
Prof, of Chemistry and Chairman, 1880-1907
1981]
lhde — Chemistry at U.W., 1848-1980
137
of the physics department. In addition, Ro¬
land Irving was professor of geology, Ed¬
ward Holden of astronomy, William Henry
of botany (and agriculture), E. A. Birge of
zoology, and Sterling of mathematics.
The eighties was a decade of rapid growth
in enrollment and faculty size. It was during
this decade that Thomas Chrowder Cham¬
berlin took over the presidency from John
Bascom. Since 1874 Bascom had directed
the growth of the university and overseen
the separation of clustered disciplines into
departments and the expansion of these de¬
partments. He had engaged in a renewed
building program which included a Science
Hall and an Observatory outfitted with an
excellent 15-inch refractor. An engineering
program had been stabilized, a pharmacy
course initiated under the guidance of the
talented plant chemist, Frederick Power, and
agriculture given an investigatory mission
even though there were no students. Schol¬
arly investigation had begun to emerge, most
notably in the work of historian William F.
Allen and geologist Roland Irving.6
Chamberlin continued the momentum
generated under Bascom. A leading Ameri¬
can geologist who had been prominently as¬
sociated with the Wisconsin Geological Sur¬
vey, Chamberlin recognized those moves
which were essential to change the parochial
image which had characterized the university
in the past. Henry was encouraged to build
the agriculture department into an activity
having interest to Wisconsin’s farmers. A
short course was opened during the winter
months when farm work was minimal. If
farm boys would not enter the university for
a complete education, they might at least
spend the winter in Madison gaining knowl¬
edge of new ideas in farm practice. The ex¬
periment was a success. A few years later,
after S. M. Babcock perfected the famous
test for butterfat in milk, a short course for
cheesemakers was created.7
Perhaps most important in the Chamber¬
lin presidency was the evolution of a serious
graduate program under the direction of
astronomer George Comstock. Masters de¬
grees had been granted from 1856 but they,
like masters degrees granted by many Amer¬
ican colleges in the nineteenth century, were
more nearly representative of good behavior
for a few years following receipt of the bac¬
calaureate degree, than of a serious intellec¬
tual input. In 1874, during Bascom’s presi¬
dency, the first M.S. degrees in course, were
granted. The graduate program escalated
during the Chamberlin period with the first
Ph.D. being granted in 1892 for studies in
geology. The recipient was Richard Van
Hise, who stayed as Professor of Geology
and in 1903 became the University’s eighth
president. Van Hise, following receipt of his
B.S. in 1879, had served Daniells as an as¬
sistant in chemistry.8
Chamberlin left Madison in 1892 to be¬
come a professor of geology at Chicago
where Rockefeller money had just created a
vigorous university with a strong faculty at¬
tracted from less affluent institutions. The
new president, Charles Kendall Adams, was
a man of repute in educational circles who,
despite poor health, continued the momen¬
tum established under Bascom and Cham¬
berlin.
The chemistry department continued the
growth that had started under Bascom and
Chamberlin. Daniells, while not a brilliant
chemist or teacher, was nevertheless a con¬
scientious, hardworking professor who was
not afraid to hire faculty members whose
qualifications exceeded his own. Homer Hil-
lyer came in 1885, fresh from a Ph.D. under
Ira Remsen at Johns Hopkins. He took over
and expanded the work in organic chemistry.
Although he never became a leader in this
field, he developed a modest research pro¬
gram and served as advisor for those chem¬
istry majors doing work toward senior and
masters’ theses.9 Among these students was
a second generation German-American from
Two Rivers, Louis Kahlenberg.
In 1892, following completion of his B.S.,
138
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
Kahlenberg was made a fellow in chemistry
while he completed work for his master’s
degree under Hillyer. At that point, he be¬
came an instructor in the department.
During this period Kahlenberg was hear¬
ing about the work in the new area of physi¬
cal chemistry which was developing in Ger¬
many. He resigned his instructorship in
1894 and embarked for Leipzig to study
under Wilhelm Ostwald, the recognized mas¬
ter of the new discipline. His Ph.D. was
granted, summa cum laude, in 1895. Kahlen¬
berg headed back to America, enthusiastic
about the new physical chemistry being cre¬
ated by Arrhenius, van’t Hoff, and Ostwald.
Upon arrival in Madison Kahlenberg
learned that the chemistry department had
hired Arthur P. Saunders, a recent Ph.D.
from Johns Hopkins. There was no room for
another man on the staff. Thereupon, Kahl¬
enberg called upon Edward Kremers, direc¬
tor of the pharmacy program, who hired him
as instructor of pharmaceutical technique
Louis Kahlenberg (1870-1941)
U.W. Chemistry Faculty, 1896-1940
Chairman, 1907-1919
and physical chemistry. Thus, physical chem¬
istry had its origins at Wisconsin in the
school of pharmacy, not in the department
of chemistry. The absurdity of the situation
was rectified a year later when Saunders re¬
signed to take a Wanderjahre in Germany
and Kahlenberg was appointed instructor in
physical chemistry.10
Immediately after returning to Wisconsin
Kahlenberg initiated a research program in
chemistry of solutions. He was soon joined
by a few undergraduates and graduate stu¬
dents. The first Ph.D. in chemistry was con¬
ferred upon Azariah T. Lincoln in 1899 for
research on solutions done under Kahlen-
berg’s direction, the second, in 1901, on
Kahlenberg’s boyhood friend, Herman
Schlundt. Both of these men went on the
respected careers as academic chemists, Lin¬
coln as chairman of the chemistry depart¬
ment for many years at Carleton College,
Schlundt holding a similar position at the
University of Missouri.11
From the early years of the twentieth
century, the chemistry department began to
acquire visibility, not only in the university
but on the national chemical scene. This was
coincident with a vigorous period of devel¬
opment under President Van Hise (1903-
1918) when the university acquired a unique
image in the educational world. Van Hise
had entered the presidency as a respected
leader in stratigraphic geology. He knew,
from his involvement in the development of
mineral deposits, the potential for successful
interplay between academicians and those
in practical endeavors. During his presidency
that potential was exploited, particularly in
the interface between education and govern¬
ment, in the form of what became known as
The Wisconsin Idea. Van Hise believed that
“The boundaries of the University are the
boundaries of the State.”12
The circumstances were propitious since
Robert M. LaFollette had been elected Gov¬
ernor in 1900. He and the university devel¬
oped a symbiotic relationship whereby uni-
1981]
Ihde— Chemistry at U.W., 1848-1980
139
versity professors were used as advisors in
developing those governmental innovations
which came to be known as the Progressive
Movement. At the same time, the university
found at the Capitol end of State Street a
more sympathetic attitude than during its
first half century.
During the period between 1900 and the
end of World War I the chemistry depart¬
ment grew rapidly, not only in enrollment in
courses and size of faculty, but in national
recognition. While only a handful of gradu¬
ate students were enrolled in 1900, there
were 42 in 1920. Some of this increase is
attributable to the post-war enthusiasm for
chemistry in all graduate schools, but even
before the war there had been a steady
growth in the number of students who se¬
lected Wisconsin for graduate study in chem¬
istry.13
Victor Lenher was added to the chemistry
staff in 1900, very largely to strengthen the
program in analytical and inorganic chem¬
istry. He had taken a Ph.D. with Edgar
Fahs Smith at Pennsylvania in 1898. Lenher
initiated a research program in the chemistry
of the lesser-known elements and, at the
time of his death in 1927, probably from
toxic metal poisoning, he was widely recog¬
nized for his work on selenium and tel¬
lurium.14
Hillyer, who was pushed out of the
department in 1905, joined the National
Chemical Co.; he was replaced by a promis¬
ing young organic chemist, Frederick Koel-
ker, who had just completed his Ph.D. with
Emil Fischer in Berlin. Koelker’s career was
short-lived; he entered a mental institution
in 1909 and died two years later. Responsi¬
bilities for organic chemistry were taken
over by Richard Fischer, a member of the
pharmacy faculty, when Koelker became ill.
Fischer had, following degrees in pharmacy
and chemistry at Michigan, been an instruc¬
tor in pharmacy at Wisconsin. In 1898 he
started graduate work in Germany, spend¬
ing a term with Emil Fischer in Berlin, then
migrating to Marburg where he completed
the Ph.D. under Ernst Schmidt, authority on
alkaloids, in 1900. He immediately returned
to Wisconsin as assistant professor of phar¬
macy and in 1903, took on the added duties
of State Chemist, responsible for enforce¬
ment of the dairy and food laws. Soon after
taking over Koelker’s courses he was made
a permanent member of the chemistry de¬
partment.15
When Daniells approached retirement in
1907, Kahlenberg was the obvious choice
for chairman. His teaching style had given
him an awed, but admiring, following. His
research had gained him international, albeit
contentious, attention. Although he had re¬
turned to America with great enthusiasm for
the new theory of solutions, as had other
American boys who studied in Ostwald’s
laboratory, Kahlenberg’s research program
at Wisconsin soon recognized shortcomings
in the official dogma of ionization theory.
Studies on nonaqueous solvents, as well as
work on concentrated solutions, convinced
Kahlenberg that supporters of the theories
of Arrhenius and van’t Hoff were extending
the power of those theories beyond the dic¬
tates of good sense. Never one to retire from
an area of contention, Kahlenberg opened
a lifelong attack on the theory of ionization.
This earned him the enmity of most physical
chemists but there is evidence that he gloried
in their disapproval. At any rate, it did not
deter his superiors from appointing him to
the departmental chairmanship. He entered
into the work with enthusiasm. Staff expan¬
sion was quickly made and the department
created the Chemistry Course.16
James H. Walton, with a doctorate under
Georg Bredig in Heidelberg, was brought
into the faculty in 1907, in part to spread
the responsibility for the growing freshman
chemistry instruction, in part to introduce a
new dimension into the research program.
At about the same time Francis Krauskopf,
still a graduate student at Cornell, was
brought in to help with the freshman pro-
140
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
gram. Upon the strong recommendation of
Cornell’s Wilder D. Bancroft, under whom
Krauskopf was studying, he was invited to
take an instructorship at Wisconsin. There
he completed his Ph.D. under Kahlenberg
and became a permanent member of the
faculty. During their first decade at Wiscon¬
sin he and Walton played a very secondary
role to Kahlenberg in the freshman chem¬
istry program but after the post-war reor¬
ganization they took over full responsibility
for all general chemistry students except the
engineers. Despite a marked difference in
personality, they complemented each other
and made an effective team. Walton was an
austere New Englander of forbidding physi¬
cal physique who disliked detail, but had a
compulsive drive to make policy; Krauskopf
was a gentle soul with enormous patience
for detail, but an intolerance for fools and
the irresponsible. Both were talented teach¬
ers who, for four decades, orchestrated the
evergrowing service course with remarkable
effectiveness. Each pursued a modest re¬
search program, but their real forte was in
the classroom. They died within six months
of one another, a year short of retirement,
in 1947. 17
Except for a few instructors whose asso¬
ciation with the department was transient,
the pre-war faculty was completed with the
return of J. Howard Mathews and the ad¬
vancement of H. A. Schuette. Both had been
undergraduates in the department. After
Mathews finished his M.S. under Kahlen¬
berg he continued his graduate studies un¬
der T. W. Richards at Harvard. Richards
had an international reputation as a result
of his accurate work on atomic weights and,
in 1914, became the first American Nobel
laureate in chemistry. In 1908, upon com¬
pletion of his Ph.D., Mathews joined the
Wisconsin faculty. Schuette, a bit younger,
completed his B.S. in 1910 and stayed on
for graduate work with Professor Fischer.
In 1914, two years before completing his
doctorate, he took over Fischer’s courses in
food analysis and developed that area during
the remainder of his career.
The pre-war faculty represented a diversity
of fields and presented a program of broad
appeal. Graduate students were attracted
from a wide geographic base and by 1910
several Ph.D.’s were being awarded annu¬
ally. Still, all was not harmonious. Kahlen¬
berg monopolized the graduate students and
his autocratic behavior as chairman led to
factionalism in the department. His effec¬
tiveness was further jeopardized by the man¬
ner in which he was becoming isolated from
the mainstream of American chemistry be¬
cause of his opposition to ions. Nevertheless
he had the firm support of President Van
Hise; the chemistry department was looked
upon favorably by the university commu¬
nity.18
During the war years the strains within
the department were exacerbated. Wiscon¬
sin, with a large German ethnic population,
was suspect with regard to loyalty to the
American cause. Senator La Follette, be¬
cause of his questioning of President Wil¬
son’s policies, which he considered likely to
involve the United States in war, was receiv¬
ing severe criticism around the country and
in his own state.19 Extreme polarization took
place, even in the university community.
Kahlenberg, never one to hide his views,
spoke out in opposition to the direction the
country appeared to be taking. Although
there is no sound evidence to question his
loyalty, Kahlenberg was vigorously de¬
nounced. The department’s other professors
with German doctorates showed opposing
reactions: mild-mannered Richard Fischer
made no statements, but, since he failed to
sign the faculty round robin denouncing
Senator La Follette, he was suspect; James
Walton quickly offered his expertise to the
government for research on chemical war¬
fare and his loyalty was never questioned.20
Once the United States became a belliger¬
ent, the university’s program went on a war¬
time basis. Many male students enlisted or
1981]
Ihde — Chemistry at U.W., 1848-1980
141
were drafted. Military training programs
appeared on campus. As faculty members
left to become involved in wartime projects,
the teaching loads of those remaining behind
became heavier. The chemistry department
lost the services of Lenher, Walton, Math¬
ews, and instructor Carleton. There was sus¬
picion about the Americanism of those re¬
maining behind to teach the classes: Kahlen-
berg, Fischer, Krauskopf, and Schuette.
Even before the war ended, a Palace Re¬
volt was generating. President Van Hise was
sent notice by Harold Bradley, professor of
physiological chemistry in the medical school
and a chemical warfare service volunteer,
that the Wisconsin chemistry faculty in ser¬
vice would probably not return if Kahlenberg
remained chairman. Van Hise never received
the letter since he died the day it was writ¬
ten; Dean Birge, as Acting President, took
action. Birge had always been cool toward
Kahlenberg and, as early as 1900, had
brought Lenher into the department as a
counterbalance. Van Hise, who respected
Kahlenberg as a chemist, had also begun to
have reservations in his last years. At any
rate, Birge sought and found support from
other campus scientists; Kahlenberg received
the axe. He was permitted to retain his pro¬
fessorship, but lost his chairmanship and the
physical chemistry course he prized. He re¬
mained a popular teacher of freshman engi¬
neers for another twenty years, but found
himself without influence in the department
and remained outside the mainstream of
American chemistry as a consequence of his
opposition to ions.21
As the university prepared itself for vig¬
orous post-war activity the problem of the
chairmanship of the chemistry department
was resolved, although not without consider¬
able internal strain even if that strain was
not obvious to the general public. Of the
rebel faction, Lenher was the one member
with a national reputation and he coveted the
chairmanship. However, his popularity in
the department, and even in the camp of the
rebels, was insufficient to bring about his
selection. The strategy of the dissident group,
therefore, became one of attacking Fischer’s
failure to have developed an organic research
program of broad visibility. Birge was in¬
formed that organic chemistry would be par¬
ticularly attractive in post-war America,
where the country would wish to attain inter¬
national leadership in its chemical industry.
Therefore it would be desirable to bring in a
widely recognized organic chemist who might
bring luster to that division of chemistry and,
at the same time, take over the chairman¬
ship. Marston T. Bogert of Columbia was
suggested.
Discreet inquiries were made in the East
about Bogert. The reports were not favorable
and the suggestion was not pursued. It be¬
came obvious that a chairman must be se¬
lected, at least for the present, from the inner
circle. The choice fell on J. Howard
Mathews, the youngest of the returning reb¬
els, who took office in summer, 1919. The
J. Howard Mathews (1881-1970)
U.W. Chemistry Faculty, 1908-1952
Chairman, 1919-1952
142
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
choice proved to be a fortunate one, and
Mathews retained the chairmanship up to
the time of his retirement 33 years later.
Mathews quickly demonstrated a flair for
administration. Deeply devoted to the suc¬
cess of the chemistry department, he worked
untiringly for its welfare. The momentum
the department had gained during the Kahl-
enberg chairmanship was given an additional
thrust early in the Mathews period. Of par¬
ticular significance was the fact that
Mathews, in contrast to Kahlenberg who
sought greatest visibility for himself, was
not afraid to surround himself with chemists
who were better scientists than himself.
Mathews was an excellent judge of men and
repeatedly succeeded in bringing promising
young men into the faculty. He was prone
to provide all possible support for develop¬
ment of their programs as soon as he was
convinced they understood their objectives.
At the same time, he never hesitated to ter¬
minate a man whose performance failed to
Homer Adkins (1892-1949)
U.W. Chemistry Faculty, 1919-1949
measure up to expectations. He was not
loved by his faculty, but he was deeply re¬
spected.22
During Mathews’ very first year, the or¬
ganic program was stimulated by the hiring
of Homer Adkins, a recent Ph.D. from Ohio
State. Adkins proved to be a hard-driving
investigator who quickly became a natural
leader in the department. His research soon
attracted national attention and, well before
his untimely death in 1949, he was ranked
alongside Roger Adams, Frank Whitmore,
and James B. Conant as an American leader
in organic chemistry.23
In 1923, S. M. McElvain completed his
Ph.D. under Roger Adams at Illinois and
joined the organic group at Wisconsin. Mc¬
Elvain also proved to be a blue ribbon se¬
lection whose research quickly gained visi¬
bility.24 Graduate students of high quality
were soon coming in large numbers to study
under Adkins or McElvain. Both were chal¬
lenging teachers of advanced material and
both were effective guides of graduate stu¬
dents.
Richard Fischer, although overshadowed
by his younger colleagues, still held an im¬
portant role in the department where he and
one of his last graduate students, Michael
Klein, carried the major responsibility for
the undergraduate organic courses. Enroll¬
ment in these courses increased rapidly dur¬
ing the twenties, partly because of the in¬
creasing numbers of chemistry majors and
partially because of the importance of ele¬
mentary organic chemistry as a service
course for students headed for medicine,
pharmacy, engineering, and agriculture. Had
Fischer and Klein not had a deep interest in
elementary students, coupled with only a
casual interest in research, the research pro¬
grams of Adkins and McElvain might not
have developed as smoothly.25
Mathews also took initiative in improving
the physical chemistry program. Farrington
Daniels, a 1914 Ph.D. with T. W. Richards,
left the U.S. Nitrogen Fixation Laboratory
1981]
Ihde — Chemistry at U.W., 1848-1980
143
in 1920 to join the department at Wisconsin.
He quickly made his mark on both instruc¬
tional and research programs. Daniels’ sug¬
gestions for improvements in the textbook
used in the physical chemistry course led its
author, Frederick Getman of Mount Holy¬
oke College, to invite him to become a co¬
author. Daniels soon became a major author
and the book became the standard textbook
in American colleges for three decades. He
also authored a text on mathematical prep¬
aration for physical chemistry and led a team
of Wisconsin physical chemists in writing a
laboratory manual which became widely used
throughout the country.
Daniels continued research begun at the
Nitrogen Fixation Laboratory and became a
leading authority on the properties and reac¬
tions of oxides of nitrogen. These studies
ultimately diverged, as Daniels became deep¬
ly interested in chemical kinetics on one
hand and large scale nitrogen fixation on the
other. Around 1940 he became involved in
the direct combination of nitrogen and oxy¬
gen in a gas-fired, regenerative furnace. Al¬
though the process was developed through
the pilot plant stage, it never quite became
competitive with the Haber process. Daniels
also contributed extensively in the field of
photochemistry during these early years.26
Chairman Mathews was always active in
developing promising new areas of chemis¬
try. In 1923 he brought The Svedberg from
Uppsala in order to focus attention on the
field of colloid chemistry. Svedberg, with
the assistance of a group of graduate stu¬
dents, built and tested a new device, an op¬
tical centrifuge, which served as a precursor
of the ultracentrifuge designed and built at
the University of Uppsala upon his return.
The Svedberg visit produced several de¬
velopments at Wisconsin. Most immediate
was Mathews’ organization of a National
Colloid Symposium, which brought together
most American chemists interested in col¬
loid chemistry at a summertime conference
in Madison. The Colloid Symposium became
an annual affair, with every tenth meeting re¬
turning to Madison. Mathews’ dream of a
National Colloid Institute to be housed on
the campus in Madison failed to receive
funding with the onset of the Depression
and had to be abandoned.
He was more successful in creating an
ongoing program in colloid chemistry within
the department, however. After John W.
Williams completed his Ph.D. under Daniels
in 1925, he was brought into the faculty and
encouraged to pursue studies in colloid chem¬
istry.27 In the late thirties, the program re¬
ceived a significant stimulus when a Sved¬
berg ultracentrifuge was given to the depart¬
ment. This became the focal point for stud¬
ies of sedimentation characteristics of com¬
plex systems such as proteins.
Instrumentation also received attention in
the analytical division. Mathews, like his
mentor T. W. Richards, had a compulsive
interest in instruments. He was a talented
photographer and was at his best in the class¬
room when he was describing instruments
for studying chemical phenomena. He rec¬
ognized earlier than most of his peers the
power which instruments might have for the
unravelling of chemical problems. When an
addition to the Chemistry Building was com¬
pleted in 1929, it contained a sizeable instru¬
mental laboratory which soon contained the
most recent spectrographs, colorimeters,
pH meters, and polarographs. The labora¬
tory was placed under the direction of Vil-
liers W. Meloche, who was retained on the
faculty after completion of his Ph.D. under
Lenher in 1925. 28 The Instrumental Labora¬
tory served not only as a teaching laboratory
for instrumental analysis, but as a service
laboratory for research within the depart¬
ment and in laboratories in other parts of
the university. The chemistry department
was well known around the campus for its
willingness to provide assistance to others
involved in chemical problems.
Although Mathews was not looked upon
as a great teacher, he was nevertheless sup-
144
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
portive of good teaching in the department
and frequently fought with deans and presi¬
dents for greater support in getting instruc¬
tional work done. His success in this direc¬
tion was no doubt aided by the fact that his
superiors in the administration knew that
he was tight-fisted with money. He was trust¬
worthy in budget planning, and conse¬
quently, administrators were inclined to meet
his demands if the money could be found.
As a result, he was successful in obtaining
appropriations for substantial additions to
the Chemistry Building in 1928 and again
in 1938. He was also reasonably successful
in adding teaching staff when enrollment in
service courses became tight. This was true,
not only in providing adequate funding for
teaching assistants from the corps of gradu¬
ate students, but in adding instructors, some
of whom were later moved up to tenured
professorial status. C. Harvey Sorum was
retained, after completing his Ph.D. with
Krauskopf in 1927, to become a part of the
Walton-Krauskopf team.29 Later the chem¬
istry majors and chemical engineers were
split from the general survey courses and
Sorum developed a special course for these
students. His problem book, his manual for
semimicro qualitative analysis, and his text¬
book became widely used in American in¬
stitutions. M. L. Holt was similarly retained,
upon completion of his doctorate with Kahl-
enberg in 1930, to work with his mentor in
the course for freshman engineers. Holt took
over that course upon Kahlenberg’s retire¬
ment in 1940.30
By the end of the twenties the department
had expanded and reached a state of appar¬
ent stability. The void left in analytical chem¬
istry by Lenher’s death in 1927 was widened
by the sudden death of George Kemmerer,
a Pennsylvania Ph.D. who moved from
Carroll College to Wisconsin in 1920. 31 Pro¬
fessor Meloche, who stepped in valiantly to
keep the analytical chemistry program going,
was finally joined in 1929 by Norris F. Hall,
who became the third Richards Ph.D. on the
professorial staff.32
In summarizing the personnel of the de¬
partment at the end of the twenties decade,
mention must be made of Professor Schuette
who had been responsible for organic analy¬
sis and food chemistry since 1914. His role
in the department always remained some¬
what ambiguous, since quantitative organic
analysis was hardly accepted in the main¬
stream of the organic program, and was not
looked upon with enthusiasm by the ana¬
lytical chemists, who were all concerned
with the analysis of inorganic substances.
Schuette’s field, therefore, developed very
largely as a separate program which, never¬
theless, attracted a strong following among
students.33
With the onset of the economic depres¬
sion in the last days of 1929, the chemistry
department, along with the rest of the uni¬
versity, entered into a long period of finan¬
cial stringency. There were no further ad¬
ditions to the faculty after Hall and Holt
were brought in until 1937, when John Wil¬
lard, a Daniels Ph.D. in 1935, was added to
the general chemistry group.34 The enroll¬
ment decreases in the early thirties were soon
slowed, partially as a consequence of govern¬
ment aid to students. The science depart¬
ments at Wisconsin were more fortunate
than their counterparts elsewhere, because
of research grants originating from the Wis¬
consin Alumni Research Foundation
(WARF). Professor Harry Steenbock of the
agricultural chemistry department had dis¬
covered in 1924 that exposure of food to
ultraviolet light led to fortification of the
food with vitamin D. Patents on the process
were assigned to the newly formed Founda¬
tion for management. Income from the ar¬
rangement began to be funneled into the
Graduate School at the time of the Depres¬
sion. This enabled the university to retain
faculty members who might otherwise have
been released. It also enabled science de-
1981]
Ihde — Chemistry at U.W., 1848-1980
145
partments to provide fellowships for gradu¬
ate students and even for students who were
unemployed after completing their degrees.35
Among those benefitted by fellowship aid
was Stanford Moore, Ph.D. 1938 under Ad¬
kins and agricultural chemist, K. P. Link;
Moore’s later research at Rockefeller Univer¬
sity led to the 1972 Nobel Prize in Chem¬
istry.36 Link’s research on naturally-occur¬
ring anticoagulants later led to patents whose
income added substantially to the WARF
fund.37
By the end of the thirties the economy
had not fully recovered, but circumstances
had improved to the point that the depart¬
ment might undertake projects which had
been delayed. The addition to the building
in 1939 has been mentioned, as has the hir¬
ing of Willard. Joseph Hirschfelder was
moved up to an instructorship in 1940. He
had taken a double major for the Ph.D. at
Princeton in 1936, working in chemistry un¬
der Henry Eyring and in physics under
Eugene Wigner. After another year at
Princeton in the Institute for Advanced
Study he came to Wisconsin as a research
fellow supported by WARF until 1939 when
he was given a faculty appointment. Hirsch¬
felder took leave soon after involvement of
the U.S. in World War II and returned after
the war as a full professor. At that time he
established a Theoretical Chemistry Institute,
enabling him to build a unique staff for the
study of theoretical problems related to
flame propagation, equations of state, and
molecular quantum mechanics.38
The year 1940 also saw the coming of two
promising young organic chemists, A. L.
Wilds and William S. Johnson. Wilds had
just had a major role in the successful syn¬
thesis of equilenin in Werner Bachmann’s
laboratory at Michigan.39 Johnson had also
worked on steroid chemistry as a graduate
student under Louis Fieser at Harvard. Both
quickly attracted an enthusiastic group of
graduate students as they continued their
research on steroids. Johnson left Wisconsin
in 1960 to become chairman of the chem¬
istry department at Stanford.40
The last faculty additions in the early for¬
ties occurred in 1942, when Paul Bender,
Aaron Ihde and Edwin Larsen joined the
faculty. Bender, who joined the physical
group, had just completed his doctorate at
Yale under G. Ackerlov. He was a talented
instrumentalist and quickly became involved
in the expansion of the instrumental holdings
and shop facilities. For many years he was
chairman of the shop committee.41 For Lar¬
sen and Ihde it was a return to alma mater
in order to work with the freshman chem¬
istry program, which had just lost three in¬
structors. Ihde had completed his doctorate
in 1941, working in food chemistry under
Schuette. Larsen had taken his B.S. at Wis¬
consin, then gone to Ohio State for a 1942
doctorate under W. C. Fernelius. He became
associated with Holt’s course for the fresh¬
men engineers and instituted a research pro¬
gram which dealt with the chemistry of the
less familiar elements.42 Ihde became deeply
involved with the Walton-Krauskopf team.
After the wartime urgencies abated he turned
part of his attention to science in the new
program of Integrated Liberal Studies and
also began the development of his work in
the history of chemistry.43
The wartime years saw a badly strained
department. The program which became
known as the Manhattan Project drew off
Daniels, Willard and Larsen. Hirschfielder
joined the National Defense Research Com¬
mittee as a consultant on interior ballistics
of guns and rockets and as group leader of
the geophysics laboratory. He later served
with the Naval Ordnance Test Station, and
in 1946 was assigned chief phenomenologist
for the Bikini atom bomb test. McElvain
served as consultant to the NDRC and Ad¬
kins was deeply involved in mission oriented
research for the Office of Scientific Research
and Development which led to 8 restricted
146
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
reports dealing with chemical warfare agents
and defense against them. In addition, his
laboratory at Wisconsin investigated the syn¬
thesis of antimalarial agents. Wilds also
served as an investigator for the NDRC and
Williams became deeply involved in govern¬
ment research on blood plasma proteins and
blood plasma extenders.
Teaching responsibilities remained heavy
during the war years, despite student enlist¬
ments and losses through the draft. The mili¬
tary based a number of special training pro¬
grams on the campus and instruction of such
courses was frequently out of step with the
academic calendar, thereby necessitating
complex teaching arrangements for the fac¬
ulty. Once the war ended, enrollment mush¬
roomed as discharged military personnel re¬
turned to civilian life. The GI Bill of Rights
enabled many such persons to embark upon
a college education and the faculty at Madi¬
son was willing, as usual, to take aboard all
qualified comers (as well as some not so
qualified).
Freshman chemistry courses, which were
required in many areas outside chemistry
itself (agriculture, engineering, medicine
pharmacy, home economics, nursing, medi¬
cal technology, and even physical education),
presented a critical problem, even during the
war years. A major innovation was intro¬
duced in 1944 when Odell Taliaferro was
appointed a full-time lecture assistant, largely
through the leadership of Professor Walton
who had, for more than two decades, taken
great pride in the success of the large intro¬
ductory lectures. From the beginning of the
century, and even before, lecture demonstra¬
tions had had an important role in clarifica¬
tion of the subject. At first, professors like
Carr and Daniells had prepared their own
demonstrations. Later, when graduate stu¬
dents appeared, individual teaching assis¬
tants were assigned to particular lecturers
to prepare demonstration materials. The sys¬
tem never worked satisfactorily since, unless
professors worked closely with the lecture
assistant, apparatus was missing when
needed, materials were not checked prop¬
erly before class, and demonstrations fre¬
quently failed. The appointment of Talia¬
ferro, a former chemistry major in the de¬
partment, proved a striking factor in main¬
taining the quality of the instructional pro¬
gram in the decades which followed.44
The freshman chemistry problem was ex¬
acerbated in 1947 by the deaths of Walton
and Krauskopf, but helped by the recent
return of Willard and Larsen. A heavy hir¬
ing program brought in seven recent Ph.D’s
as instructors between 1946 and 1950. These
men were supplemented by several tempo¬
rary instructors drawn from available per¬
sonnel, mostly advanced graduate students.
Laboratory sections were scheduled on Sat¬
urday mornings and in the evenings. Since
teaching assistants from graduate student
ranks were in short supply, their numbers
were supplemented with seniors from the
Chemistry Course. Somehow, the freshman
courses were taught. Professors Willard and
Larsen even managed to resume and expand
their research programs in radiochemistry
and lesser-known elements. Edward King
and John Margrave, who arrived as instruc¬
tors during the expansion period, contributed
impressively both in the classroom and in
developing a research program. They were
quickly promoted to tenure.45
Work in more advanced levels also suf¬
fered from growing pains, with similar ex¬
pansions being only slightly delayed. The
analytical division added Walter Blaedel,46
a recent Ph.D. under Leighton at Stanford,
in 1947, and Irving Shain,47 Ph.D. 1952 at
University of Washington under Crittenden,
in 1952. Organic added Harlan Goering, a
student of S. J. Crystol at Colorado and
Eugene van Tamelen, who had just taken his
doctorate at Harvard under Gilbert Storck
(Wisconsin ’45 under McElvain). Both came
in 1950 and immediately contributed signi¬
ficantly to the organic program, which had
recently suffered the untimely death of Ad-
1981]
Ihde — Chemistry at U.W., 1848-1980
147
kins. Despite that loss, the organic division
remained an attractive one.48
The physical division was also showing a
concern for the future. John Ferry came in
1945 as a young chemist with an established
reputation in high polymers. Following re¬
ceipt of a Stanford Ph.D. under George
Parks, he had spent nine years at Harvard as
instructor, member of the Harvard Society
of Fellows, and associate chemist at Woods
Hole. In 1959 he became the department’s
fifth chairman.49 Robert Alberty was made
an instructor in 1947, upon completing his
doctorate under Professor Williams. Another
Wisconsin Ph.D., Charles Curtiss, was added
to the faculty the next year. He had studied
with Hirschfelder and held a joint appoint¬
ment with the Theoretical Chemistry Insti¬
tute. Mathews’ final appointments to the fac¬
ulty before his retirement in 1952 were
Shain, mentioned above, and C. Daniel
Cornwell, who was a student with E. Bright
Wilson at Harvard.50
Farrington Daniels (1889-1972)
U.W. Chemistry Faculty, 1920-1959
Chairman, 1952-1959
Mathews’ success in building a widely-
recognized department was unusual. Yet,
even he made mistakes. Perhaps the most
conspicuous was sacking Henry Eyring in
1928. On the whole, however, his record was
unusual. He became chairman of a seven-
man department in 1919; he retired from a
25-man department. He took over a building
constructed in 1905 and substantially en¬
larged in 1913, but shared with the School
of Pharmacy and the State Chemist’s Lab¬
oratory. He retired from the same building
(still shared with pharmacy and the state
chemist), but with substantial additions made
in 1929 and 1939. Following retirement he
became involved in planning further enlarge¬
ments.
Farrington Daniels took over the chair¬
manship and continued until retirement in
1959. His administration saw little change
in permanent faculty; Hall and Schuette re¬
tired in 1955; Robert West and Lawrence
Dahl were added.51 Daniels’ regime was
plagued, nevertheless, with threats of losses
of key professors to other institutions. He
was successful in fending off all such raids
except for Professor Johnson, who made the
decision to become head of the department
at Stanford in 1960.
Daniels was also faced with a critical
shortage of space and expended much energy
toward funding further expansion and seek¬
ing ground for such expansion. Building was
delayed beyond the end of his chairmanship,
but the fundamental problems were becom¬
ing resolved by then. The department ulti¬
mately abandoned the building it had occu¬
pied since 1905 and started a new unit in
the block across the street. Ground was
broken in 1960 and the unit, later chris¬
tened the J. Howard Mathews Chemical
Laboratory, was occupied in 1962. A major
high-rise addition, occupying a substantial
portion of the remainder of the block, was
completed in 1967. It is named the Farring¬
ton Daniels Chemistry Building. The 1905
part of the vacated building was razed and
148
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vo!. 69
replaced by modern construction by the de¬
partment of physics. The modified structure,
now named Chamberlin Hall, is occupied by
the physics department and the Pharmacy
School.
Daniels’ chairmanship was characterized
by his intense activity outside departmental
administration. In 1953 he served as Presi¬
dent of the American Chemical Society. He
also maintained his heavy program of re¬
search which involved, in the years follow¬
ing the end of the war, the development of
nuclear reactors for power production and
a survey of mineralogical sources of fission¬
able materials. He soon became disenchanted
with nuclear energy as a stable source of
energy for the future when his survey showed
that uranium sources in the earth’s crust
were limited. He then turned his enthusiasm
toward solar energy as a limitless energy
source. During his retirement he continued
his investigations of solar energy problems
to within a few weeks of his death in 1972.
When Daniels took the chairmanship he
did so only on condition that the duties not
seriously interfere with his scientific pro¬
gram. A precedent was set in the university
at that time by permitting him to appoint
an associate chairman to relieve him of some
of the administrative duties, a policy which
has been followed ever since in the depart¬
ment and which has been copied in certain
other departments. Professor Holt served as
associate chairman during the Daniels chair¬
manship and the following one of Ferry.
When Shain took the chairmanship in 1967
he brought Alex Kotch into the department
as associate chairman.52 Kotch, with an or¬
ganic Ph.D. under Carl S. Marvel at Illi¬
nois, had recently served in Washington as
a grant administrator with the National Sci¬
ence Foundation. Kotch continued as asso¬
ciate chairman when Shain became Vice-
Chancellor of the Madison unit of the Uni¬
versity in 1970. He served successively un¬
der three chairmen, Shain, Willard (1970-
72), and Fenske (1972-77).
Richard Fenske had joined the inorganic
and physical divisions in 1961, fresh from
a Ph.D. at Iowa State where he worked on
energy levels of platinum under Donald S.
Martin. Fenske, who was involved in the
freshman chemistry program, also pursued
an active research program involving calcu¬
lation of energy levels and electronic transi¬
tions in transition-metal complexes. After
ten years at Wisconsin he was chosen for
the chairmanship.
When Fenske left the chairmanship,
Kotch also resigned the associate chairman¬
ship to take an administrative position with
the newly formed Solar Energy Research In¬
stitute in Golden, Colorado. Thereupon, the
new chairman, Dennis Evans who had joined
the analytical division in 1966, selected Pro¬
fessor Larsen for the associate chairmanship.
Larsen continued in this position when Barry
Trost became chairman in 1980. 53
As the present is approached, an in-depth
examination of the development of the chem¬
istry department will not be continued. Suf¬
fice it to say that the decade of the sixties was
characterized at first by rapid growth in
personnel and activities consistent with a
period of a strong economy which stimulated
college enrollments all over America, and
followed by a collapse which forced colleges
everywhere to engage in a holding action
which would enable them to at least main¬
tain the position they had attained. This pat¬
tern was to continue through the seventies.
The story in the chemistry department at
Wisconsin paralleled the pattern within
other U.W. departments and in universities
elsewhere. A rapid expansion in personnel
and space took place in the sixties; a holding
action characterized the seventies.
In the period between 1960 and 1969 the
chemistry department added 25 men who at¬
tained tenured professorial status. Several of
them came at tenure level to strengthen areas
in the program, a departure from the long
and successful tradition of bringing in prom¬
ising young men in the hope that they would
1981]
Ihde — Chemistry at U.W., 1848-1980
149
develop into leaders in the profession. How¬
ard Zimmerman, a Yale Ph.D. in organic,
was brought in from a tenured position at
Northwestern in 1960; Richard Bernstein
(physical and theoretical) was attracted
from Michigan in 1963 (but was later at¬
tracted to Texas and then, Columbia); Em¬
ory Fisher (extension and general) returned
to his doctoral alma mater from the Missouri
School of Mines to take over supervision of
chemistry and physics in the Extension Cen¬
ters while helping in Madison with the fresh¬
man program; and Kotch (organic) came
from the National Science Foundation.54
During the sixties 14 professors were lost,
one by death, four by retirement and nine
to other universities. During the next decade,
only 7 new men attained tenure and 5 ten¬
ured members were lost, two of these by re¬
tirement.
The chairmanship, following Daniels’ re¬
tirement, turned over at fairly short intervals.
The first three chairmen served a total of
72 years; the next five served 25. All of them
were able men, but times had changed. The
job of administering a department had be¬
come vastly more demanding by 1950 than
it had been even in 1919, when Mathews
became chairman. Further, all of the chair¬
men since Mathews were chemists with vig¬
orous research programs who were unwilling
to see their discipline pass them by, as had
happened to Kahlenberg and Mathews.
The year 1980, which marked the depart¬
ment’s one hundredth year as an administra¬
tive entity, was strikingly in contrast with
1880 when the discipline was given inde¬
pendent status. In 1880, all branches of
chemistry were taught by a single professor,
W. W. Daniells, who emphasized classical
analytical methods in a building constructed
to serve all the sciences. When he turned
over the chairmanship to Louis Kahlenberg
in 1907, the department had a faculty of
four professors, several instructors and
teaching assistants, a handful of graduate
students, and a small but healthy research
program. Kahlenberg clearly changed the de¬
partment from one that was teaching-ori¬
ented to one that also emphasized research.
This trend was continued under the Math¬
ews’ chairmanship and those that followed.
In 1980 Trost became chairman of a depart¬
ment with 40 professors, a group of tech¬
nicians and specialists, several hundred
graduate students and postdoctoral fellows
from most states of the union- and numerous
foreign countries, and several thousand un¬
dergraduate students. Bachelors’ degrees
have been granted in chemistry to more than
2250 students; Ph.D.’s number about 1675
since the first in 1899. The department
graduates 30 to 50 undergraduate majors
per year, many of whom go elsewhere for
graduate studies while many go into industry
or turn to medicine, or sometimes law. About
half of the Ph.D.’s go into industry while
many of the rest go into academic work,
either directly or after a year or two of post¬
doctoral work elsewhere. By contrast, in
Barry Trost (b. 1941)
U.W. Chemistry Faculty, 1965-
Chairman, 1980-
150
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
1880 there was virtually no demand for
chemists since chemical industry was barely
emerging as a business field.
Acknowledgment
This paper has been drawn from material
in the published literature, from the Univer¬
sity of Wisconsin Archives and the Archives
of the State Historical Society of Wisconsin,
and from personal observations, first as a
chemistry course student beginning in 1927,
and later as a faculty member beginning in
1942. I am particularly indebted to many
individuals who, over a half century, have
passed on oral information, provided inter¬
pretation, and provided references to docu¬
mentary sources. To them I am eternally
grateful, and apologetic for any misinterpre¬
tation I may unwittingly have introduced.
To Henry A. Schuette I am most deeply
indebted since he laid the foundations of my
interest in the history of the department and,
had it not been for a breakdown in health,
expected to write this story. I also owe much
to J. Howard Mathews, Farrington Daniels,
F. C. Krauskopf, V. W. Meloche, J. W. Wil¬
liams, E. B. Fred, Otto Kowalke, Homer
Adkins, Richard Fischer, and Mark Ingra¬
ham. Others who have been helpful in settl¬
ing various points include S. M. McElvain,
Louis Kahlenberg, J. H. Walton, M. L. Holt,
E. M. Larsen, Emory Fisher, Odell Talia¬
ferro, Bette Germann, Harold Schimming,
Edmund Fitchett, Fredus N. Peters, Jr., and
Marion Veazey.
There are four histories of the university
which also proved very useful for general
background as well as certain specifics. They
are: C. W. Butterfield, History of the Univer¬
sity of Wisconsin (Madison, 1879), R. G.
Thwaites, ed., The University of Wisconsin.
Its History and Its Alumni (Madison,
1900); J. F. A. Pyre, Wisconsin (New
York, 1920); M. Cfirti and V. Carstensen,
The University of Wisconsin, 1848-1925,
2 vols. (Madison, 1949). In addition there
were several less comprehensive works which
were useful: Robert E. Gard, University
Madison U.S.A. (Madison, 1970) has a
wealth of nostalgia and anecdotal material;
A. G. Bogue and Robert Taylor, eds., The
University of Wisconsin. One Hundred and
Twenty-five Years (Madison, 1975), con¬
tains chapters dealing with various aspects
of the university, especially programs, mostly
since 1949; A Resourceful University. The
University of W iscons in-Madison in its
125th Year (Madison, 1975) also deals with
university programs with emphasis on recent
developments.
Notes
4 There have been four major evaluations of
quality of graduate education in the U.S.; the first
in 1925, the most recent in 1969. The U.W. chem¬
istry department was ranked 13th in 1925, 5th in
1957, tied for 7th with Columbia in 1964, and
tied for 8th with Chicago, and Cornell in 1969.
Wisconsin biochemistry ranked 4th with Rocke¬
feller U and MIT in 1964, 5th in 1969, in the
only reports which ranked biochemistry and chemi¬
cal engineering. In the latter field Wisconsin was
ranked in a first place tie with MIT in 1964, and
held first place alone in 1969. For the full reports
see: R. Hughes, Quality of Graduate Education in
Thirty-eight Universities (Washington: Am. Coun¬
cil on Educ., 1928); H. Keniston, Graduate Study
in the Arts and Sciences at the University of Penn¬
sylvania (Philadelphia: U of Pennsylvania, 1959);
A. M. Cartter (Washington: Am. Council on
Educ,. 1966); K. D. Roose and C. J. Anderson,
Rating of Graduate Programs (Washington: Am.
Council on Educ., 1970); for summary see A. J.
Ihde, “Chemistry in the Old Northwest,” Ohio
Journal of Science, 78:59-69 (1978).
2 Merle Curti and Vernon Carstensen, The Uni¬
versity of Wisconsin. A History, 1848-1925, 2 vols.
(Madison, 1949), 1:70-86. This reference will be
cited hereafter as Curti-Carstensen with volume
and page. Also see A. J. Ihde and H. A. Schuette,
“The Early Days of Chemistry at the University
of Wisconsin,” J. Chem. Educ., 29:65-72 (1952).
Cited hereafter as Ihde-Schuette with page.
3 On Lathrop see P. W. Boutwell, “Stephen
Pearl Lathrop,” Trans. Wis. Acad. 41:95-116
(1952). On Carr see Curti-Carstensen, 1:83-114,
177, 180-81; J. F. A. Pyre, Wisconsin (New York,
1920), 133-36. On Davies see Curti-Carstensen,
1:335, 355; and J. F. Parkinson, “John Eugene
Davies,” Trans. Wis. Acad., 13:614-18 (1901).
4 Curti-Carstensen, 1:172-73, 207 ff, 296.
1981]
Ihde— Chemistry at U.W., 1848-1980
151
5 W. H. Glover, Farm and College. The College
of Agriculture of the University of Wisconsin. A
History (Madison, 1952), 30-31 and passim; Curti-
Carstensen, 1:335, 352-53, 461-65; Dictionary of
Wisconsin Biography (Madison, 1960), 94; Ihde-
Schuette, 66-67.
6 Curti-Carstensen, 1:246-74, 327-63, 439-75.
7 W. H. Glover, Farm and College (Madison,
1952), 113-32, 160-86; Curti-Carstensen, 1:475 ff,
546-47, 11:386-94.
8 Curti-Carstensen, 1:501-60.
9 Ihde-Schuette, 67; American Men of Science,
1st edn., 1906: 148; 7th edn., 1944: 814; Chem¬
istry Dept, files.
10 N. F. Hall, “A Wisconsin Chemical Pioneer —
The Scientific Work of Louis Kahlenberg,” Trans.
Wis. Acad., 39:83-96 (1949) and 40:336-37
(1950); A. J. Ihde, Dictionary of Scientific Biog¬
raphy, 7: 208 (1973); A. J. Ihde, American
Chemists and Chemical Engineers, W. D. Miles,
ed. (Washington, 1976), 259. This work will be
cited hereafter as Miles, American Chemists.
11 Ihde-Schuette, 67; American Men of Science,
5th edn., 1933:676, 981.
12 M. M. Vance, Charles Richard Van Hise. Sci¬
entist Progressive, (Madison, 1960), 91-136; Curti-
Carstensen, 11:3-122.
13 University of Wisconsin Catalogs, 1900-1920.
14 “Faculty Resolution on the Death of Victor
Lenher,” U.W. Faculty Min. for June 17, 1927;
Ind. Engr. Chem., News Edn., 13:5 (1927); Wis.
State J., June 13, 1927 and June 14, 1927.
15 Ihde-Schuette, 67-68.
16 A. J. Ihde, “Kahlenberg’s Opposition to the
Theory of Electrolytic Dissociation,” Selected
Topics in the History of Electrochemistry, Geo.
Dubpemell, et al., eds., Proceedings of the Electro¬
chemical Society, 78-6:299-312 (1978); R. G. A.
Dolby, “Debates Over the Theory of Solution,”
Hist. Studies in the Physical Sciences, 7:297-404
(1976).
17 On Walton see U.W. Faculty Resolution on
Death of James H. Walton, Document 818, Oct.
6, 1947; Capital Times, June 7, 1947, June 8, 1947.
On Krauskopf see U.W. Faculty Resolution on
the Death of Francis C. Krauskopf, Document
835, Jan. 12, 1948. Capital Times, Oct. 16, 1947.
18 Curti-Carstensen, 1:630; 11, 311, 348-51.
19 Robert C. Nesbit, Wisconsin. A History
(Madison, 1973), 435-55; Wm. F. Raney, Wis¬
consin. A Story of Progress (New York, 1940),
300-05, 308-16; Richard N. Current, Wisconsin.
A Bicentennial History (New York, 1977), 54,
198-200.
20 U.W. Archives, 4/0/3, box 76, “Round Robin”;
Curti-Carstensen, 11, 311, 348-51.
21 Curti-Carstensen, 11:349-51; H. C. Bradley
to Van Hise, Nov. 18, 1918, presidential papers
22 Miles, American Chemists, 5-7, and Badger
Chemist, No. 4, p. 15; No. 10, p. 5; No. 14, p. 11;
No. 16, p. 1; No. 17, pp. 1-2; No. 18, pp. 1, 3-6.
Badger Chemist, which will be cited frequently
hereafter, needs a bit of clarification. It is a printed
newsletter of the U.W. Department of Chemistry
in Madison which is prepared annually for alumni
and friends of the department. As such it seldom
finds its way into permanent repositories. A full set
is on file in the Archives of the U.W. in Madison,
in the Chemistry Department, and in the library
of the author. It was edited from 1953 (No. 1)
through 1964 (No. 11) by Henry A. Schuette,
from 1965 (No. 12) through 1969 (No. 16) by
Emory D. Fisher, and from 1970 (No. 17)
through 1980 (No. 27) by Aaron J. Ihde. Issues
carry news of the department, faculty, and alumni,
including pictures. Nos. 1, 2, 16, 17, and 20 carry
pictures of faculty groups and No. 4 has pictures
and biographical profiles of each faculty member.
As new persons joined the faculty, the next news¬
letter carried a picture and brief biography. This
reference will be cited hereafter as Badger Chem¬
ist, with issue number and page. There have been
annual issues except in 1962. Attention is also
called to Alan J. Rocke and A. J. Ihde, “A Badger
Chemist Genealogy,” J. Chem. Educ., 56:93-95
(1979), which traces the intellectual lineage of
tenured professors back to C. L. Berthollet, A. F.
Fourcroy, and J. J. Berzelius.
23 F. Daniels, “Homer Burton Adkins,” Biog.
Memoirs, Nat’l. Acad. Sciences, 27:293-317
(1952); A. J. Ihde, Diet. Amer. Biog., Fourth
Suppl., 1946-1950 (1974), 5-7; Ihde in Miles,
American Chemists, 5-7; Memorial Resolution,
U.W. Faculty, Document 918, Nov. 7, 1949.
24 Badger Chemist, No. 20, pp. 5-6; No. 22, p.
13; No. 26, p. 13.
25 On Fischer see E. R. Schierz in Miles, Ameri¬
can Chemists, 154-155 and Badger Chemist, No. 3,
p. 5. On Klein see Badger Chemist, No. 4, p. 13;
No. 8, p. 5; No. 12, p. 7.
26 Olive Bell Daniels, Farrington Daniels. Chem¬
ist and Prophet of the Solar Age (Madison, 1978).
Privately printed by the author. Also see A. J.
Ihde in Miles, American Chemists, 319-20; Badger
Chemist, No. 1, p. 1; No. 2, p. 1; No. 4, p. 6;
No. 20, pp. 1, 3-4, 8-9.
27 Badger Chemist, No. 4, p. 24; No. 16, pp. 10-
11; No. 17, pp. 2-4; No. 24, p. 15.
23 Ibid., No. 4, p. 18; No. 7, p. 4; No. 20, p. 13.
39 Ibid., No. 4, p. 21; No. 5, p. 17; No. 9, p. 5;
No. 15, p. 12; No. 18, pp. 19-20.
30 Ibid., No. 4, p. 10; No. 19, pp. 1, 3-4.
152
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
31 Ibid., No. 22, p. 14.
32 Ibid., No. 3, pp. 1-3; No. 4, p. 8; No. 10, p. 8.
33 Ibid., No. 3, pp. 1, 3; No. 4, p. 19; No. 5, p.
15; No. 15, pp. 1-2; No. 25, 1, 4-6.
34 Ibid., No. 4, p. 24; No. 6, p. 9; No. 9, p. 16;
No. 18, p. 8; No. 26, pp. 1, 7, 19-20.
35 Harold Schneider, “Harry Steenbock (1886-
1967) — A Biographical Sketch,” J. Nutrition, 103:
1235-47 (1973); A. J. Hide, “Harry Steenbock-
Student and Humanist,” Wis. Acad. Rev., 26/1:
15-17 (1979); H. F. DeLuca, “The Vitamin D
Story,” ibid., 18-24; Memorial Resolution ... on
the death of Harry Steenbock, U.W. Faculty Docu¬
ment 186, March 4, 1968.
36 Badger Chemist, No. 20, p. 11; No. 21, p. 11.
37 Ibid., No. 21, p. 4; No. 26, pp.11-12; Me¬
morial Resolution ... on the death of Karl Paul
Link, U.W. Faculty Document 399, May 5, 1980.
38 Badger Chemist, No. 4, p. 9; No. 9, p. 16;
No. 13, pp. 15-16; No. 23, p. 5.
39 Ibid., No. 4, p. 23.
40 Ibid., No. 4, p. 12.
41 Ibid., No. 4, p. 2; No. 24, p. 2; No. 26, pp. 1,
5, 15-16.
42 Ibid., No. 4, p. 14; No. 15, p. 8; No. 23, p. 10;
No. 27, p. 5.
43 Ibid., No. 4, p. 11; No. 14, pp. 14-16; No. 16,
pp. 13-16; No. 27, pp. 15-17.
44 Ibid., No. 21, pp. 1, 3; No. 22, p. 19.
43 On King see ibid., No. 4, p. 12. On Margrave
see ibid., No. 4, p. 17; No. 10, p. 1; No. 27, p. 19.
i6lbid., No. 4, p. 3; No. 25, p. 19; No. 26, p. 14;
No. 27, p. 12.
47 Ibid., No. 4, p. 20; No. 15, p. 3; No. 16, p. 1;
No. 18, p. 28; No. 22, p. 7; No. 24, p. 20; No. 25,
p. 10.
48 On Goering, see ibid., No. 4, p. 8; No. 19, p.
12. On van Tamelen see ibid., No. 4, p. 22.
49 Ibid., No. 4, p. 7; No. 7, p. 3; No. 16, p. 1;
No. 19, p. 3.
50 On Alberty, see ibid., No. 4, p. 1; No. 14, p. 3.
On Curtiss, ibid., No. 4, p. 4. On Cornwell, ibid.,
No. 4, p. 1.
51 On Dahl, see ibid., No. 7, p. 5; No. 25, p. 19.
On West, see ibid., No. 5, p. 5; No. 18, p. 15; No.
27, p. 13.
52 Ibid., No. 15, p. 7; No. 24, p. 10.
53 On Fenske, see ibid., No. 11, p. 8; No. 19, p.
12; No. 23, p. 5. On Evans, see ibid., No. 14, p. 7;
No. 23, p. 5. On Trost, see ibid., No. 13, p. 7; No.
23, p. 12; No. 27, pp. 1,8.
54 The running record in the sixties is covered
in Badger Chemist, Nos. 9-17 while Nos. 18-27
cover the decade of the seventies. On Zimmerman,
see ibid., No. 9; p. 4; No. 21, pp. 6-7; No. 23, p.
7; No. 27, p. 1. On Fisher see ibid., No. 11, p. 9;
No. 17, pp. 3-4. On Bernstein, see No. 10, p. 4;
No. 21, p. 12.
FURTHER LINKS IN THE CALIFORNIA-WISCONSIN
ASTRONOMICAL CONNECTION
Donald E. Osterbrock
University of California, Santa Cruz
There are numerous astronomical links
between California and Wisconsin, prob¬
ably more than between any other two states.
Many of them I outlined in a paper previ¬
ously published in these Transactions,1 but
I have since learned of still more connections
which are described in the present paper.
It all began with Lick Observatory, the
first large research observatory in California.
Its first Director, Edward S. Holden, came
from the University of Wisconsin to Lick
and thus started the California-Wisconsin
axis. Holden was tentatively selected as Di¬
rector of Lick Observatory in 1874, many
years before it was built on Mount Hamilton,
while he was still a young astronomer at the
Naval Observatory in Washington. Holden
left the Naval Observatory to become Direc¬
tor of the Washburn Observatory on the
Madison campus of the University of Wis¬
consin in 1881 when James Watson, its first
Director, died unexpectedly of pneumonia.
At Washburn, with the 15 Vi -inch refrac¬
tor and the meridian circle, Holden observed
positions of nebulae, stars and comets — the
old astronomy of position. In 1883 he headed
a government-sponsored eclipse expedition
to Caroline Island, a tiny atoll in the Pacific
Ocean between Tahiti and Hawaii. It was
a three-month trip, in which he and the
other astronomers travelled over 12,000
miles by ship and railroad. They had to cross
the Isthmus of Panama and change ships in
those days long before the canal had been
built. At the eclipse Holden searched visu¬
ally for a planet closer to the sun than Mer¬
cury, but found none.2
Holden advised Nils P. Haugen, then Wis¬
consin Commissioner of Railroads, on intro¬
ducing a bill in the legislature to require the
railroads to use Central Standard Time in
the state.3 Up until then there was a twenty-
minute difference between Chicago and St.
Paul times, and the railroads changed time
at Elroy. Holden was one of the professors
who approached T. C. Chamberlin, then
with the United States Geological Survey,
about succeeding John Bascom as President
of the University of Wisconsin. Chamberlin
was interested in the position, but did not
want to force Bascom out, and therefore
did not actually become President until after
Holden had left for California.4
Holden was a member of the Wisconsin
Academy of Sciences, Arts, and Letters, and
gave a paper on the Caroline Island eclipse
expedition at the W.A.S.A.L. meeting in
Madison on December 28, 1883. After he
departed for California, he became a corre¬
sponding member of the Academy.5 When
he left Wisconsin, Holden presented several
books and pamphlets to the State Historical
Society of Wisconsin, and also “a maro, or
covering of the loins, used by natives of
Tahiti ... of both sexes, usually their only
garment.”6
Holden enjoyed life in Madison and left
only because of the outstanding astronomical
opportunity at the new Lick Observatory.
He wrote to B. A. Gould, a prospective suc¬
cessor in his job as Director at Washburn:7
Let me ask you to consider this letter as
strictly confidential. I expect to resign my
position here on Jan 1/86, to take the L[ick]
0[bservatory]. I wish to know if you have
any desire to take this Observatory. If you
would be willing I shd. like to be the means
of having it offered to you. With the excep¬
tion of the H[arvard] Cfollege] Ofbservatory].
I regard it as the most desirable college Obs.
153
154
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
in the U.S. The salary is $3000 with a beau¬
tiful house (fifteen rooms) near the O. with
every possible convenience. The O. itself is
completely fitted for ast’y of position. The
state publishes the obsns. The college duties
are 50 lectures of 1 hour, April-June. The
observatory income is 1500 (app’n) 175
(lib’y) 600 (time service). Out of this I pay
a fair asst (720) computer (360) janitor
(420), and meteor, obsr. (quarters) & all
expenses. The site of the Obsy & of the
House is extremely beautiful. The town itself
is very pretty. There is no reason why your
children could not get all the Essentials of
education here. The liberty of the Astromr.
is absolute. I am well aware that you deserve
something more than this Obsy. But I know
that if you took it you wd. make it what you
deserve. I am not willing that it should go
to another if you are willing to take it. May
I ask you for a word to express your wishes
on this?
In California as Lick Observatory ap¬
proached completion, Holden was brought
out as President of the University, a job that
was often open in those years. He started as
President in January 1886 and served until
the observatory was finished and ready for
use in 1888, at which time he stepped up to
its directorship. Holden received an honor¬
ary LL.D. degree from the University of
Wisconsin in 1886, just after he left for
California, thus enabling his friends from
then on to address him as “Doctor.”2
A considerable amount of planning for
Lick Observatory had been done under Hol¬
den’s recommendations while he was at
Madison. He did much of it himself, particu¬
larly on the library and on the smaller astro¬
nomical instruments, but other parts of it
were done by his colleagues on the Univer¬
sity of Wisconsin faculty. The report on the
1. Newspaper drawings of James E. Keeler (left) and Edward S. Holden (right), second and
first Directors of Lick Observatory, respectively. Holden began and Keeler nurtured the
California-Wisconsin astronomical connection. Lick Observatory Archives.
1981]
Oster brock — The Calif ornia-Wisconsin Astronomical Connection
155
geology of Mount Hamilton, published in
Volume I of the Lick Observatory Publica¬
tions, is signed by Roland D. Irving, Profes¬
sor of Geology at the University of Wiscon¬
sin and United States Geologist in Madison.8
This report was drawn up by his assistant,
young Charles Van Hise, later the recipient
in 1892 of the first earned Ph.D. degree ever
granted by the University of Wisconsin. Van
Hise succeeded Irving as Professor of Ge¬
ology at Madison, and still later became
President of the University of Wisconsin
from 1903 until his death in 1918. He was
the popularizer of “the Wisconsin idea” of
the university as the practical servant of the
state.9
The detailed design of the dome for the
Lick Observatory 36-inch telescope, a large
and very unusual building for its time, was
provided by Storm Bull of the University of
Wisconsin Mechanical Engineering Depart¬
ment. He also designed the focal plane base¬
plate for the telescope, used for mounting
the eyepieces and the spectrograph.10 Born
in Norway, Bull was trained at the Swiss
Polytechnic Institute in Zurich. He emigrated
to Madison in 1879, where his uncle, Ole
Bull, the famous violinist, was then living,
and joined the University of Wisconsin fac¬
ulty. Throughout his career Bull did outside
consulting and also served as a full-time
engineering faculty member. He charged the
Lick Trustees 750 an hour for his services,
which he regarded as a mean between the
$1.00 per hour that would be a fair price
and the 500 per hour Holden wanted to pay
him.11 As a University of Wisconsin faculty
member, Bull was elected to the Madison
City Council and was Mayor of Madison for
one term.12
George C. Comstock was with Holden one
of the early prime movers in the California-
Wisconsin axis. Comstock was born in Madi¬
son and studied astronomy at the University
of Michigan, where he received his B.S. de¬
gree in 1879. When Watson moved from
Michigan to the University of Wisconsin as
first Director of its Washburn Observatory,
Comstock went with him and after Watson’s
death, Comstock stayed on as Holden’s as¬
sistant. At Madison he calculated under Hol¬
den’s supervision many of the tables to be
used later at Lick Observatory for the reduc¬
tion of star positions, the determination of
time, etc. In 1885 Comstock left Madison to
become Professor of Mathematics and As¬
tronomy at Ohio State University, but he
spent the summer of 1886 at Lick Observa¬
tory, working with the meridian circle before
the 36-inch refractor was completed. Holden
thought very highly of Comstock’s scientific
abilities and wanted to hire him on the Lick
staff,13 but Comstock preferred the job as
Holden’s successor at Madison.
When he accepted the Presidency of the
University of California, Holden had first
thought of his friend Samuel P. Langley, a
pioneer astrophysicist then at Allegheny Ob¬
servatory near Pittsburgh, as his successor as
Director at Washburn. Langley had visited
Madison and appreciated it greatly, writing
Holden, “I look back to Madison as a home
in sunshine, part of whose joys have been
intercalated into my bachelor existence, and
I shall long remember my visit, which was
not only so pleasant at the time but which
has done me good since. . . .”14 Langley,
however, declined to be considered for the
directorship at Washburn Observatory, tell¬
ing Holden that he did so for only one rea¬
son. He said he was over fifty and wanted
to keep working, “but I yearn — it is the
word — for a larger companionship, and for
the society of the East which you are — with
wife and children and your work able to
leave for a larger scientific field.”15 Holden
next offered to recommend for the job in
succession two friends of his own generation,
B. A. Gould and William A. Rogers. Gould
declined,16 but Rogers wanted the job, as
long as he did not have to appear as a can¬
didate for it. He was actually recommended
for the position by President John Bascom,
who however was himself nearing the end
156
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
2. Four important figures in the California-Wisconsin astronomical network. George C. Com¬
stock (upper left), Storm Bull (upper right), Sidney D. Townley (lower left), Charles R.
Van Hise (lower right). Lick Observatory Archives.
1981]
Oster brock — -The Calif ornia-Wisconsin Astronomical Connection
157
of his reign and was under pressure to re¬
sign. The Board of Regents did not accept
the recommendation, but instead put Phys¬
ics Professor John E. Davies in temporary
charge of the observatory. Rogers then ac¬
cepted a position at Colby College in
Maine.17 A year later Comstock was ap¬
pointed Director, but because of his relative
youth, he was saddled by the Regents for
the first few years with a “consulting direc¬
tor,” Asaph Hall of the Naval Observatory.
Hall would come to Wisconsin for just a few
weeks each year, but this awkward arrange¬
ment soon ended when Comstock had gained
the Regents’ confidence.18 Hall, the discov¬
erer of Deimos and Phobos, the two satellites
of Mars, himself had an earlier Wisconsin
connection. He and his wife had been mar¬
ried at Elkhorn in 1856, while she was look¬
ing for a job as a school teacher.19
All Comstock’s research was in positional
astronomy. He was the first Wisconsin fac¬
ulty member elected to the National Acad¬
emy of Sciences for work done at Madison,
and became the first Dean of the University
of Wisconsin Graduate School, appointed by
Van Hise in 1904. Comstock built up re¬
search at Madison over the years until he
retired in 1920. As an assistant at Wash¬
burn Observatory, uncertain about his fu¬
ture, he had gone to law school and had en¬
tered the bar, but had never practiced. He
always said that law school was the best
training he ever had; possibly he meant for
being a dean.20
Armin O. Leuschner was a California
astronomer who did not quite make the Wis¬
consin connection. He became the first grad¬
uate student at Lick Observatory in 1888,
after earning his B.S. at Michigan. But one
year later when A. V. Egbert, Comstock’s
assistant at Washburn Observatory, left to
take a position on the faculty of a small
church college in northern Ohio, Comstock
wrote Holden to ask if he could recommend
a replacement.21 Holden strongly recom¬
mended Leuschner, who wanted to come to
Madison and spend a year away from Lick.22
But by the time Holden’s letter had arrived
Comstock had opened negotiations with Al¬
bert S. Flint, an older, more experienced
man from the Naval Observatory, and he
hired him. Thus to California’s good fortune
Leuschner stayed in the West and ultimately
became long-term Chairman of the Berkeley
Astronomy Department, and for several
years Dean of the University of California
Graduate School.23
Sidney D. Townley, a native of Waukesha,
received the first graduate fellowship at Lick
Observatory, the Phoebe Hearst Fellowship,
worth $360 a year. He did his undergradu¬
ate degree at Wisconsin, followed by two
years of graduate work, leading to an M.S.,
all under Comstock. As an undergraduate
Townley took part in all the student activi¬
ties, including not only oratorical contests
and class elections, but also hunting in the
woods west of the city — now the West High
School area — and rowing out to the Univer¬
sity Farm to steal apples — near the present
site of Eagle Heights. In his sophomore year
Townley heard a lecture by a visiting Eng¬
lish astronomer, Richard A. Proctor. It in¬
spired him to take an astronomy course from
Comstock, and the course interested him so
much that in his junior year he got a job as
Comstock’s student observing assistant. This
job paid 20 j: an hour and gave Townley the
privilege of living in a furnished room at the
Observatory, for which he paid $4 a month.
As a senior he earned a little more by run¬
ning the Observatory time service, which
furnished the time to the railroads in Madi¬
son. His parents let him take the family
horse to the University, since as part of his
job he was allowed to keep it in the Observa¬
tory barn. The time service job tied him
down in Madison so that he could not go
home to Waukesha for vacations except for
a few days at a time.
After finishing his B.S., Townley received
158
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
one of four graduate fellowships at the Uni¬
versity of Wisconsin, for which he taught
one section of an algebra class supervised by
Charles D. Slichter and continued to help at
the Observatory. In the summer of 1891
Townley went to Oregon for a working visit
with one of his brothers, and took the oppor¬
tunity to make a quick tour of northern Cali¬
fornia. He visited Lick Observatory where
he met several of the staff and watched them
observe one night. He also stopped at Stan¬
ford University, which was still under con¬
struction but due to open that fall. Townley
admired the handsome buildings and gave
his opinion that “[tjhis is the beginning of
a fine University and will probably some day
rank among the leading institutions of the
land.” Finally he visited Berkeley where he
was less impressed: “The University has a
nice location and some fine buildings but in
neither respect does it come up to the U.W.”
After two years of graduate work at Madi¬
son, Townley received his M.S. and then on
Comstock’s recommendation went to Lick
on the first fellowship, which paid $40 a
year less than the fellowship he had held at
Wisconsin.
According to Townley, he arrived at
Mount Hamilton on the noon stage on July
1, 1892, the day his fellowship began, only
to be reprimanded by Holden for not com¬
ing the day before so that he could begin
work promptly at 9 A.M.24 This is a good
story, but actually Townley’s diary showed
that he was nearly three weeks late in addi¬
tion to the half day he mentions. But once
there he got right down to work and was able
to spend much of the time in the summer
and fall in research on variable stars, the
subject of his Madison thesis. In addition,
at Lick he had the duties of running the
time service and of assisting Astronomer
W. W. Campbell observe spectroscopically
two nights each week. In the winter semester
Townley moved to Berkeley and took formal
classes, and then returned to Mount Hamil¬
ton in May and June to complete his observ¬
ing project.25
The next year his fellowship was not re¬
newed; Holden preferred to spend the money
that Mrs. Hearst gave the Observatory to
finance an eclipse expedition to Chile and
to buy a new spectroscope for the Observa¬
tory.26 In desperation Townley wrote Com¬
stock asking if there was any possibility of a
job at Wisconsin, or if he knew of any other
jobs at other observatories: “I have got to
strike something before long or else go to
sawing wood for a living.”27 He literally
dreamt of Madison.28 Townley did get a low-
paying instructorship at Michigan, and with
one year of graduate study in Germany along
the way ultimately received his Sc.D. at Ann
Arbor in 1897.
Jobs were hard to come by; for instance
as the directorship changed hands at Lick
Observatory, Townley wrote five different
letters of application for a position there
within one two-and-a-half-year period.29 He
held an instructorship at Berkeley for sev¬
eral years, then became the one-man staff
of a geodetic observatory at Ukiah, Califor¬
nia and then at last became a long-time pro¬
fessor at Stanford, which had indeed turned
out to be a fine university.24
One of the most famous scientists from
the University of Wisconsin, Robert W.
Wood, a physicist universally regarded as
one of the world’s experts in light, came to
Lick Observatory as a guest investigator in
the summer of 1900. He was then a young
assistant professor and was introduced to
James E. Keeler, Holden’s successor as Di¬
rector, in a letter from Benjamin W. Snow,
Keeler’s old friend and schoolmate.30 Snow
described Wood as “a thoroughly jolly and
companionable man, and one who has won
for himself a very enviable place among the
investigators of our faculty.”31 Wood, after
observing the solar corona at the 1900
eclipse, had conceived a scheme of detecting
the faint corona without an eclipse. He
1981] Osterbrock — The Calif ornia-Wisconsin Astronomical Connection 159
3. The University of Wisconsin baseball team of 1891. Sidney D. Townley, the manager, is
in the back row, second from left, wearing a dark derby hat and light suit. Then an astron¬
omy graduate student at Wisconsin, he later became a graduate student at Lick Observatory,
and still later a professor at Stanford. Photograph courtesy of the Townley Family.
planned to take advantage of the fact that
the coronal light is polarized and contains
no absorption lines to enhance its contrast
with the scattered sunlight.32 Keeler died
unexpectedly of a stroke just a few days
after inviting Wood to bring his apparatus
to Lick, and W. W. Campbell was actually
in charge when he arrived. The corona, even
in polarized light in the deepest solar ab¬
sorption lines, proved too faint for Wood’s
method, as he had feared it might.33 Never¬
theless, the experiment at Lick was useful
in evaluating the method, and Wood re¬
mained interested in astronomy and full of
suggestions for further observational re¬
search. A year after his visit to Mount Ham¬
ilton Wood left Wisconsin when he was ap¬
pointed a full professor at Johns Hopkins,
in the vacancy created by Henry A. Row¬
land’s death.34
Joel Stebbins, Professor of Astronomy at
the University of Wisconsin from 1922 un¬
til 1948, earned the third Ph.D. ever
awarded by Lick Observatory. He had been
an undergraduate at the University of Ne¬
braska, and spent one further year as a grad¬
uate student there, then another year at Wis¬
consin with Comstock who recommended
he go to Lick to learn “the new astronomy”
or astrophysical research. In California, in
alternate semesters Stebbins participated in
observational research at Mount Hamilton
and took formal courses in Berkeley. During
his second year at Lick, Stebbins began ob¬
serving with the 36-inch refractor and did
the first thesis assigned by Campbell, a busy
160
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 69
research worker with many observational
projects. Stebbins’ thesis was on the long-
period variable Mira. He followed its spec¬
tral changes and correctly concluded that it
must be an intrinsic variable star, physically
pulsating, and not a system of two stars re¬
volving about each other.35
Stebbins had quickly learned that the Cali¬
fornia atmosphere was much better for as¬
tronomy than Wisconsin’s when he saw a
double star resolved with the small 12-inch
refractor on Mount Hamilton that had
seemed an elongated blob, only suspected of
being double, with the giant Yerkes 40-inch
refractor.36 As Keeler had earlier written
when he thought the 40-inch was going to be
erected in Chicago, rather than in Williams
Bay as it was, “Our Chicago friends will
have a larger telescope, but 36 inches on Mt.
Hamilton will beat 40 inches in Chicago.”37
And like many another Midwesterner, Steb¬
bins thought California was beautiful in the
spring when the mountains are sparkling
green and the valleys are covered with flow¬
ers, but in late summer when the hills dried
up and turned brown he wrote: “I can’t
make up my mind to think that this place
is as pretty as Madison. Everything is so
different.”38 In 1903, after only two years
as a graduate student at the University of
California, Stebbins earned his Ph.D. de¬
gree and then went on to a long and suc¬
cessful career in photoelectric research at
Illinois and Wisconsin.35
Although Sebastian Albrecht was not a
famous scientist, he holds the distinction of
being the first astronomer ever married at
Lick Observatory. Born in Milwaukee, he
graduated from the University of Wisconsin
in 1900, taught high school in West Bend
for two years, then returned to Madison to
begin graduate work in astronomy and mathe¬
matics. After one year as a graduate student,
he was awarded a Lick Observatory fellow¬
ship on Comstock’s recommendation.39 For
the next three years he divided his time be¬
tween observational work at Lick and classes
at Berkeley. He did his thesis, a spectro¬
scopic study of Cepheid variable stars, under
the supervision of W. W. Campbell, who was
by then the third Director of Lick Observa¬
tory. (Campbell received an honorary LL.D.
degree from the University of Wisconsin in
1902, as Holden had earlier.)40
Albrecht was appointed to the Lick staff
after receiving his Ph.D. in 1906. He worked
closely with Campbell taking spectroscopic
measurements with the 36-inch refractor.
They were trying to detect the presence of
water vapor in Mars’ atmosphere, or at least
set an upper limit to its amount. Albrecht
observed at Mount Hamilton and also ac¬
companied Campbell on his expedition to
Mount Whitney in the late summer of 1909.
The party of six people included a doctor, a
carpenter, and a meteorological expert from
the Weather Bureau in addition to the as¬
tronomers and a guide. They took a 16-inch
reflecting telescope, a prism spectroscope,
and the associated optics to the 14,565 foot
summit. After a few days of acclimatization
for themselves and their horses at an inter¬
mediate altitude, in two nights at the sum¬
mit they obtained several good spectra of
Mars and the Moon, and although they did
not detect water vapor, they set a firm upper
limit to the amount of it in Mars’ atmo¬
sphere.41
In 1910, Albrecht accepted a job at the
Argentine National Observatory in Cordoba.
Before his departure, Albrecht married Vio¬
let Standen, a Lick Observatory secretary.
The wedding was held in the Director’s
house on Mount Hamilton with fifty mem¬
bers of the Observatory community in at¬
tendance. A minister from Saratoga, Cali¬
fornia, performed the ceremony under
crossed flags of the United States and Ar¬
gentina, the latter a flag borrowed by Camp¬
bell from the Consulate in San Francisco.
The Albrechts left Mount Hamilton a week
later for Argentina with intermediate stops
1981]
Osterbrock — The Calif ornia-Wisconsin Astronomical Connection
161
at his family home on Forest Home Avenue
in Milwaukee, and in New York.42 Unfor¬
tunately, the job in Argentina did not work
out, and Albrecht returned to the United
States in 1912, working briefly at the Uni¬
versity of Michigan and then for many years
at Dudley Observatory in Albany, New
York.43
In conclusion, there were and still are
many close astronomical ties between Wis¬
consin and California, probably more than
between any two states. In part, they came
about because of the demand for astrono¬
mers in California — beginning in 1888 with
the completion of the Lick Observatory —
and because of the source of astronomers at
the University of Wisconsin — from early on
a strong research-oriented institution. But
in part they also came about because of
personal contacts and relationships dating
back to Holden and Comstock — and those
personal contacts were and are important
too.
Acknowledgments
I am grateful to many friends who helped
provide research material for this study, par¬
ticularly Mary L. Shane, Curator, and my
wife Irene, both of the Lick Observatory
Archives, University of California, Santa
Cruz, and to Elaine Wright of the Office of
the Secretary of the Faculty, W. Robert Mar¬
shall of the College of Engineering, and
Bernard Schermetzler, of the Division of
Archives, Memorial Library, University of
Wisconsin, Madison. I am especially grate¬
ful to Lucile Townley Clark, Isabel Townley
Marx, and Jane Townley Blew, who allowed
me to consult their father’s letters and diary.
References Cited
1. Osterbrock, D. E. 1978. Trans. W.A.S.A.L.
66:1-24.
2. Campbell, W. W. 1919. Bio. Mem. N.A.S.
8:347-372.
3. Letter, Haugen to Holden, Feb. 7, 1885,
Archives, College of Letters and Sciences,
Department of Astronomy, University of
Wisconsin, Madison, Memorial Library,
hereafter cited as UW.
4. Letters, Chamberlin to Holden, May 16,
1885, Holden to Chamberlin, May 17,
1885, Lick Observatory Archives, Univer¬
sity of California, Santa Cruz, McHenry
Library, hereafter cited as LOA.
5. Trans. W.A.S.A.L. 7, unpaged, 1883-1887.
6. Letter, D. S. Durie to Holden, Oct. 22,
1885, UW; Collections State Hist. Soc.
Wis. 10: 37-38, 1885.
7. Letter, Holden to Gould, Oct. 5, 1885,
UW.
8. Irving, R. D. 1887. Pub. L.O. 1:55-58.
9. Vance, M. M. 1960. Charles Richard Van
Hise, Scientist Progressive. Madison, State
Historical Society.
10. Letters, Bull to Holden, Dec. 16, 1885,
July 20, 1887, LOA.
11. Letter, Bull to Holden, Apr. 16, 1885,
LOA.
12. Thorkelson, H. J. 1907. Wis Engineer 12:
1-4; Turneaure, F. E. 1908. Jour. Western
Soc. Engineers 13:453-454.
13. Letters, Holden to W. H. Scott, May 14,
1885, to Comstock, June 17, Dec. 15,
1886, LOA.
14. Letter, Langley to Holden, Dec. 12, 1884,
LOA.
15. Letter, Langley to Holden, Oct. 2, 1885,
LOA.
16. Letter, Gould to Holden, Oct. 6, 1885,
LOA.
17. Letters, Rogers to Holden, Oct. 16, Oct.
26, 1885, July 18, Aug. 6, Sep. 14, 1886,
Nov. 7, 1887, LOA.
18. Letter, Comstock to Holden, Sep. 6, 1887,
LOA.
19. Hill, G. W. 1908. Bio. Mem. N.A.S. 6:
241-309.
20. Townley, S. D. 1934. Pub. A.S.P. 46:171-
176; Stebbins, J. 1939. Bio. Mem. N.A.S.
20:161-182.
21. Letter, Comstock to Holden, Sep. 2, 1889,
LOA.
22. Letters, Holden to Comstock, Sep. 10,
1889, Leuschner to Holden, Sep. 20, Sep.
25, 1889, LOA.
23. Alter, D. 1953. Pub. A.S.P. 65:269-273;
Herget, P. 1978. Bio. Mem. N.A.S. 49:
129-147.
162
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
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24. Aitken, R. G. 1946. Pub. A.S.P. 58:193-
195.
25. Townley, S. D. 1885-1893, Diary. Parts of
this diary are published as Townley, S. D.
1940, Diary of a Student of the University
of Wisconsin 1886 to 1892, Palo Alto; the
entire diary is in the possession of Mrs.
Lucile Townley Clark.
26. Letters, Holden to J. C. Stump, Oct. 27,
1892, to P. A. Hearst, Jan. 30, 1893, LOA.
27. Letter, Townley to Comstock, Mar. 21,
1893, UW.
28. Letter, Townley to Comstock, Feb. 6,
1897, UW.
29. Letters, Townley to Holden, Aug. 28,
1897, to J. M. Schaeberle, Dec. 18, 1897,
to W. W. Campbell, June 4, 1898, to J. E.
Keeler, June 21, 1898, to W. W. Campbell,
Dec. 13, 1900, LOA.
30. Letter, Comstock to Holden, Apr. 25,
1887, LOA.
31. Letter, Snow to Keeler, July 2, 1900, LOA.
32. Letters, Wood to Campbell, July 15, 1900,
to Keeler, July 22, 1900, LOA.
33. Letters, Wood to Campbell, Aug. 23, 1900,
Jan. 20, 1901, LOA.
34. Seabrook, W. 1941. Doctor Wood, Modern
Wizard of the Laboratory. New York,
Harcourt, Brace.
35. Whitford, A. E. 1978. Bio. Mem. N.A.S.
49:293-316.
36. Letter, Stebbins to H[ome] F[olks], Oct.
28, 1901, LOA.
37. Letter, Keeler, to H. E. Mathews, Dec. 20,
1892, Allegheny Observatory Archives,
Hillman Library, University of Pittsburgh.
38. Letters, Stebbins to H[ome] F[olks], May
19, June 1, 1902, LOA.
39. Letters, Albrecht to Campbell, Feb. 25,
1903, Comstock to Campbell, Feb. 24,
1903, LOA.
40. Wright, W. H. 1949. Bio. Mem. N.A.S.
25:35-74.
41. Campbell, W. W. 1909. L.O. Bull. 5:149-
164.
42. San Jose Mercury, July 3, 1910.
43. Letter, C. D. Perrine to Campbell, July 6,
1912, LOA.
ADDRESSES OF AUTHORS, Transactions Wisconsin Academy, 1981
Ackley, Meredith
2640 N. Booth Street
Milwaukee, WI 53212
Baldassarre, Guy A.
Texas Technical University
Department of Range and
Wildlife Mgt.
Lubbock, TX 79409
Blondin, George A.
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Department of Soil Science
Madison, WI 53706
Bruskewitz, James W.
1109 Mohican Pass
Madison, WI 53711
Bryson, Reid
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Department of Meteorology
Madison, WI 53706
Comiskey, Stephen J.
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Department of Soil Science
Madison, WI 53706
Cordero, Ronald A.
University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh
Department of Philosophy
Oshkosh, WI 54901
De Witt, Calvin B.
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Center for Biotic Systems, I.E.S.
Madison, WI 53706
Dorner, Peter
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Department of Agricultural Economics
and Dean, International Studies and
Programs
Madison, WI 53706
Dorney, John R.
Office of Water Resources
Dept, of Natural Resources
and Community Development
Raleigh, NC 27603
Estill, Carrie Anne
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Department of Linguistics
Madison, WI 53706
Gabel, Generose
303 Seventh Street
Baldwin City, KS 66006
Harkin, John M.
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Department of Soil Science
Madison, WI 53706
Heckmann, Richard A.
Brigham Young University
Department of Zoology
Provo, Utah 84602
Hollinger, Ruth E. (R. E. H. Peters)
2530 Forest View Court, Apt. 1
Appleton, WI 54911
Ihde, Aaron
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Department of Chemistry
Madison, WI 53706
Kratz, Tim
University of Wisconsin
Trout Lake Biological Station
Route 1, Box 76
Boulder Junction, WI 54512
Nardin, Jane
University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee
Department of English
Milwaukee, WI 53201
Nauman, Lyle E.
University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point
College of Natural Resources
Stevens Point, WI 54481
OSTERBROCK, DONALD E.
University of California-Santa Cruz
Lick Observatory
Santa Cruz. CA 95064
Rosenbaum. James G.
601 East Day Avenue
Milwaukee, WI 53217
Schaefer, Wayne F.
University of Wisconsin Center-
Washington County
Department of Biology
West Bend, WI 53905
Shade, Barbara J.
University of Wisconsin-Parkside
Division of Education
Kenosha, WI 53141
Sloan, Michael A.
2327 Pioneer Road
Evanston, IL 60201
Swenson, William A.
University of Wisconsin-Superior
Center for Lake Superior
Environmental Studies
Superior, WI 54880
Thomas, Sister Marilyn
Marian College of Fond du Lac
Dean of Students
Fond du Lac, WI 54935
Winkler, Marjorie J.
University of Wisconsin-Madison
Center for Climatic Research, I.E.S.
Madison, WI 53706
THE WISCONSIN ACADEMY OF SCIENCES, ARTS AND LETTERS
The Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters was chartered by the
State Legislature on March 16, 1870 as an incorporated society serving the people
of the State of Wisconsin by encouraging investigation and dissemination of knowl¬
edge in the sciences, arts and letters.
ACTIVE . $20 annual dues
SUSTAINING . $27 or more contributed annually
FAMILY . . $27 annual dues (Husband & Wife)
SENIOR . $10 annual dues (age 70 or over)
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submit manuscripts for publication consideration or for presentation at Academy
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■ .if/
!:' j
the Wisconsin
Academy of
Sciences,
Arts
Letters
&
Volume 70
1982
TRANSACTIONS
OF THE
WISCONSIN ACADEMY
OF SCIENCES, ARTS
AND LETTERS
Volume 70, 1982
Co-editors
PHILIP WHITFORD
KATHRYN WHITFORD
Copyright© 1982
Wisconsin Academy of Science, Arts and Letters.
Manufactured in United States of America.
All Rights Reserved.
TRANSACTIONS OF THE
WISCONSIN ACADEMY
Established 1870
Volume 70, 1982
PRESIDENTIAL ADDRESS 1
Theodore N. Savides
THE MAKING OF A SAND COUNTY ALMANAC 3
Dennis Ribbens
THE PRE-EUROPEAN SETTLEMENT VEGETATION OF THE
ALDO LEOPOLD RESERVE 1 3
Konrad Liegel
SOME HISTORICAL ASPECTS OF RUFFED GROUSE HARVESTS
AND HUNTING REGULATIONS IN WISCONSIN 27
Stephen DeStefano and Donald H. Rusch
EVALUATION OF INGESTED SHOT LEVELS
IN WATERFOWL HARVESTED IN WISCONSIN IN 1980 36
David L. Strohmeyer
VEGETATIONAL CHANGE IN UNIVERSITY BAY FROM 1 966 TO 1 980 42
William J. Vander Zouwen
SUCCESSION AND ELM REPLACEMENT IN
THE DUNNVILLE BOTTOMS 52
John L. Larson and William J. Barnes
THE WITCH TREE COMPLEX 61
Silvester J. Brito
ANIMALS AND ANTHROPOMORPHISM
IN CHILDREN’S LITERATURE 68
Sonia Vogl
BODY LENGTHS, BODY WEIGHTS AND FECUNDITY
IN SEA LAMPREYS (PETR OMYZON MARINUS)
FROM GREEN BAY, LAKE MICHIGAN 73
Wendel J. Johnson
A NEW DISTRIBUTION RECORD FOR A WISCONSIN CRAYFISH
(ORCONECTES IMMUNIS) 78
C. W. Threinen
OUR LANGUAGE— A SMORGASBORD OF TONGUES:
THE SCANDINAVIAN INFLUENCE 80
Howard Martin
MORE WISCONSINESE 84
Carrie Estill
DISCOVERING THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS: A LOOK
AT TEACHING ENGLISH IN GERMANY AND AMERICA 86
Richard Brenzo
THE HOUSE OF SEVEN GABLES: CLASSICAL MYTH
AND THE ALLEGORY OF REDEMPTION 93
Robert Earl
THE VORTEX OF TIME: POUND AND HIS CANTOS 99
Elizabeth Williams
TO POLISH A CROWN: SHAKESPEAREAN DIALECTIC 109
Tom McBride
TEXTUAL POLITICS: THE USES OF IMAGINATION
IN JOANNA RUSS’S THE FEMALE MAN 1 14
Catherine L. McClenahan
THE SEARCH FOR EQUALITY IN WISCONSIN 126
Tamara L. Raymond
THE FORMATION AND PROBLEMS OF
THE FRENCH-INDIAN ALLIANCE, 1748-1758 135
Bradley G. Larson
RICHARD T. ELY AND THE DEVELOPMENT
OF THE EUROPEAN SOCIALIST AND LABOR COLLECTIONS
AT THE UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN-M ADISON 1 52
Jack A. Clarke
THE INFLUENCE OF REGULATION ON TOP LEVEL
EXECUTIVE COMPENSATION FOR LARGE CORPORATIONS 1 57
Jay Nathan
REDISTRIBUTION OF FALLOUT ,37CS
IN BRUNNER CREEK WATERSHED IN WISCONSIN 161
Jerry C. Ritchie, J. Roger McHenry, and Gary D. Bubenzer
WISCONSIN’S GREATEST HEAT WAVE 167
Jack R. Villmow
WISCONSIN’S COLDEST FIVE WEEKS 1 72
Jack R. Villmow
ACADEMIA AND THE SEARCH FOR PEACE 177
Peter Dorner
ADDRESSES OF AUTHORS
184
WISCONSIN ACADEMY OF SCIENCES, ARTS AND LETTERS
The Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters was chartered by the State Legislature on
March 16, 1870 as an incorporated society serving the people of the State of Wisconsin by en¬
couraging investigation and dissemination of knowledge in the sciences, arts and letters.
PRESIDENT
Theodore N. Savides
Merrimac
IMMEDIATE PAST PRESIDENT
Reid A. Bryson
Madison
PRESIDENT-ELECT
Martha Peterson
Madison
SECRETARY-TREASURER
Robert E. Najem
Madison
OFFICERS
VICE PRESIDENT— SCIENCES
Jerry D. Davis
La Crosse
VICE PRESIDENT— ARTS
William H. Tishler
Madison
VICE PRESIDENT— LETTERS
Dennis Ribbens
Appleton
ACADEMY COUNCIL consists of the above officers plus
COUNCILORS-AT-LARGE
TERM EXPIRES 1986 TERM EXPIRES 1983
Margaret Fish Rahill, Milwaukee
Gerald D. Viste, Wausau
TERM EXPIRES 1985
Walter L. Brauer, Milwaukee
F. Chandler Young, Madison
TERM EXPIRES 1984
Charles C. Bradley, Baraboo
Kenneth W. Dowling, Cross Plains
Emily H. Earley, Madison
Hugh Highsmith, Fort Atkinson
PAST PRESIDENTS
(Presently serving on Council)
Katherine G. Nelson, Milwaukee
John W. Thomson, Madison
Adolph A. Suppan, Milwaukee
APPOINTED OFFICIALS
EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR
AND PUBLISHER
WISCONSIN ACADEMY REVIEW
LeRoy R. Lee
Steenbock Center
1922 University Ave.
Madison, WI 53705
DIRECTOR— WISCONSIN
JUNIOR ACADEMY
LeRoy R. Lee
Steenbock Center
Madison, WI 53705
MANAGING EDITOR WISCONSIN
ACADEMY REVIEW
Patricia Powell
Steenbock Center
Madison, WI 53705
EDITOR TRANSACTIONS
Kathryn & Philip B. Whitford
2647 N. Booth St.
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LIBRARIAN
Jack A. Clarke
4232 Helen White Hall
UW Madison, Madison, WI 53706
CONTRIBUTORS TO THE SCIENCES, ARTS, AND LETTERS
OF WISCONSIN
E. F. Hutton Foundation, Madison
Evjue Foundation, Madison
Exxon Corporation, New York
Wausau Insurance Companies, Wausau
Webcrafters-Frautschi Foundation, Madison
PATRONS OF THE ACADEMY
Martha Peterson, Madison
1982 AWARDS
Academy Citation, Herbert Kubly
Gordon MacQuarrie Award, George Vukelich
Honorary President Emeritus, Harry Steenbock
Emeritus Life Member, Charles B. Gates
THE WISCONSIN ACADEMY OF SCIENCES, ARTS AND LETTERS
The Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters was chartered by the State Legisla¬
ture on March 16, 1870 as an incorporated society serving the people of the State of Wisconsin
by encouraging investigation and dissemination of knowledge in the sciences, arts and letters.
ACTIVE . $20 annual dues
SUSTAINING . $27 or more contributed annually
FAMILY . $27 annual dues (Husband & Wife)
SENIOR . . . $10 annual dues (age 70 or over)
ASSOCIATE . $7 annual dues (Students only)
LIFE . $200-$500 in one lifetime payment
PATRON . $500 or more in one lifetime payment
CONTRIBUTING . $500 or more contributed annually
LIBRARY . $20 annual dues
Your membership will encourage research, discussion and publication in the various areas
of the sciences, arts and letters of Wisconsin. Please send dues payment with name and address
to: W.A.S.A.L., 1922 University Avenue, Madison, WI 53705.
Academy members receive the annual TRANSACTIONS; the quarterly REVIEW; and
occasional monographs or special reports. Members are invited to submit manuscripts for
publication consideration or for presentation at Academy meetings.
Member, Educational Press Association of America
Member, American Association for Advancement of Science
EDITORIAL POLICY
The TRANSACTIONS of the Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Let¬
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the works of Academy members. Sound manuscripts dealing with features of the
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Theodore N. Savides
60th President, 1982
W.A.S.A.L.
PRESIDENTIAL ADDRESS
Theodore N. Savides
April 1982
For a very long time now we and the
rest of this nervous world’s industrialized
nations have become mesmerized by the
notion of calculating national wealth by the
size of the gross national product and a
favorable balance of trade. Not content with
our questionable ability to estimate the pres¬
ent state of our economic health by these
narrow measures we also base our prognosis
of future health on whether the GNP is
rising or falling and whether the balance of
trade seems likely to tip for us or against
us. For thoughtful men and women both of
these somewhat suspect measures are very
weak reeds indeed upon which to base pre¬
dictions regarding the future of our posterity.
Although these brief remarks should in no
way be construed as a sermon, they do have
a text of sorts, or really two texts. The first
is Aristotle’s well-known observation that
“educated men are as much superior to un¬
educated men as the living are to the dead.”
Parenthetically one might observe that given
the man’s world in which he lived, it is
highly unlikely that Aristotle intended to
include women in his use of the word “men.”
Modern society, of course, is quite a differ¬
ent matter, and the inclusion of women in
the generic “mankind”’ is taken for granted.
In 1870, however, the year this institution
was founded, the status of women was per¬
haps most aptly described by Friedrich
Nietzsche who suggested that woman existed
for the amusement of the warrior, that all
else was folly. On the long list of distin¬
guished persons consulted in the matter of
establishing this very academy, one finds not
a single female, and an enormous volume of
social conflict and pain lay ahead before
women achieved even their present some¬
what unsatisfactory status.
The second text is from Cicero, and in
the simplest language possible the great
Roman stated a universal truth equally true
for every normal member of our species, a
truth obvious to everyone of us here: “to
think is to live.” One need only call to mind
the thousands of our kind described in the
crudest language we know as being simply
“institutionalized vegetables” to understand
the priceless value of the ability to reason,
an ability infinitely reduced even in the
highest of the other primates.
But merely because we can out-reason
the great apes hardly means that our prob¬
lems are ephemeral and will shortly evapo¬
rate like so much mist. Terribly complex
social, political, moral and economic dilem¬
mas face our nation and our world for the
foreseeable future, which future, by the
way, is rarely as foreseeable as the term
suggests and might more accurately be de¬
scribed as the unforeseeable future.
Each year a new generation of youth ar¬
rives, seeking to make its place in society
and the world of work. Opportunities must
be provided lest we squander the most preci¬
ous of our resources, human talent. Histori¬
cally our economy has usually managed to
solve this perennial problem simply by ex¬
panding our production of material goods
and refining the provision of human ser¬
vices. For some years now considerably more
Americans have been employed in the ser¬
vice areas than in the manufacturing indus¬
tries. Notwithstanding this happy develop¬
ment, we still lead the world in the produc¬
tion of junk, and the safe disposal of this
enormous and ubiquitous volume of refuse
constitutes a major problem for virtually
every American community.
But the difficulties confronting us in re¬
cycling or otherwise safely disposing of our
material debris are dwarfed by the growing
1
2
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
size of our social debris, the human flotsam
and jetsam of a great and affluent nation
which in recent years seems at least tempo¬
rarily to have lost its sense of direction. On
the positive side, however, what used to be
known as our sense of manifest destiny has
finally given way to a more realistic view of
the tragic consequences of rapidly depleting
our irreplaceable natural resources. Clearly
the provision of food, clothing and shelter
for the impoverished ones of this world is a
global problem far exceeding the ability of
any one or two or three of the most pros¬
perous nations to solve, alone or in combi¬
nation.
And then among a host of acute internal
problems is the increasing level of gratuitous
violence and outrage which we commit upon
each other. Such aberrant behaviour is by
now so pervasive as to have made the manu¬
facture and installation of security systems
both in places of business and personal resi¬
dence one of the fastest-growing industries
we have, an ironic paradox in a nation
which from its beginnings has prided itself
on being an open society.
Many millions of our fellow citizens suffer
from the twin plagues of alcoholism and
chemical dependency both of which cross
lines of age, sex, education and economic
status.
The immense social costs of widespread
unemployment, personal and business bank¬
ruptcies, steeply diminishing levels of sup¬
port for artistic, cultural and scientific en¬
deavors, in short of the entire educational
enterprise, cast deep shadows over the pres¬
ent and the future as well. Each of us is
hard-pressed to maintain perspective and a
sense of optimism in the face of the continu¬
ing gloom which overhangs so many impor¬
tant sectors of society today.
But if we as a proud and productive peo¬
ple continue indefinitely to flounder around
in a trough of despondency and defeat, it
will be because we have lost sight of the true
source of wealth which resides where it has
always resided, in the educated skills of our
people, in their almost incredible faculty for
problem-solving.
The spectacular flowering of genius which
so marked Periclean Greece and Elizabethan
England may never be achieved again, but
we can be quite confident that the grand to¬
tal of our natural and intellectual resources
far exceeds those of ancient Greece and
Medieval Britain combined. They will, at
last, when deliberately focussed on our na¬
tional dilemmas carry us forward into a fu¬
ture far brighter than our present. If so, that
happy outcome will be accomplished by
close and continuing attention to the earlier
texts of these remarks, namely Aristotle’s
advice that educated men are far superior
to uneducated men as the living are to the
dead and Cicero’s equally perceptive ob¬
servation that to think is to live.
I may say in conclusion that thanks to
the dedicated efforts of Academy admin¬
istrations both in the recent and not so re¬
cent past, your academy is both alive and
well. I am confident that within the gradu¬
ally expanding boundaries of its resources
it will as before continue to support and en¬
courage the sciences, arts and letters in full
adherance to the sacred dictum of its ven¬
erable charter.
THE MAKING OF A SAND COUNTY ALMANAC
Dennis Ribbens
Lawrence University
A Sand County Almanac by Aldo Leo¬
pold needs no introduction in our time. Few
books have had as much influence on Amer¬
ica’s growing ecological awareness. A Sand
County Almanac is praised as the right mix
of nature observation and ecological thought,
of field experience and philosophical reflec¬
tion, of scientific fact and aesthetic delight
and ethical value. In fact this collection of
essays — so diverse and yet unified in per¬
spective, material, and treatment — has be¬
come the model for contemporary nature
writing. But for all that the book has been
given little critical literary attention. What
textual analysis there has been has only
considered the 1949 edition of A Sand
County Almanac. No study of the earlier
manuscript versions of the essays has been
made. No one has traced the evolution of
the text or of Leopold’s thinking about the
substance and structure of the text during its
lengthy gestation from November, 1941, to
April, 1948. This essay proposes to do those
things, based on an examination of corre¬
spondence, essay drafts, and other manu¬
scripts contained in the Leopold archives at
the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Es¬
pecially in the letters between Leopold and
his publishers and his friends one can trace
the evolution of the concept of the book. In
them one finds the debate over what consti¬
tutes a nature book, the debate about the
right interplay between nature observation
and ecological preachment. In them one ob¬
serves Leopold working out his own answers
to these questions. The major part of this
essay will examine the period during which
A Sand County Almanac evolved both as
concept and structure in order to discover
the evolution of Leopold’s thinking about
what a nature book should be. As an after
note this essay will also briefly comment on
some of the mechanical aspects of writing,
revising, and editing the work: changes with¬
in the essays, changes in the type of essays,
changes in titles, and changes in organiza¬
tion.
Prior to 1941 Leopold had published
essays in many journals, some as early as
the 191 0’s. For example, the most discussed
of all the essays in A Sand County Almanac ,
“The Land Ethic,” first appeared in 1933 as
“Conservation Ethic.” “Conservation Es¬
thetic” first appeared in 1937. Most of Leo¬
pold’s early essays were either technical or,
like the two cited, overtly conservationist
exhortation — philosophic essays Leopold
called them. It is important to keep in mind
the kind of essays Leopold wrote before
1941 if one is to understand the controversy
within Leopold himself and between Leopold
and his correspondents during the 1941-
1947 period during which the book was
shaped. A few of the 1930’s essays like
“Guacamaja” (1937) and “Marshland
Elegy” (1937) shared with the philosophic
essays their conservationist/ecological pur¬
pose, but were presented more nearly in de¬
scriptive/narrative terms. Event in part sub¬
stituted for reason as ecological argument.
None of these essays, however, were in¬
tended to be primarily narrative descriptions.
Several essays which appeared in 1941 and
which were later incorporated into A Sand
County Almanac, anticipate the kind of es¬
says Leopold was later to write. The only
pre-November, 1941, essay to use the shack
experience was “65287,” later changed to
“65290” (why, I cannot say). “Bur Oak is
Badge in Wisconsin” ( Wisconsin Agricul¬
turalist and Farmer, April, 1941), an early
and shortened version of “Bur Oak,” and
“The Geese Return” (manuscripts dated
September, 1941) both predate Leopold’s
3
4
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
thinking about A Sand County Almanac.
Although in their early versions both antici¬
pate the tone of the later shack essays and
were revised in that direction in the middle
1940’s, they were, in 1941, basically con¬
servation/ecology essays.
A letter from Knopf publishers written to
Leopold on November 26, 1941, begins the
period of Leopold’s serious consideration
of the kind of nature essays he should write
and of how they might be coherently orga¬
nized. That letter begins the making of A
Sand County Almanac. In it Knopf told
Leopold that they sought someone to write
“a personal book recounting adventures in
the field . . . warmly, evocatively, and viv¬
idly written ... a book for the layman . . .
[with] room for the author’s opinions on
ecology and conservation . . . worked into a
framework of actual field experience.” No¬
tice that at the very outset of the Knopf/
Leopold correspondence the fundamental
variables which make up nature writing not
only were identified but also were couched
within their inevitable tension. On the one
hand, the Knopf letter says a nature book
must be personal, narrative, a recounting of
field adventures and experiences, informed,
warm, evocative. But beyond such narrative
observation, a nature book might contain
the author’s opinions, his considered analy¬
sis of nature, his comment about natural
events and man’s place in them. It might
address ecological and conservationist mat¬
ters. And notice too Knopf’s insistence that
such ecological considerations be “worked
into a framework of actual field experience,”
not the reverse. That was not the approach
Leopold’s essays had been taking up to that
time. Conservation issues, not descriptions
of nature, were the controlling element in
his essays. Ironically had Knopf held to its
desire to mold ecological considerations into
field experience, it would have judged Leo¬
pold’s essays more favorably in 1944 and in
1947. Leopold’s responding letter (Decem¬
ber 3, 1941 ) addresses this issue which was
to separate them for the next six years. In it
Leopold also questioned “how far into ecol¬
ogy (that is, how far beyond mere natural
history ) such a book should attempt to go.
... I am convinced that the book should go
part way into ecological observation” (ital¬
ics mine).
This matter of what constitutes a nature
book, of what is the right mix of nature
observation and conservation exposition re¬
ceived little attention from Leopold during
the next two or more years. On December
29, 1941, Leopold wrote Knopf, “I am out
as sole author for a year or two.” He claimed
to be writing “a series of ecological essays
... as a Christmas book.” I have uncovered
no other reference to this unusual Christmas
book idea. It is worth noting that Leopold
describes what he was writing in 1941 as
“ecological essays,” a term appropriate for
the largely non-narrative exhortative conser¬
vation pieces written before that time. In
fact the title he probably would have chosen
for the essays at that time was Conservation
Ecology. In January of 1942 Knopf asked to
see some of these ecological essays. Leopold
pleaded that upon closer consideration he
found the essays not to be ready. In April of
1943 Knopf again asked how the essays
were progressing. Leopold responded that
that he would get to them in the next year
or two. In January of 1944 Knopf once
again inquired about the essays. This time
Leopold was able to say, “I have been work¬
ing steadily” (January 28, 1944). And he
had been. Of the thirty-seven datable manu¬
script drafts of the essays from A Sand
County Almanac which are included in
“Drafts of Essays in Sand County Almanac”
(Writings, Box 5) in the Leopold archives
of the University of Wisconsin, twenty-one
date from 1943 and the first half of 1944,
especially from September of 1943 through
June of 1944. Probably eight of the book’s
forty-one essays were written during that
period.
That period is also rich in Leopold’s cor¬
respondence with his friend H. Albert Hoch-
baum, artist and wildfowl expert. Their let-
1982]
Ribhens — Making a Sand County Almanac
5
ters to one another reveal what essays Leo¬
pold was then working on, what tone and
content he sought for the essays, and espe¬
cially what overall effect Leopold wanted the
collection of essays to have. As early as May
7, 1943, in a letter to Hochbaum Leopold
spoke of “our joint venture.” “Let’s by all
means reinstate the original plan and keep
sending each other whatever materials we
manage to bring together.” Regarding the
book and its drawings Leopold was to say,
“This is a personal venture, and I take spe¬
cial pride in its ‘home-made’ aspect” (June
18, 1944). Later of Hochbaum’s critical ad¬
vice Leopold said, “I am learning alot from
your letters” (June 3, 1944). “[OJur intel¬
lectual partnership is one of the anchors of
my ship. Without it I would be adrift” (Oc¬
tober 17, 1947). On September 23, 1943,
Leopold could say that “for the moment I
have my hands more than full with the book.
Perhaps 1 had not told you that I had spent
the summer at it. I think I will call it ‘Land
Ecology’ instead of ‘Conservation Ecology.’ ”
Leopold expressed concern over what he
called the “literary effect” of the essays.
Regarding his effort to reconcile the need to
provide enough environmental data to per¬
mit ethical judgment and on the other hand
achieving a satisfactory artistic or literary
effect, Leopold wrote at length in his letter
of March 1, 1944.
When you paint a picture, it conveys a
single idea, and not all of the ideas pertinent
to the particular landscape or action. If you
inserted all of the ideas of your picture, it
would spoil it.
In order to arrive at an ethical judgment,
however, about any question raised by the
picture, you need to consider all pertinent
ideas, including those which changed in
time. It seems to me, therefore, that any ar¬
tistic effort, whether a picture or an essay,
most often contains less than is needed for
an ethical judgment. That is approximately
what I meant when I said I intended to re¬
vise the essays insofar -as could be done with¬
out spoiling the literary effect. ... I do know
that the essays can give a more accurate
judgment, particularly in reference to my
own changes of attitude in time without hurt¬
ing literary effect, and possibly improving the
literary effect.
These 1943 and early 1944 letters refer
to “Green Lagoons,” “Too Early,” “Illinois
Bus Ride,” “Draba,” “Marshland Elegy,”
“Escudilla,” “sketch of the chickadees,”
“The Flambeau,” “Odyssey,” “Great Pos¬
sessions,” “Thinking Like a Mountain,” and
“Pines Above the Snow.” Hochbaum, in a
letter Leopold marked “important letter,”
combined praise and criticism of the essays,
and encouraged Leopold to worry less about
“literary effects.” “Since you can give a lilt
to the deadest subject, it seems to me that
[the quality of the essays] is in what you are
writing about, not in your technique”
(March 11, 1944). Moreover, Hochbaum
was able to identify precisely those issues of
unity, tone, and emphasis that were to
plague Leopold and his prospective pub¬
lishers for years. He found the overarching
theme of the essays hard to uncover. He
considered Leopold’s tone elitist and cynical,
and encouraged Leopold to write more sim¬
ply, personally, optimistically. He further
suggested that Leopold, in his struggle to get
the right mix of natural facts and “ethical
judgment” (March 11, 1944) think of the
series of essays as a self-portrait, and that
the Leopold depicted be “less a person than
he is a Standard” (March 11, 1944), but
a standard which finds lessons in his own life
as well as in the lives of others. As Hoch¬
baum wrote on February 4, 1944:
The lesson you wish to put across is the
lesson that must be taught — preservation of
the natural. Yet it is not easily taught if you
put yourself above other men. That is why
I mentioned your earlier attitude toward the
wolf. The Bureau Chief had as much right
to believe we should be rid of the Escudilla
bear, or the government crews to plan roads
for the crane marsh, as you had the right to
plan the extermination of wolves in New
Mexico. One gathers from parts of Escudilla
and Marshland Elegy that you bear a grudge
6
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
against these fellows for not thinking as you
when, in your own writings, you show that
you once followed a similar pattern of
thought. Your lesson is much stronger, then,
if you try to show how your own attitude
towards your environment has changed.”
(February 4, 1944)
Leopold himself had earlier acknowledged
that “about the question of attitude in the
essays — we all go through the wringer at one
time or another” (January 29, 1944). A
month later on the same matter, Hochbaum
said, “you have sometimes followed trails
like anyone else that lead you up wrong
alleys. That is why I suggested the wolf busi¬
ness.” “I hope you will have at least one
piece on wolves alone” (March 11, 1944).
On March 21, Leopold said he planned to
write a wolf essay soon. On April 14, he
wrote, “I am roughing out an essay or two,
working toward your idea of a shack series.”
Leopold also enclosed a draft of “Thinking
Like a Mountain,” an essay which blends
personal experience and universal environ¬
mental statement, an essay of confession to
match the diatribe of his 1930’s ecological
essays. Said Hochbaum, “ ‘Thinking Like
a Mountain’ fills the bill perfectly” (April
15, 1944).
On June 6, 1944, Leopold sent thirteen
essays both to Macmillan, who had by then
also contacted Leopold, and to Knopf. Much
can be learned from a close examination of
that list and of Leopold’s comments about
it.
1. Marshland Elegy
2. Song of the Gavilan
3. Guacamaja
4. Escudilla
5. Smoky Gold
6. Odyssey
7. Draba
8. Great Possessions
9. The Green Lagoons
10. Illinois Bus Ride
11. Pines Above the Snow
12. Thinking Like a Mountain
13. The Geese Return
[14. The Flambeau]
[15. Clandeboye]
In his cover letter Leopold said, “The ob¬
ject, which should need no elaboration if the
essays are any good, is to convey an ecologi¬
cal view of land and conservation.” Knopf
had initially asked for “a personal book re¬
counting adventure in the field” (November
26, 1941). At first glance one might con¬
clude that Leopold had attempted no accom¬
modation between philosophical ecological
essays and mere natural history. Such is,
however, by no means the case. Conspicu¬
ously absent from the list are three non-
narrative ecological essays from the 1930’s:
“Conservation Esthetic,” “The Conservation
Ethic,” and “Wildlife in American Culture.”
Clearly Leopold’s purpose in these thirteen
essays (to which two more were added in
August of 1944) upon which no organiza¬
tional structure had yet been imposed, was
to popularize and to dramatize through ac¬
tual events, in some cases through his own
personal experiences, those same ecological
and conservation issues which he had ad¬
dressed in the earlier philosophic essays. But
if on the one hand the more philosophical
essays do not appear, neither on the other
hand except incidentally do the essays based
on shack experiences. It is interesting to
note that after ten years at the shack and
after two and a half years of serious thought
about nature essays, Leopold used the shack
experience in only two of the fifteen essays,
“Great Possessions” and “Pines Above the
Snow.” Unlike the 1947 draft, the 1944
draft of “The Geese Return” contained no
shack reference. Ecological preachment,
made accessible to the public by means of
described events and experiences, is the
dominant essay type by 1944. “Draba” is
the most notable exception, a gentle, elegant
description and implicit ecological argument.
This change in the perspective of Leo¬
pold’s essays is evident in what he said in his
1982]
Ribbe ns— Making a Sand County Almanac
7
cover letter about a title for the book.
I once thought to call it “Marshland Elegy
— And Other Essays,” but “Thinking Like
a Mountain — And Other Essays,” now
strikes me as better” (June 6, 1944).
Up to the summer of 1943 Leopold
thought of the title as Conservation Ecology.
After giving his first real attention to the
essays in the summer of 1943, Land Ecology
seemed a more appropriate title. The change
points to a greater interest in natural fact
and a lesser interest in human conservation
activities. But as Leopold continued his work
on the book, particular essays embodying
the idea of land ecology seemed apt to name
the book by, first “Marshland Elegy” and
by June, 1944, “Thinking Like a Mountain.”
“Marshland Elegy” which dates from 1937
begins with an exquisitely poetic portrayal
of a marsh dawn, and ends with a harsh at¬
tack on governmental conservation blunder¬
ing and the prospect of an ecological dooms¬
day. Leopold’s place in the piece is that of
aloof critic, the judge of what is right. By
contrast “Thinking Like a Mountain” is
personal, experiential, humble, even con¬
fessional. It records Leopold’s own ecologi¬
cal blunders. More profound than “Elegy,”
it quietly speaks of individual attitude, of
Leopold’s own change in attitude. In place
of the doomsday ending in “Elegy” it con¬
cludes with Thoreau’s hopeful dictum, “In
wildness is the salvation of the world.”
This combining in the same essay of wolf
description, personal experience, attitude
change, and ecological comment troubled
the editors of Knopf. Their letter of rejection
of July 24, 1944 (Macmillan had rejected
the essays with virtually no comment a few
days earlier) triggered Leopold’s struggle
for the next three and a half years to define
to his own satisfaction what a nature book
should be. The 1944 Knopf rejection com¬
ments and Leopold’s response to them are
critical to an understanding of the concept
and structure of A Sand County Almanac,
the prototype for all contemporary nature
writing. For that reason I include Knopf’s
entire July 24, 1944, letter.
Dear Professor Leopold,
We have discussed your essays here and
find that, while we like your writing, they do
not seem altogether suitable for book publi¬
cation in their present form. One reason is
that they are so scattered in subject matter,
and it also seems to us that the point of view
and even the style varies from one essay to
another. Pieces of only a page or two in
length are also rather difficult to put into a
book. And of course the dozen articles sub¬
mitted would make a very slim volume in¬
deed. I am sure you plan these as only part
of a volume.
I wonder if you would consider making a
book purely of nature observations, with less
emphasis on the ecological ideas which you
have incorporated into your present manu¬
script? It seems to us that these ecological
theories are very difficult indeed to present
successfully for the layman. Certainly, the
repetition in chapter after chapter of a book,
of the idea that the various elements and
forces of nature should be kept in balance
would end by becoming monotonous. Would
it not be better to make the greater part of
the book observation of wild life in narrative
form, such as your pieces on “Great Posses¬
sions” and the “Green Lagoons,” adding a
chapter developing the ecological interpre¬
tations?
Such a book should, we feel, be based on
your own experiences and if possible should
be limited to one region of the country. In
the present collection, we feel a distinct
break between the middlewestern and south¬
western essays, because of the completely
different conditions existing in the two re¬
gions. Some sort of unifying theme or prin¬
cipals must be found for a book of this sort,
we think, and perhaps it would hold together
better if it were limited to a single part of the
country.
One reason the ideas about the balance of
nature, as embodied in these essays, do not
seem successfully presented is, I feel, that the
reader is apt to get a confused picture of
what you advocate. Sometimes it seems that
8
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
you want more intelligent planning, but you
point out that nature’s balance was upset
with the coming of civilization, and you cer¬
tainly do not seem to like the ordinary brand
of conservationists and government planners.
I think the average reader would be left
somewhat uncertain as to what you propose.
Perhaps in a single essay, all these ideas
could be related so that your basic theme
would become clearer,
I should add that we are impressed with
your writing, with the freshness of observa¬
tion which it reflects, and the skill of phrase.
We believe that readers who like nature will
enjoy such writing and hope that we can
work out with you a successful plan for a
volume. I would appreciate hearing your re¬
action to the above, and will hold the essays
until you tell me what to do with them.
Yours sincerely,
Clinton Simpson
That the essays were yet not developed into
a book form is true. But the more basic is¬
sue remained the direction Leopold’s essays
took, their effort to combine narrative and
exposition. Not surprisingly Knopf liked
“Green Lagoons” and “Great Possessions.”
The editors still preferred “a book purely
of nature observations, with less emphasis
on ecological ideas.” The heart of the
Knopf/Leopold debate was the perceived
conflict between observation of nature and
comment about nature, between aesthetic
response and ethical insight, between nature
as other and man/land interaction. Knopf
wanted the “what-I-saw-while-in-the-woods”
sort of nature book. Leopold’s concerns by
contrast were planetary and ethical as well
as provincial and descriptive. In a letter
dated August 24, 1944, Knopf after seeking
the judgment of two unnamed professional
writers, dropped its concern for regional
focus, but persisted in demanding more es¬
says, longer essays, elimination of repetitive
ecological arguments, and the addition of a
chapter “which sums up the argument for
the forces of nature.” Leopold’s reply to
Knopfs rejection letter made clear that his
agenda was “conservation in continental
rather than in local terms” (July 27, 1944).
But he agreed with Knopf that the essays
should, whenever possible be presented in
narrative form. Hochbaum’s immediate re¬
sponse to the Knopf letter Leopold at once
shared with him, pointed out the similarities
between Knopf’s and his own previous criti¬
cisms, and urged Leopold to recast the entire
book around the shack experience* — some¬
thing narrative, closer to nature, more hope¬
ful in tone (July 31, 1944). Leopold ad¬
mitted that “the shack essays ... are of a
different cast than [sic] the others” (August
17, 1944). By the end of the summer Leo¬
pold pledged to redo the essays along the
lines Knopf suggested — longer essays with
a discernible difference between the body of
natural observation and the final section on
ecological matters.
But apparently much time elapsed before
Leopold worked on the book. To Hochbaum
on December 4, 1944, Leopold wrote, “I’m
saying nothing of the essays because I’ve not
yet tackled them.” Heavy correspondence
continued between them, but no references
to the essays are to be found during 1945-
1947. Knopf continued to check periodically
with Leopold on how the work was progres¬
sing. Little was being done. At the urging of
some of his friends Leopold sent some of his
earlier “philosophical” essays to Knopf. Re¬
turning them, Clinton Simpson again ex¬
pressed concern over what he considered
thematic and stylistic disunity. As encourage¬
ment he added, “I find whatever you write
full of interest and vitality, and it seems to
me our only problem is one of fitting to¬
gether the pieces in a way that will not seem
haphazard or annoying to the reader” (April
29, 1946). Said Leopold in reply, “I entirely
agree with you that I can see no easy way of
getting unity between the philosophical pa-
* A rejection letter from the University of Min¬
nesota Press dated January 31, 1946, suggested
that in his essays Leopold ‘‘introduce more of him¬
self, so that his personal experience becomes the
thread on which the essays are strung.”
1982]
Ribbens — Making a Sand County Almanac
9
pers and the descriptive essays” (May 10,
1946). No issue was the object of more of
Leopold’s literary attention than this matter
of unifying natural description and ecologi¬
cal exhortation. He saw “Draba” and “The
Land Ethic” as of one piece. Knopf did not.
Much writing and revising took place from
the last half of 1946 up to the time the
manuscript was submitted in 1947. Leo¬
pold’s correspondence reveals his determi¬
nation to get the essays published one way
or another. Eleven of the thirty-seven dated
essays included in “Drafts of Essays in Sand
County Almanac” (Writings, Box 5) in the
University of Wisconsin Leopold archives
fall into this period. (Twenty-one fall into
the earlier 1943-44 productive period.)
Many of these later essays growing out of
Leopold’s shack experiences and reflecting
his intention to include more personal nar¬
rative, are privately held and unavailable
for examination. Probably about nine of the
forty-one essays were written during this
period.
The results of Leopold’s 1946-47 literary
work appear in the manuscript of A Sand
County Almanac, then entitled Great Posses¬
sions, sent to Knopf on September 5, 1947.
It is important to note that Leopold expli¬
citly stated that he put together this manu¬
script (essentially the same as the published
book) in a deliberate effort to meet the ob¬
jections Knopf raised in their three letters of
July 24, 1944; August 24, 1944; and April
29, 1946. A Sand County Almanac as we
have it today was Leopold’s best effort to
combine narrative and exposition, natural
fact and conservation value, joy and con¬
cern, the particular and the universal, the
scientist and the poet and the philosopher.
Knopf saw it otherwise. The book, they
said, “is far from being satisfactorily or¬
ganized. . . . What we like best is the nature
observations, and the more objective nar¬
ratives and essays. We like less the subjec¬
tive parts — that is, the philosophical reflec¬
tions which are less fresh, and which one
reader finds sometimes ‘fatuous.’ The eco¬
logical argument everyone finds unconvinc¬
ing; and as in previous drafts, it is not tied
up with the rest of the book.” As final ad¬
vice Clinton Simpson suggested to Leopold
that “instead of trying to cover so much ter¬
ritory, you might concentrate on the 120
acres of woodland you bought” (November
5, 1947). By this time Leopold was less
ready to accept Knopf’s judgment on a mat¬
ter that had received so much of his atten¬
tion. Regarding the essays he said in his let¬
ter of reply, “I still think that they have a
unity as they are” (November 18, 1947).
Five months later on April 14, 1948, Oxford
University Press agreed and accepted the
same manuscript without critical comment.
(Sloane was also looking favorably at the
manuscript at that time.)
It is important to examine what was in¬
cluded in the final manuscript, the one that
evolved over six years of debate over its
contents, the one in which Leopold properly
unified the elements of natural description
and ecological concerns, of field and con¬
templation, of dawn at his Wisconsin River
shack and his analysis of environmental his¬
tory. A comparison of the table of contents
of the 1947 manuscript with the 1944 list
demonstrates change in two directions. In the
first place many more essays by 1947 are
based on the shack experience. Leopold
called these personal narratives “Sauk
County Almanac.” In them emerges Leo¬
pold the man, the participant observer, the
Standard as Hochbaum would have it. The
arguments of the earlier ecological essays
and philosophical essays are demonstrated in
the personal experiences recorded in these
late essays. Fact and value appear in all
three essay types: one merely gains access
through a different door.
Leopold’s late attention to essays based
on his shack experience is beyond doubt. It
is reasonable to assume that the focus grew
out of Knopf’s and Hochbaum’s urging. The
1947 manuscript includes twenty-one essays
in Part I “Sauk County Almanac,” only
seven of which had appeared earlier as arti-
10
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
cles, one of them “Pines Above the Snow”
in a version so different that one may con¬
clude that fifteen of the twenty-one Part I
essays are new to the book. Essay manu¬
script dates and the 1944 list of fifteen essays
demonstrate that most of the essays in Part
I, “Sauk County Almanac” date from Leo¬
pold's last few years and reflect his turning
to personal experience and to nature de¬
scription as a vehicle for conservation think¬
ing. Observed meadow mice replaced criti¬
cized road builders.
By contrast only six of the sixteen essays
in Part II had not been previously published.
Ten of these sixteen essays were among the
fifteen included on the 1944 list. Probably
only two of the essays in the manuscript
Part II were written after mid-1944. Clearly
the ecological essays included in Part II re¬
flect Leopold's 1941-1945 sense of what na¬
ture writing should be. “Marshland Elegy”
and “Thinking Like a Mountain” cover the
range of such ecological essays. Any reading
which attempts to reconstruct the making of
A Sand County A Itnanac must begin with
Part II. Parts I and III come later in Leo¬
pold’s thinking and reflect his final convic¬
tion that personal descriptive essays on the
one hand, experience based ecological essays
in the converging middle, and philosophic
essays on the other hand all have their place
in a book about nature.
If it is true that Leopold gave late atten¬
tion to personal narrative in the shack es¬
says, it is also true that he only late deter¬
mined to include four philosophical essays,
three of them essentially unchanged from
their first appearances between 1933 and
1941. Clearly Leopold considered what he
had said about a conservation ethic in 1933
to be no less important in 1947. Of even
more importance for this investigation of
the conceptual evolution of A Sand County
Almanac, Leopold to the end saw a unity
in “Draba” and “The Land Ethic.” Thus the
book in its final form acquired a greater
range in style and point of view than it had
had in the earlier years of its making. The¬
matically it remained complexly tight.
Throughout the writing of the book Leo¬
pold was concerned about unity of tone,
“literary effect” as he described it to Hoch-
baum. That he was consciously concerned
about textual balance is evident from a hand¬
written, undated sheet (in Robert McCabe’s
Leopold file) entitled “Notes for Paper
Writing.” On it Leopold argued the need to
set forth at the outset the facts and descrip¬
tions related to the matter. This process he
called “exposition.” Only upon its comple¬
tion ought one move on to what he called
“commentary,” that is discussion, appraisal,
and interpretation. That organization is cer¬
tainly reflected in the three-part division of
A Sand County Almanac: I. Sauk County
Almanac, II. Sketches Here and There, III.
The Upshot. Lest there be any doubt, Leo¬
pold carefully spelled out their relationship
in the “Foreword,” that section of the book
I am certain Leopold wrote with Knopf’s
previous objections in mind. Part I, he said,
tells what his family sees and does at its
week-end refuge — personal observation. Part
II he described as episodes in his life bear¬
ing on conservation issues — experientially
based conservation commentary. The essays
of Part III he said deal with “philosophical
questions.” And notice how Leopold had
been conditioned to assume very few were
interested in such essays. How wrong Knopf
was to want them out; how right Leopold
was to insist on their presence. A Sand
County Almanac is a working out of what
“Notes For Paper Writing” says about com¬
position and argument. It begins with the
facts and descriptions of land and man at
the shack. Only then does it move on to dis¬
cussion, appraisal, and interpretation.
The evolution of Leopold’s thinking about
his book, which he never thought of by the
publisher’s title A Sand County Almanac, is
epitomized in his changing choice of title.
Before mid- 1943 Conservation Ecology was
his choice. Around that time he turned to
1982]
Ribhens — Making a Sand County Almanac
It
Land Ecology (See earlier comments). In
early 1944 he preferred as title essay
“Marshland Elegy” — a lovely but devastat¬
ing ecological essay, one in which Leopold
does not himself appear. By mid- 1 944 Leo¬
pold considered “Thinking Like a Mountain”
a better choice — a more personal and
thoughtful essay. The title essay Leopold
chose for the 1947 manuscript was “Great
Possessions,” the essay he thought his best
(October 31, 1944), one which depends on
Leopold the man, the phenologist, the lover
of land, the man in search for harmony
with his world. This last title choice reflects
Leopold’s last and deepest sense of the book
—a book which ironically assesses man’s
great possessions; a book which through
narrative and exposition, both implicitly and
explicitly, set up Aldo Leopold as Standard.
As his essays evolved, Leopold added Leo¬
pold an example to Leopold the preceptor.
Only then did he become Leopold as Stan¬
dard.
A reading of A Sand County Almanac
benefits not only from an understanding of
its conceptual and structural evolution, but
also from an awareness of how Leopold
wrote and revised, and of how the book was
edited. Important as these matters are, they
have not thus far been made accessible to
Leopold’s readers. My brief comments are
to be construed as introductory to the more
complete study which has yet to be made.
Those who have studied the literary pro¬
cess are familiar with the personal journal
extracted and reshaped into essays and
finally into books. John Muir and Henry
Thoreau wrote that way. Aldo Leopold did
not. It was habit for Leopold to take a small
pocket notebook with him into the field.
The plaid-covered notebook found in his
pocket at his death, written in scratched
script and cryptic style, contained records
of temperatures, shopping lists, correlations
of bird songs and candle power, and flower
blooming dates. All is factual and quantita¬
tive. The last line in the fire-scorched note¬
book reads “lilac shoots 2" long.” These
field notes were promptly recorded in what
is called “The Shack Journal,” the several
volumes of which are to be found in the Uni¬
versity of Wisconsin Leopold archives. The
journal entries, consisting entirely of listings
and descriptions of natural events, were
made by different members of the Leopold
family, but primarily by Aldo himself. The
journal, carefully done and without erasures,
is divided into sections with recurring head¬
ings such as “Phenology, Mammals, Broken
Candle, First Bloom, Out of Bloom, Last
Bloom, and so on.” This journal, containing
only natural description with no value or
delight response, is neither a Leopold, nor a
family, nor a shack journal. It is a land jour¬
nal. The Leopold children used it as a data
base for later technical articles. But the
journal is no way the basis for the essays in
A Sand County Almanac. A search of jour¬
nal entries on, for example, woodcocks as
indexed by Leopold’s wife (interestingly
Leopold had suggested to Knopf that Great
Possessions be indexed) demonstrates be¬
yond doubt that the journal is not the liter¬
ary source of ‘‘Sky Dance.”
Leopold’s initial literary unit was the draft
essay, written neither at home nor at the
shack but in his office early in the morning.
Nor did I find indication that Leopold wrote
from extensive preparatory notes. To the
contrary, in several drafts I found blank
spaces where exact numbers and technical
terms were to be added later. An examina¬
tion of Leopold’s neat pencil drafts reveals
writing that is skillful, colorful, natural. Leo¬
pold’s first draft language was metaphoric,
balanced, poetic. There can be no doubt
about Leopold’s literary gift. Revision fol¬
lowed, mostly deletion and tightening, but
occasionally large portions were added, like
the Jonathan Carver and John Muir sections
of “Bur Oak” and the accounts of geese near
the shack in “The Geese Return.” Perspec¬
tive revisions occur. For example, the first
draft of “January Thaw” speaks of “the
12
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
naturalist.” The next draft replaces “the
naturalist” with “you.” Only in the final ver¬
sion does the personalized, Leopold “I”
appear.
Leopold actively sought critical comment
on his writing from friends, family, and col¬
leagues. Dozens of people at one time or
other examined and critiqued Leopold’s es¬
says. One of the very last notes before his
death requested eleven of his friends to read
his manuscript with an eye for unity, style,
and balance between description and com¬
mentary — matters which concerned him to
the end. After his death Leopold’s son Luna
headed a team responsible for the book’s
final editing. The Hamerstroms wisely ar¬
gued that the work be as Leopold left it.
Others suggested changes, some of which
were made. Oxford considered the title
Great Possessions unsellable. Worse titles
were suggested: Fast Losing Ground, Last
Call, Two Steps Backward, This We lose,
and others (July 19, 1948). One of the
editorial team, Alfred Etter, found either
“Sand Country Almanac” or “Seasons in
the Sand Country” a better rubric for Part I
than Leopold’s choice “Sauk County Al¬
manac” (June 10, 1948). Possibly the most
important change to the manuscript after
Leopold’s death was the climax-altering de¬
cision to shift “The Land Ethic” from its
original first placement in Part III to its
present final position. Many lesser changes
were also made. ‘’The Alder Fork” was
changed from Part II to Part I. “Ave Maria”
was changed a bit and retitled “Choral
Copse,” although Leopold’s wife preferred
the original title. “Prairie Birthday,” not in
the original manuscript, was added to Part
I. “The White Mountain” was renamed “On
Top.” Opinions of the essays differed widely.
One of the editorial team thought all of Part
I was weak. Bill Vogt considered the essay
“Draba” to be “as insignificant as the, plant
itself.” The first sentence of this essay
drafted on March 16, 1943, was cut. “Dur¬
ing this the longest winter, of the biggest war,
in this month of the big tax, it is salutary to
think upon Draba.” Whether that deletion
improved the piece, you may judge. A ref¬
erence to Gabriel Heater was dropped from
“Too Early.” Several of the editorial team
objected to language here and there which
they considered “too sweet” and not in
character for Leopold. But beyond other
small changes, the manuscript remained in¬
tact.
A Sand County Almanac in the making
had a long and interesting history. Any seri¬
ous study of this work, and certainly any at¬
tempt to analyze it as genre exemplar can no
longer be content with the 1949 published
edition, but must also take into account how
Leopold wrote and revised, and especially
how the concept of the book evolved. Leo¬
pold’s attitude toward writing was no less
ecological than was his attitude toward land.
THE PRE-EUROPEAN SETTLEMENT VEGETATION
OF THE ALDO LEOPOLD MEMORIAL RESERVE
Konrad Liegel
International Crane Foundation
Baraboo, Wisconsin
A bstract
From the original land survey notes of the eight sections surrounding and
including the Aldo Leopold Memorial Reserve in Sauk County, Wisconsin, quali¬
tative data were used to determine plant community types present prior to Euro¬
pean settlement. They included savannas, upland forests, floodplain forests,
tamarack swamps, and marshes. Through correlation with soils information and
comparison with the pre-European settlement vegetation maps of Columbia and
Sauk Counties and with the present vegetation of the Reserve, a more detailed
pre-settlement vegetation map was prepared. Ten plant communities were distin¬
guished: oak openings, oak barrens, dry upland forest, mixed hardwood forest,
mixed floodplain forest, wet floodplain forest, tamarack swamp, low prairie, sedge
meadow, and marsh. These communities were related to discontinuous gradients
of fire stress, fluctuating water-levels, and siltation levels. Prevailing climate,
regional geology, and local topography were the main factors responsible for the
environmental gradients.
Introduction
The vegetation of Wisconsin has been
thoroughly modified through European set¬
tlement and subsequent land-use. Frequent
fires maintained many of the plant communi¬
ties of Wisconsin prior to settlement. In the
absence of fire, the sunny oak openings of
southern Wisconsin grew up into the oak
woodlots of today, while shrub-carr and as¬
pen invaded the sedge meadows and low
prairies. Lumbering and farming transformed
most of the remaining expanses of prairie,
savanna, marsh, and forest into today’s fields
of corn and hay (Curtis 1959).
The Aldo Leopold Memorial Reserve is
located in Fairfield Township, Sauk County,
Wisconsin (R7E, T12N, Sec. 2, 3, 4, 5;
R7E, T13N Sec. 32, 33, 34, 35) (Fig. 1).
This area is the “sand country” of Aldo Leo¬
pold where he and his family spent their
weekends and vacations in the 1930’s and
1940’s. The property had been devastated
by early settlers, and Leopold spent much
of his time nurturing the land back to a
healthy state. Today, the Reserve encom¬
passes a great diversity of plant communities,
ranging from floodplain forest, marshes and
Fig. 1. Location of the Aldo Leopold Memorial
Reserve, Sauk County, Wisconsin.
13
14
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
prairies to upland woodlands and cultivated
fields (Luthin 1978).
A goal of current research on the Reserve
is to acquire an understanding of the ecol¬
ogy, environment, and history of the Reserve
as a guide to the management of the area, as
well as to increase our capacity for land re¬
habilitation and management. The purposes
of my study were to identify the major pre¬
settlement plant community types of the
Aldo Leopold Memorial Reserve and their
species composition, and to relate their oc¬
currence and distribution to environmental
factors. This, in turn, will facilitate compari¬
son of the presettlement plant community
types with those of Aldo Leopold’s time and
I - 1 LAKE BASIN (Wauseon, Keowns, Tustin and Rimer
loams and sandy loam; and peat soils)
- Borders of the study area
Fig. 2. Glacial deposits and generalized soils of the area surrounding and including the Aldo
Leopold Memorial Reserve, Sauk Co., Wisconsin. (Adapted from Wisconsin Geological and
Natural History Survey 1976, Glacial Deposits of Wisconsin Map and from Hole et at. 1968,
Overlay Soil Map of Wisconsin.)
1982]
Lie gel— Vegetation of the Leopold Reserve
15
of the present to emphasize the degree to
which the landscape has been modified fol¬
lowing European settlement.
Description of the Study Area
The study area lies in northeastern Sauk
County, Wisconsin, south of the tension zone
which separates the Northern Hardwoods
floristic province to the northeast from the
Prairie-Forest province to the southwest
(Curtis 1959). The study area includes the
eight sections surrounding the Aldo Leo¬
pold Memorial Reserve. It is bounded to
the north by the Wisconsin River and to the
south by a large marsh. The marsh has re¬
cently been drained and is now farmed.
The surface features have been influenced
primarily by glaciation, subsequent erosion,
and the pervasive influence of the Wisconsin
River. The study area is covered with a man¬
tle of deposits laid down by a series of glacial
advances, the last being the Green Bay Lobe
of the late Woodfordian age (Black & Rubin
1967-68) approximately 12,000 years ago.
During glaciation, ice dammed the river in
the vicinity of the study area. Subsequently,
the retreating glacier deposited debris be¬
tween 100 and 300 feet in depth within the
area (Borman 1971). In the process, the
river was diverted from its present location
along the north end of the study area (Al-
den 1918). Temporary ponding occurred
until the swollen waters broke through
the resistant morainal deposits (Columbia
County Planning Department 1970).
At the time of European settlement, the
glacial lake basin with its characteristically
broad and flat expanse occupied the central
part of the study area (Columbia County
Planning Department 1970). A rolling ter¬
rain composed of morainal hills (Socha,
pers. comm., 1981) rising 50 to 170 feet
above the lake basin lay to the south, west
and east and a floodplain to the north (Fig.
2).
Original Land Survey Records
There are several historical sources for a
description of the pre-settlement vegetation
of a given area. One primary source is trav¬
eller and settler accounts in local, county,
and state historical societies and histories.
The Wisconsin River was the principal
means of transportation in the study area
prior to settlement. One traveller wrote of it:
The chanel is subject to change, from the
numerous bars of sand which lie in it, and
frequently alter their position. In this river
are numerous islands, in which grow the
principal timber of the country. The banks
are generally low and sandy. (Tanner 1908)
Another described the river as passing be¬
tween “forests of oak” (Marryat 1839) and
yet another remarked about numerous tall
pines on the islands near the present city of
Portage (Turner 1898). William Toole, a
pioneer farmer in a neighboring township,
meanwhile, described the interior country
as composed of
exclusively oak in the several varieties of
black, red, white, and burr oak, with an oc¬
casional hickery or aspen poplar, and very
rarely a black cherry, irregularly scattered
apart and seldom near enough together to
be called a grove or more commonly a
growth of oak brush, with dwarf willows,
poplar, hazel, and a few other kinds of
shrubs. (Cole 1918)
Reflecting over her childhood in the same
township as the study area, Mrs. John Luce
wrote:
Fairfield in pioneer days was a veritable
flower garden. Wherever the sod was un¬
broken the ground was literally covered with
flowers. (Luce 1912)
Not everyone was so delighted with what
they found, though. While surveying about
two miles east of the study area, Theodore
Conkey wrote in his field notes: “They call
this barrens and barren it is” (Conkey
1845).
In areas where they are available, how¬
ever, the records of the original U.S. Govern¬
ment land surveyors are most frequently
used to reconstruct the past vegetation of a
particular region.
16
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
The data for the original land survey of
the study area were collected in 1845 by
Theodore Conkey and John Brink and in
1851 by Henry J. Howell. At each section
and quarter section corner along the survey
lines, i.e., at Vi mile intervals, corner posts
were set. From each post, these surveyors
measured the distance* and angle to the two
closest trees in different quadrants, blazed
the trees to facilitate relocation, and recorded
the tree species and diameter. In addition,
line trees, those intersected by survey lines,
were recorded by species and diameter. The
location of springs, ponds, streams, prairies,
marshes, bottoms and other features en¬
countered along the survey lines were re¬
corded, and after each mile and township,
the Deputy Surveyor completed a brief sum¬
mary of the land surveyed. Upon comple¬
tion of the survey, plat maps were prepared
for each township and range (Dodds et al.
1943, and Tans 1976).
Evidence of fraud and bias has been found
in the original land survey records for some
areas (Bourdo 1956), but there is no evi¬
dence indicating fraud in the data for the
Reserve (McConaghy, 1979, pers. comm.).
The original land survey records do have
their limitations. The survey was conducted
under less than ideal conditions. Further¬
more, instructions to the surveyors fre¬
quently varied; surveys were conducted in
different months; different crews surveyed
the interior and exterior lines of a township;
the survey crews were not always literate,
and the gathering of ecological data was not
a stated goal of the survey (Tans 1976).
The major limitation of the survey in the
study area, however, is its scale. The Re¬
serve is small — under 1200 acres — and ge¬
ologically complex. The survey records only
provide information along the four sides of
* Surveyors measured distances in units of chains
(66 ft.) and links (.66 ft. or 7.92 in.); 80 chains =
1 mile. Survey posts were set at the 40 and 80
chain points on the four sides of each section.
each square mile. By themselves, they are
not capable of the fine resolution necessary
in this diverse landscape. Some lowland
communities, such as sedge meadows, low
prairies, and emergent aquatic marsh known
to be present in the Reserve, were not sep¬
arated in the land survey records (Leopold
1935-48, and Luthin 1978). Other plant
communities were overlooked because they
occupied too small an area to be present on
one of the survey lines. Even with topo¬
graphical information, vegetation types from
the GLO data are generalized and bound¬
aries between them arbitrary.
Finally, the relatively few corners present
(35 within the study area) are not enough
to justify a quantitative treatment of the
survey data. Within each community type,
the number of trees of each species is less
than 10 and usually less than 5. Thus, a sta¬
tistical treatment of the results may be more
confusing than illuminating. Quantitative
analyses of vegetational composition, spatial
relationships, and structure, which are useful
in mapping community types, are therefore
not attempted here.
Soils: Another Historical Record?
Soils are an additional source of informa¬
tion for reconstructing the pre-settlement
vegetation of a particular region. A soil is a
three dimensional body of mineral and or¬
ganic matter that reflects conditions at the
site where it is found (SCS Soil Survey Man¬
ual 1951). The biota is particularly impor¬
tant in influencing the development of char¬
acteristic horizons within the soil body
(Jenny 1958, and Hole 1976). Plant com¬
munities will occur with correspondingly
distinct soil profiles (Buol, Hole, and Mc¬
Cracken 1973). For example in a forested
area in Menominee County that escaped
clear-cutting in logging days three major for¬
est communities, with correspondingly dis¬
tinct soil profiles, occur within a distance of
40 kilometers: (1) hemlock forest (Spo-
dosol soil), (2) hemlock-northern hardwood
1982]
Liegel — Vegetation of the Leopold Reserve
17
forest (double profile soil — weak Spodosol
over weak Alfisol soil), and (3) northern
hardwood forest (weakly developed Alfisol
soil) (Milfred, Olson, and Hole 1967).
Soils respond slowly to vegetative shifts.
In southern Wisconsin, for instance, Van
Rooyen ( 1973) estimated that about 400
years are required to form a mollic epipedon
(a characteristic prairie surface horizon) in
a well-drained site and 200 years where
drainage is impeded. An ochric epipedon (a
characteristic forest surface horizon) may
form in 300 years under a nearby deciduous
forest. This time lapse, called “pedologic
lag,” between change of vegetation and that
of the soil profile allows one to reconstruct
the presettlement vegetation of a given re¬
gion long after settlement.
Soil survey maps (SCS 1951) based on
small-scale aerial photographs are very use¬
ful in reconstructing the pre-settlement vege¬
tation of locations like the Aldo Leopold
Memorial Reserve that are too small to be
analyzed using surveyors’ data alone. They
indicate the probable distribution of plant
communities not intersected by the survey
lines. They help sharpen delineation of
boundaries between community types and
help to differentiate certain lowland plant
communities, such as sedge meadows, low
prairies, and emergent aquatic types, that
cannot be determined from the land survey
records. When accompanied by field investi¬
gations of vegetation and soils, as in the
Menominee Tribal Lands of Wisconsin study
(Milfred, Olson, & Hole 1967), they can
help determine successional relationships
among vegetation types and the importance
and extent of environmental factors operat¬
ing in the area.
There are limitations in the soil approach
to reconstructing past vegetation patterns.
In mapping the soils of Wisconsin, the SCS
indicated the pre-settlement vegetation type
associated with each soil series. They per¬
formed the bulk of their mapping, however,
prior to Curtis’s studies on the vegetation
of Wisconsin (1959) and to Findley’s map
of the pre-settlement vegetation of Wiscon¬
sin (1976). Their terminology, therefore,
is not directly comparable to that of Curtis
(Hole, 1980, pers. comm.).
Furthermore, our understanding of the
processes of soil formation under specific
biotic regimes is incomplete and, in some
cases, very general. It is consequently diffi¬
cult to be certain of the vegetation type as¬
sociated with a given soil profile and for a
given soil series. There may be two (or
more) vegetation types associated with a
particular series. For example, Curtis noted
(1959) that the very ancient maple forests
of Green County, Wisconsin occurred on
soils mapped in the early reconnaissance soil
surveys as prairie soils. A later soil survey of
Grant County, Wisconsin (Robinson &
Klingelhoets 1961) made the same ecologi¬
cal error (see Hole, 1976). Like typical
prairie soil profiles, these soils had a nearly
black Ai layer, enriched in humus, extend¬
ing to a depth of 7 to 9 inches. Most likely,
this so-called “prairie horizon” was not the
result of former prairie occupation as origi¬
nally believed, but instead was caused by the
“nutrient-pumping” ability of sugar maple
and basswood.
Soil profiles also may reflect conditions
that existed a hundred or more years prior
to the time of European settlement and not
those at the time of settlement. There has
been a vegetative shift in the last few thou¬
sand years from grassland to encroaching
forest (Curtis 1959). Because of the process
of pedologic lag, one would expect the deep
dark mineral soils to be more extensive in
Wisconsin than the actual prairie that Euro¬
pean settlers found there. This may be the
real explanation for the fact that the soil
map shows more of the state occupied by
prairie soils than was occupied by prairie a
century ago (Hole 1976).
Finally, soil series maps are themselves
generalized and do not always include the
soil series corresponding to particular vege-
18
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
tative types found in a given area. On ex¬
tinct lake beds, for example, wet prairie is
often a minor component in the moisture
gradient from oak uplands through wet
prairie, sedge meadows and marsh. Hence it
typically does not appear in the generalized
soil maps (Hole, 1980, pers. comm.).
Methods
Keeping these limitations in mind, one
can construct a more detailed and accurate
pre-settlement vegetation map for small
study areas by utilizing both the original
land survey records and the soil survey maps
than by using either alone.
From the original land survey field books
on file at the Division of Trust Lands and
Investments (DNR, Madison, Wisconsin),
the surveyors’ notes from all of the interior
and exterior lines of each section surround¬
ing and including the Aldo Leopold Me¬
morial Reserve were examined. The species
and size of each bearing tree, the species and
size of each line tree, the distance from tree
to survey post, the description of each sec¬
tion, and the field notes on the meanders of
the Wisconsin River were tabulated. This
information was summarized and transferred
to blank section outline forms. As data from
the original survey records were transposed,
each section and quarter section point was
coded according to the nature of the plant
community.
The determinants of the plant community
types were similar to those utilized by Tans
(1976) in his study of the pre-settlement
vegetation of Columbia County, Wisconsin:
the dominant tree species, if any, at the
point, characteristics of the landscape from
the surveyors’ comments, and density of tree
canopy as indicated by the distance from
surveyor post to tree. A measure of density
is possible because the mean of the two
distances in links from survey post to tree
corresponds well to the mean distance be¬
tween trees in feet in a natural situation
(Cottam and Curtis 1956).
The major groupings of plant community
types in the presettlement landscape sur¬
rounding and including the Aldo Leopold
Memorial Reserve were: savanna, upland
forest, floodplain forest, tamarack swamp,
and marsh.
After delineating these groups, soil types
were utilized to distinguish between oak
barrens and oak openings, between dry up¬
land forest and mixed hardwood forest, be¬
tween mixed floodplain forest and wet flood-
plain forest, and between low prairie, sedge
meadow and emergent aquatic marsh. De¬
terminations of the pre-settlement vegeta-
tional associates for the soil series present
in the study area (Table 1) were based
upon descriptions of the properties of the
soil series found in Hole (1976) and in the
records of the SCS and upon field evalua¬
tions of the present vegetational associates
for each soil series.
An example will illustrate the procedure
adopted here. Areas occupied by the Adrian
soil series were characterized in the GLO
survey notes as marsh and for the Granby
soil series as marsh and floodplain forest.
In Hole (1976), the vegetational associates
for Adrian muck were sedge meadow or
shrub carr and for Granby sandy loam
swamp hardwoods or conifers. Since there
was no evidence of shrubs in the GLO ac¬
count for areas occupied by Adrian muck
and no evidence of other natural plant
communities in field investigations in the
study area, it was classified as sedge meadow.
Both swamp hardwoods and wet prairie were
noted in field investigations, on the other
hand, for areas occupied by the Granby
soil series. I decided, therefore, that the
vegetational associates found in Hole ( 1976)
for Granby were not quite complete and
mapped areas described as marsh in the
GLO accounts and containing prairie spe¬
cies in the groundlayer at the present time
as wet prairie. Two other soil series, Marshan
and Rimer (Table 1), also had incomplete
vegetational associates in Hole (1976).
1982] Lie gel — Vegetation of the Leopold Reserve 19
Table 1. Soil types and their pre-European settlement vegetational associates.
Soil Types Vegetational Associates
20
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
1982]
Liegel — Vegetation of the Leopold Reserve
21
Table 2. Relative area coverage of the pre-
European settlement plant community types in the
eight sections surrounding and including the Aldo
Leopold Memorial Reserve, Sauk County, Wiscon¬
sin.
% of % of
total land total land
Community surface Community surface
covered by each vegetation type is given in
Table 2. Size class distribution for line, bear¬
ing, and meander trees indicates that the
median size tree was in the 10-inch diameter
class. Table 3 lists the line, bearing, and
meander tree species found within the study
area. Almost 85 percent of the bearing trees
were oaks. Oaks were found in virtually all
of the vegetation types. It is possible, as
Tans suggests (1976), that this reflects the
surveyor’s bias towards selecting oaks as
bearing trees. When line and bearing trees
are compared for differences in the relative
abundance of species, however, no significant
difference is found except, perhaps, for the
bur oak. It is evident, therefore, that the
pre-settlement landscape of the study area
was dominated by oaks.
Three interdependent factors seem to have
been crucial in influencing the pattern and
composition of the pre-settlement vegetation
types in the study area: topography, hydrol-
Table 3. Line, bearing, and meander trees from the Original Land Survey of the eight sec¬
tions surrounding the Aldo Leopold Memorial Reserve, Sauk County, Wisconsin. Common
names are those given by the surveyors.
22
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
ogy, and fire. The probable role of each will
be discussed for each vegetation type. Micro¬
climate and soil type probably are also im¬
portant but their effects are best understood
in terms of topography and hydrology.
Savanna
Savannas were defined by section and
quarter section points where the range of
the mean distance between survey post and
tree was 209-50 links, which corresponds to
a range in density of 1-17.4 trees per acre,
well within Curtis’ definition of a savanna
(Curtis 1959, Anderson and Anderson
1975). The mean distance from survey post
to tree was 87.3 links, equal to a x density
of 5.7 trees per acre. Median tree size in the
savannas was 12 inches in diameter.
Dominant tree species, soil type, topog¬
raphy, and exposure were used to distinguish
between oak barrens and oak openings. Oak
barrens were savannas dominated by black
oak ( Quercus velutina L., Q. ellipsoidalis
E. J. Hill, or Q, rubra L.). They were re¬
stricted to the droughty Plainfield loamy
sand and sand. Oak openings, on the other
hand, were savannas dominated by white
( Q . alba L.) or bur oak ( Q . macrocarpa
Michx.). They occurred on a variety of soil
types, including Gotham, Wyocena, Mc¬
Henry, Fox, Briggsville, Billett, Dresden,
Rimer, and Mosel. Within the savanna com¬
munity the witness trees were always of the
same species at any one corner whereas in
the floodplain forest and upland forest they
were often of different species.
At the time of settlement, a traveller going
from east to west across the uplands of the
Reserve would have passed through thinly-
treed savannas of black oak on the ridge tops
and white oak in the valleys, then onto a
rolling parklike plain of scattered groves of
bur oak immediately to the west of the Re¬
serve. This pattern may reflect a differential
response among the oaks to topographically-
induced moisture and fire gradients. The
land west of the Reserve is gently rolling,
unlike the broken hilly landscape within the
Reserve. Under prevailing westerlies, the
potential exists there for frequent fires, which
would favor fire tolerant and shade intolerant
species such as bur oak. The presence there
of several areas of the Ringwood soil series,
a prairie soil with too small an area to be
mapped in this study, also supports this line
of reasoning.
Upland Forest
Upland forests were mapped at upland
sites where the mean distance between the
survey post and tree was 50 links or less,
i.e. a density of 17.4 or more trees per acre.
The mean distance for all upland forest
sites was 37.2 links, a density of 31.5 trees
per acre.
Upland forests were subdivided on the
basis of dominant tree species and soil type.
Dry upland forests were plant communities
dominated by several species of oaks, most
notably black, white, and bur oak, and found
on a variety of soil types (Table 1). Mixed
hardwood forests were found on the Sisson
and Shiffer soil types, generally restricted to
fire-protected, north-facing, and mesic to
wet-mesic sites. In spite of their distinct soil
types and upland location, mixed hardwood
forests closely resemble the mixed floodplain
forests of the Reserve at the present time and
are likely not a distinct type (Luthin 1980).
They may be kept wet periodically due to
surface runoff or seepage from adjacent
higher ground (Luthin 1980). In addition,
they include several tree and ground-layer
species with northern lowland affinities such
as tamarack (Larix laricina (DuRoi) K.
Koch), huckleberry (Gaylussacia baccata),
blueberry ( Vaccinium spp.), and dwarf
raspberry (Rubus pubescens) . Mixed hard¬
wood forests, hence, are mapped together
with mixed floodplain forests (Fig. 3).
Unlike other surveyors in the area, John
Brink distinguished between yellow oak and
black oak in his field notes for the forest
community. What Brink listed as yellow oak
1982]
Liegel — Vegetation of the Leopold Reserve
23
in the study area is probably Hill’s oak
( Q . ellipsoidalis E. J. Hill) since it was more
commonly found in dry woods or barrens
on the very poor Plainfield soil type.
All of the witness trees in the dry upland
forest community were oaks although a
hickory was recorded as a line tree. The
presence of redroot ( Ceanothus americana )
and prairie grass in the understory was noted.
These results suggest that the upland forest
was simply a former oak savanna closed by
the development of root sprouts and/or oak
seedlings. If this were the case, the median
tree size of the oak forests, composed of
numerous young trees crowding the older,
savanna-grown trees, would be less than that
of the oak savanna (Tans 1976). As ex¬
pected, the median diameter of the oak for¬
est trees was 10 inches but for oak savanna
trees, 12 inches.
Prior to settlement upland forests typi¬
cally occurred in areas adjacent to natural
fire barriers, i.e. in areas of irregular topog¬
raphy, extensive wetlands, and between
branching streams (Tans 1976). A large
marsh and tamarack swamp immediately
south of the study area (Lange 1976) may
have been responsible for protecting the
forests south of the Reserve from frequent
and/or intense fires.
Since both oak forest and savanna oc¬
curred on the same soil series, it was impos¬
sible to distinguish them by soil type (Table
1). Curtis thought (1959) that oak savannas
originated from the degradation of pre¬
existing forests by fire. Pedologic lag could
then account for the similarity in soil types
between the two communities. This may be
too simplistic, however, for in the study area,
forest probably has recently replaced sa¬
vanna. An alternative explanation (Hole,
1979, pers. comm.) is that only a few trees
per acre are enough to prevent the develop¬
ment of a prairie soil. Shade may suppress
the prairie vegetation so that less of it is
incorporated into the soil and/or tannic
acids released by the decaying oak leaves
may change the pH and mineral content of
the soil.
Floodplain Forest
Floodplain forest included those points
along the survey lines in lowlands where
the mean distance between the survey post
and tree was 50 links or less, corresponding
to a density of 17.4 or more trees per acre;
the mean distance was 41.2 links, density
25.7 trees per acre. Median diameter of the
trees was 10 inches. The surveyors called
these areas “bottoms” and indicated their
position when entering and leaving. This in¬
formation was useful in separating the river
bottom types from those adjacent to them.
Floodplain forests were subdivided on the
basis of dominant tree species and soil type.
The mixed floodplain forests were plant
communities restricted to the Brems and
alluvial soils where the dominant tree spe¬
cies included river birch ( Be tula nigra L.),
ash ( Fraxinus spp.), and different species of
oak previously mentioned. The wet floodplain
forests were plant communities restricted to
the Granby and wet alluvial soils where the
dominant tree species in the Reserve today
is silver maple (Acer saccharinum L.). Al¬
though less common, aspen (Populns spp.),
swamp white oak (Q. bicolor Willd.), wil¬
low ( Salix spp.), elm (Ulmus spp.), and
pine (Pinus strobus L.) were also present
in the floodplain forests. The surveyors also
frequently commented on the undergrowth
of vines, briars, alder, prickly ash ( Xan -
thoxylum americanum Mill.) and occasional
small oaks and grass.
The vegetational complexity of the mixed
floodplain and wet floodplain forests reflects
the varied environments of old channels,
sand bars, and levees, created by a con¬
stantly shifting river channel. Although fre¬
quently inundated during spring flood, the
bars and levees quickly warm up when the
flood waters subside and during low water
may be somewhat droughty. The drought-
tolerant black oak and pine find a suitable
24
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
medium for growth and may eventually
form extensive stands. Meanwhile, the water-
tolerant silver maple colonizes the edges of
old sloughs and abandoned channels.
Tamarack Swamp
Tamarack swamp was defined as wetlands
where tamarack was the dominant tree.
These communities developed in low-lying
pockets over peat where the drainage was
stagnant and where the likelihood of fire was
low (Tans 1976).
Marsh
The surveyors made no distinction be¬
tween marsh, sedge meadow, or low prairie,
calling all treeless lowlands marsh. Soil types
were used to distinguish among these three
communities. Low prairies were mapped in
areas of mineral soils with high organic
content, including the Granby, Gilford, and
Colwood series. An exception was the Mar-
shan series which Hole (1976) associated
with swamp hardwoods and sedge meadows,
in areas within the study site where the
vegetation is largely unaltered, this soil type
is associated with sedge meadows with a low
prairie border and is transitional between
these communities. Sedge meadows were
mapped in areas of organic soil with some
mineral content, including the Adrian and
Palms peats. Emergent aquatic marsh was
mapped in areas of Houghton peat although
sedge meadow is also found on that soil type.
Noteworthy is the occurrence of low prairie
on the Granby series. In the floodplain for¬
est, silver maple sloughs occurred on this
same soil type. As in the mesic forests of
Green County, Wisconsin, this joint occur¬
rence may be due to the similarity in “nu¬
trient-pumping” ability between prairie forbs
and grasses and maples.
The several wetland communities within
the former glacial lake basin are affected by
action of the Wisconsin River. The flood-
plain forests are found in areas characterized
by widely and rapidly fluctuating water lev¬
els, heavy siltation and erosion, prolonged
spring flooding, and a much lower summer
water table. Further inland, where condi¬
tions are less variable, are found the low
prairie, sedge meadow, and marsh. Here,
there is little to no siltation, ground-water is
always near or above the surface, and water-
levels shift gradually.
Low prairie, sedge meadow, and marsh
are found along an environmental gradient
of increasing water-levels. Low prairie is a
fire-swept community usually located on
lowlands subject to inundation by heavy
rains or by floodwaters from nearby streams
(Curtis 1959). The presence of low prairie
in the study area is probably due to frequent
fires originating from the west and possibly
to occasional flooding. Sedge meadows, on
the other hand, are characterized by steady
ground-water discharge throughout the year
and a water table at or immediately below
the soil surface. The waterlogging of the soil
prevents the total decomposition of plant
material produced each year. This material,
the peat, builds up slowly and in some areas
may be many feet deep. Marshes are found
within depressions in the peat where the
water tables lie above the surface of the
peat. Here, emergent aquatic vegetation, in¬
cluding cattails ( Typha spp.) and reeds
{Stir pus spp.), are found among the sedges
(Car ex spp.).
Conclusions
1. In study areas too small in size for
quantitative analyses, one can construct a
more detailed and accurate pre-European
settlement vegetation map by utilizing both
the original land survey records and the soil
survey maps than by using either alone.
2. In the eight sections surrounding and
including the Aldo Leopold Memorial Re¬
serve, Sauk County, Wisconsin, two savanna,
five tree-dominated, and three wetland herb
communities existed at the time of European
settlement. These communities were related
to discontinuous gradients of fire stress, fluc¬
tuating water-levels, and siltation levels. Pre¬
vailing climate, regional geology, and local
1982]
Liegel — - Vegetation of the Leopold Reserve
25
topography were the main factors responsi¬
ble for these environmental gradients.
Acknowledgments
I wish to thank Francis Hole (Depart¬
ment of Soils, University of Wisconsin,
Madison) and Evelyn Howell (Department
of Landscape Architecture, University of
Wisconsin, Madison) for their advice
throughout my study, the Leopold fellows
of 1979 and 1980 for their help and com¬
panionship, and Nina and Charley Bradley
for their generosity and support. I am also
grateful to the Louis Rollin Head Founda¬
tion; without their financial support, I could
not have completed my studies.
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Alden, W. C. 1918. The quaternary geology of
southeastern Wisconsin. U.S. Geol. Surv.
Prof. Paper 106. 356 pp.
Anderson, R. C., and M. R. Anderson. 1975.
The presettlement vegetation of Williamson
County, Illinois. Castanea 40:345-363.
Black, R. F., and M. Rubin. 1967-68. Radio¬
carbon dates of Wisconsin. Trans. Wis. Acad.
Sci., Arts and Lett. 56:99-1 15.
Borman, R. G. 1971. Preliminary map showing
thickness of glacial deposits in Wisconsin.
In: Finley, R. W., 1975. Geography of Wis¬
consin. Univ. of Wis. Press, Madison, Wis.
472 pp.
Bourdo, E. A., Jf. 1956. A review of the gen¬
eral land office survey and of its use in quan¬
titative studies of former forests. Ecology
37:754-768.
Buol, S. A., F. D. Hole, and R. J. McCracken.
1973. Soil genesis and classification. Iowa
State University Press, Ames, Iowa. 360 pp.
Cole, H. E. 1918. A history of Sauk County.
Vol. 1. Lewis Publ. Co., Chicago, Ill. 566 pp.
Columbia County Planning Department. 1970.
Physical features analysis. Columbia County
Prelim. Rep. No. 1. 55 pp.
Conkey, T. 1845. GLO survey field notes.
Cottam, G. 1949. The phytosociology of an
oak woods in southwestern Wisconsin. Ecol¬
ogy 30: 271-287.
Cottam, G. and J. T. Curtis. 1956. The use of
distance measures in phytosociological sam¬
pling. Ecology 37:451-460.
Curtis, J. T. 1959. The vegetation of Wiscon¬
sin. Univ. of Wis. Press, Madison, Wis. 657
PP-
Dodds, J. S., J. P. McKean, L. O. Stewart, and
G. F. Tiggs. 1943. Original instructions gov¬
erning public land surveys of Iowa. Iowa
Engineering Society, Ames, Iowa. 565 pp.
Findley, R. W. 1976. Original vegetation cover
of Wisconsin. Map. University of Wisconsin
Extension, Madison, Wis.
Gundlach, H. F. 1980. Soil survey of Sauk
County, Wisconsin. Soil Conservation Ser¬
vice. 248 pp. + Maps.
Hole, F. 1976. Soils of Wisconsin. Univ. of
Wis. Press, Madison, Wis. 223 pp.
Hole, Francis. 1979 & 1980. Personal com¬
munication.
Jenny, H. 1958. Role of the plant factor in the
pedogenic functions. Ecology 39:5-16.
Lange, K. 1973, unpubl. Presettlement vegeta¬
tion of Sauk County, Wisconsin. Map.
Lange, K. 1976. A county called Sauk: a hu¬
man history of Sauk County, Wisconsin.
Sauk County Historical Society. 168 pp.
Leopold, A. 1935-1948, unpubl. “Shack jour¬
nals.”
Luce, Mrs. J. 1912. Fairfield in the fifties. Bar-
aboo Weekly News. May 2, 1912.
Luthin, C. 1978, unpubl. Vegetation map of
the Aldo Leopold Memorial Reserve, Sauk
County, Wisconsin.
Luthin, C. 1979, unpubl. Herbarium of the
Aldo Leopold Memorial Reserve, Sauk
County, Wisconsin. 47 pp.
Luthin, C. 1980, unpubl. Plant communities of
the Aldo Leopold Memorial Reserve, Sauk
County, Wisconsin. 33 pp.
Marryat, F. 1 839. A diary of America, with re¬
marks on its institutions. Edited by Jules
Zanger. 1960. Indiana Univ. Press, Bloom¬
ington, Ind. 342 pp.
McConaghy, Donald. 1979. Personal communi¬
cation. Sauk County surveyor.
Milfred, C. J., C. W. Olson, and F. D. Hole.
1967. Soil resources and forest ecology of
Menominee County, Wisconsin. Wis. Geol.
Nat. Hist. Surv. Bull. 85, Soil Ser. No. 60.
203 pp. + 3 maps.
Robinson, G. H., and A. J. Klingelhoets. 1961.
Soil survey of Grant County, Wisconsin.
U.S. Dept. Agr. Soil Conservation Series,
1951, No. 10, 98 pp. + 72 map sheets.
26
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
Socha, Betty. 1981. Personal communication.
1981 Glacial Geology Leopold Fellow.
Soil Conservation Service. 1951. Soil survey
manual. U.S. Dept. Soil Conservation Ser¬
vice Handbook No. 18. 503 pp.
Tanner, E. 1908. Wisconsin in 1818. Wisconsin
Historical Society Collections 8:287-292.
Tans, W. 1976. The presettlement vegetation of
Columbia County, Wisconsin, in the 1830’s.
DNR Tech. Bull. No. 90, Madison, Wis. 19
pp.
Turner, A. J. 1898. The history of Fort Winne¬
bago, Wisconsin Historical Society Collec¬
tions 14:65-102.
Van Rooyen, D. J. 1973. I. Organic carbon and
nitrogen status in two Hapludalfs under
prairie and deciduous forest, as related to
moisture regime, some morphological fea¬
tures, and response to manipulation. II.
Comparison of the hydrologic regimes of
adjacent virgin and cultivated pedons at two
sites. Ph.D. Thesis. Univ. of Wis., Madison,
Wis. 176 pp.
SOME HISTORICAL ASPECTS OF RUFFED GROUSE
HARVESTS AND HUNTING REGULATIONS IN WISCONSIN
Stephen DeStefano Donald H. Rusch
Cooperative Wildlife Research Unit 1 Cooperative Wildlife Research Unit
University of Wisconsin-Madison University of Wisconsin-Madison
A bstract
Closed hunting seasons for ruffed grouse were first instituted in Wisconsin in
1851, partly as a response to intense market hunting. The open seasons in the
early 1850s were about 4 months long, but by 1921 were shortened to 4 days.
This conservative period lasted for about 20 years before hunting seasons were
gradually lengthened. Today, hunting seasons are as long as they were in the 1850s
and ruffed grouse harvests are at record highs. These facts, coupled with an increase
in hunters concentrated on public wildlife areas have warranted an examination of
how modern-day harvests effect local populations of ruffed grouse. The role of
research in the management of this important game species is also discussed.
In 1949, Aldo Leopold expressed the feel¬
ings of many hunters when he wrote, “There
are two kinds of hunting: ordinary hunting,
and ruffed-grouse hunting.” In Wisconsin,
the ruffed grouse was avidly sought by al¬
most 200,000 hunters each year during the
1970s (Wis. Dept, of Natural Resour., un-
publ. rep., Ruffed grouse management plan,
Madison, Wis., 1978). It was the subject
of several research projects and dozens of
popular articles. Thousands of acres were
managed in an attempt to increase grouse
densities and in the late 1970s over 1 mil¬
lion participant days (no. hunters X no.
days hunted) annually were spent in the
pursuit of “partridge” (Wis. Dept, of Nat¬
ural Resour., unpubl. rep., Ruffed grouse
management plan, Madison, Wis., 1978).
This paper examines the lengthy record
of ruffed grouse harvests in Wisconsin, the
trend in ruffed grouse hunting regulations,
and the impact of research on grouse man¬
agement strategies. We speculate on the pos¬
1 In cooperation with University of Wisconsin-
Madison, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, Wiscon¬
sin Department of Natural Resources, and Wild¬
life Management Institute.
sible effects of harvests on local grouse popu¬
lations under modern circumstances.
This paper was prepared as an adjunct to
a ruffed grouse field study funded by the
Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources,
the Department of Wildlife Ecology of the
University of Wisconsin-Madison, the U.S.
Fish and Wildlife Service, and the Ruffed
Grouse Society of North America. We thank
L. Keith, R. McCabe, Doris Rusch and C.
Swanberg for reviewing the manuscript.
However, the interpretations made in this
paper are the sole responsibility of the au¬
thors.
The Early Years
Early travelers in northern Wisconsin
rarely noted the ruffed grouse as abundant
(Schorger 1945). The forests in the north¬
ern half of the state generally lacked the un¬
derstory cover needed to support high grouse
densities. In the southern half of the state,
open deciduous woodlands provided heavy
brush cover that supported large grouse
populations (Schorger 1945).
The lumber industry soon changed the
structure of the northern forests and conse¬
quent grouse abundance. Logging began
around 1840, and by 1870 it was Wis-
27
28
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
consin’s leading industry (McCabe 1964).
Second-growth forest, interspersed with
clearings created by logging and periodic
fires, provided ruffed grouse with near ideal
habitat. Currently, ruffed grouse are con¬
sidered most abundant in the north and
west-central parts of the state, common in
east-central, and scarce in the southeast
where there is little good habitat (Wis. Dept,
of Natural Resour., unpubl. rep., Game
harvest trends, Madison, Wis., 1968).
Schorger (1945) believed that the gen¬
eral lack of early references to ruffed grouse
in Wisconsin indicated that it was not a fa¬
vorite game species until other upland game
birds, notably the prairie chicken ( Tympa -
nuchus cupido) and sharp-tailed grouse
( Pedioecetes phasianellus) , became less
plentiful. However, by 1845 market hunters
were getting as much as $1.25 per dozen
ruffed grouse, and by 1898 up to 600 birds
a day during the fall were being shipped to
cities (Schorger 1945). The market ship¬
ments of ruffed grouse apparently never
reached the magnitude of those of prairie
chickens and sharptails.
It is probable that the first restrictions on
ruffed grouse hunting were incidental to re¬
strictions intended primarily for prairie
chickens and sharptails. Market hunting and
loss of habitat in the early 1800s caused
dramatic declines in prairie chicken and
sharptail populations (Schorger 1944, Mc¬
Cabe 1964), and in 1851 Wisconsin re¬
sponded by passing its first game law which
not only protected prairie chickens but also
ruffed grouse, bobwhite quail ( Colinus vir-
ginianus ), and woodcock ( Philohela minor)
Fig. 1. Five-year averages (1851-55 to 1975-80) of season lengths for ruffed grouse hunting
in Wisconsin. Open seasons were first instituted in 1851 and were usually within September-
January. Year-long closed seasons were 1917-20), 1929-30, 1936-37, and 1945-47, all inclusive.
Data were compiled from Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources Hunting Regulations
and Scott (1937«-d, 1938).
1982]
DeStefano and Rusch — Ruffed Grouse in Wisconsin
29
from 1 February to 1 August (Scott 1937#,
Schorger 1944). The idea of closed hunting
seasons2 for ruffed grouse was not new;
New York had closed seasons as early as
1708, and Massachusetts in 1818 (Schor¬
ger 1945).
The Trend Towards Conservative
Game Laws
Since the first closed season for ruffed
grouse in 1851, hunting season lengths have
undergone frequent, sometimes annual
changes. During the first 2 decades follow¬
ing 1851, open seasons varied between 90
and 150 days annually, but were shortened
to 45 days in 1871. By 1880 the open sea¬
son was lengthened to about 120 days, and
season duration remained relatively stable
for almost 2 decades before the first state¬
wide, year-long closed season was abruptly
instituted in 1917 (Fig. 1).
During the last half of the 19th century
and the first few decades of the 20th cen¬
tury, several other laws were enacted partly
on behalf of the ruffed grouse. The sale of
upland game birds was made illegal in 1853,
became legal shortly thereafter, and was
again made illegal in 1903 (Scott 1937a, d).
Exportation of ruffed grouse from the state
was prohibited in 1878, 1883, and for the
final time in 1887, with periods of unpro¬
hibited interstate shipment in between (Scott
19376, c). The legal methods by which these
birds could be “reduced to possession” were
often amended: game bird nests were pro¬
tected in 1867; nets, traps, and snares were
outlawed for all gamebirds in 1874; and by
1878 the use of firearms for hunting was re¬
stricted to guns which were discharged from
the shoulder (Scott 1937a, 6). Even the use
of dogs for hunting upland game birds was
briefly prohibited from 1891 to 1893 (Scott
1937c).
2 “Closed seasons” in this paper refers to hunting
seasons closed for part of a year, whereas “year¬
long closed seasons” are closed to hunting for an
entire 12 months.
The first Wisconsin daily bag limit, set at
25 in 1905, was reduced to 15 in 1907, 10
in 1913, and 5 in 1921 (Scott 1937d,c).
Since 1921 the limit has ranged from 3 to 5,
and presently stands at 5 (Scott I931a-d,
1938).
The Conservative Period
It is probable that the fluctuations in early
game laws were a reflection of fluctuations
in ruffed grouse populations. The fluctua¬
tions of ruffed grouse populations were not
well documented, much less understood.
Abrupt and dramatic natural declines were
often attributed to the gun, and season clo¬
sures were the logical management remedies.
Certain counties in Wisconsin had prohibited
ruffed grouse hunting for an entire year as
early as 1873, e.g., Sauk County; but 1917
was the first year of a statewide, year-long
closed season (Scott 1937a). In 1921, the
season was reopened, but only from 4 Oc¬
tober to 8 October. The 4-day season was
in effect for 8 years. In 1929, the season was
again closed for 2 entire years, reopened in
1931 for 5 years of abbreviated seasons, and
in 1936 and 1937, closed for the third time
in 20 years (Fig. 1 ).
Just as decreases in grouse numbers were
attributed to overhunting, the periodic in¬
creases in the Wisconsin ruffed grouse popu¬
lation during the early decades of this cen¬
tury were often attributed to a decrease in
hunting pressure. In 1922, Commissioner
Barber of the Wisconsin Conservation De¬
partment wrote: “The closed season pro¬
vided by the legislature for prairie chickens
and partridge extending from 1916 to 1921
has brought marvelous results in the increase
of these birds. Never have the results of pro¬
tection of any species of wild animal been
more clearly demonstrated than in this in¬
stance. At the close of the hunting season in
1915, it seemed that these birds were
doomed to extermination, but the closed
season and the cooperative efforts of the
warden force and sportsmen in suppressing
law violation brought the birds back again
30
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
more plentiful than our most optimistic
hopes could anticipate . . (Scott 1938:33-
34). His conclusion was a logical one. At
that time little was known of the natural
fluctuations of ruffed grouse populations,
and wildlife managers did not have the bene¬
fit of the research on population ecology that
would be conducted in later years. Appar¬
ently, few people believed that the periods
of grouse scarcity and abundance might oc¬
cur regardless of the presence or absence of
sport hunting.
The Wisconsin Department of Natural
Resources, then called the Wisconsin Con¬
servation Department, began estimating an¬
nual grouse kills from hunter questionnaires
in 1931, after the second period of closed
seasons had ended in Wisconsin (Wis. Dept,
of Natural Resour., unpubl. rep., Wisconsin
game and fur harvests, a summary 1930-75,
Madison, Wis., 1976). The 1931 harvest
was small, but sharply increased in 1932
(Fig. 2). The grouse harvest in 1933 was
similar, but the kill plummeted, and by 1935
it was at the same low level as in 1931.
Consequently, the season was again closed
for 2 years — 1936 and 1937.
This pattern was repeated when hunting
was reopened in 1938. The harvest rose
sharply in the early 1940s, but subsequently
crashed later that same decade. Again the
season was closed, this time from 1945 to
1947 (Fig. 2). For a third time the pattern
was repeated: a sharp rise in total harvest
occurred in the early 1950s, but by 1960
harvests had gradually dropped to the same
low level that was reported in 1935 and
1944. In the past, low harvest years had
preceded closed seasons, but this time the
management response to a low grouse har¬
vest was different. The succeeding hunting
season was not closed, nor even shortened.
In spite of this radical departure from con¬
servative regulations and management tra-
c n
Q
z
<
CO
z>
O
co
LU
>
cc
<
X
1930 1940 1950 1960 1970 1980
YEAR
Fig. 2. Annual harvest estimates of Wisconsin ruffed grouse compiled by the Wisconsin De¬
partment of Natural Resources. Estimates were derived from voluntary game census cards from
1930 to 1958, from returned questionnaires sent to random samples of hunters from 1959 to
1969, and from returned questionnaires distributed to counties in proportion to the number of
hunting licenses sold in the county from 1970 to present. All estimates are subject to non¬
response, prestige and memory bias, but do reflect general harvest trends (Wis. Dept. Natural
Resour., unpubl. rep., Wisconsin game and fur harvests, a summary 1930-75, Madison, Wis.,
1976).
1982]
DeStefano and Rusch— Ruffed Grouse in Wisconsin
31
dition, the kill in 1961 rose, and in 1962
the kill rose again. Harvests fluctuated in the
late 1960s, but seasons were maintained or
even liberalized; by the 1970s, season lengths
were longer than they had been for almost
100 years and estimates of grouse harvests
were at record highs (Figs. 1, 2). A change
in management policy had clearly taken
place.
The Trend Toward Liberal Game Laws
The first major study of the life history,
ecology, and management of ruffed grouse
began in New York in 1930. The primary
goal of the New York “Ruffed Grouse In¬
vestigation” was “to find ways and means of
assuring the future of the ruffed grouse,”
and an evaluation of hunting was among the
first assignments (Bump et al. 1947:372).
They found that about 17% of the presea¬
son population was harvested and, because
of this relatively low harvest rate, concluded
that “the general effect of man’s hunting
on grouse, as currently practiced, is not det¬
rimental . . .” (Bump et al. 1947:370).
Research on many other game species
was conducted in many parts of North
America in the 1930s and 1940s. Data from
these studies (e.g., Errington and Hamer-
strom 1935) provided impetus for develop¬
ment of the principle of compensatory mor¬
tality. In “Our Wildlife Legacy,” a popular
textbook in wildlife management curricula
of the day, Allen (1954) cited work on ring¬
necked pheasants ( Phasianus colchicus ) and
cottontail rabbits ( Sylvilagus fioridanus) in
Michigan, ruffed grouse in Minnesota (King
1937), bobwhite quail in Oklahoma (Baum¬
gartner 1944), and the findings of the New
York Ruffed Grouse Investigation and went
on to state the compensation principle in
simple terms: “if we fail to take a hunting
harvest, Nature does it for us” (Allen 1954:
131). Generations of students digested the
principle, and most biologists came to ac¬
cept the idea that most game animals present
in summer and fall would succumb to late
fall and overwinter mortality, and that fall
hunting would mainly harvest these surplus
animals that would otherwise die of natural
causes.
Data on ruffed grouse population dy¬
namics were also beginning to accumulate.
By the 1940s, many authors began to believe
that the lows and highs in the population
cycle were natural events, and that hunting
had little or no effect on the frequency or
amplitude of the fluctuations (Schorger
1945, Bump et al. 1947). In fact, many
biologists believed the fluctuations in num¬
bers of hunters and grouse harvests were a
result rather than a cause of fluctuations in
game abundance.
The idea that sport hunting may not be
detrimental to ruffed grouse populations was
further supported by evidence in the 1940s.
Ruffed grouse populations in Michigan,
Minnesota, and Wisconsin were at low levels
during the early part of that decade (Erick¬
son 1951). Minnesota responded by closing
the season in 1944, and Wisconsin followed
suit in 1945. Michigan held out, and in
1948, when the seasons in Minnesota and
Wisconsin were again opened, the estimated
grouse harvests for all 3 states were very
similar, and a year later the harvests for all
3 were virtually identical. Minnesota and
Wisconsin had apparently given up hundreds
of hours of grouse hunting and gained noth¬
ing. The ruffed grouse populations rose and
fell as they always had, and were apparently
little affected by the presence or absence of
hunters.
The research continued. Palmer (1956)
monitored and compared ruffed grouse popu¬
lations on hunted and unhunted areas in
Michigan during a decline in numbers from
1950 to 1954. He found that spring and pre-
hunting season populations were similar on
both the hunted and unhunted areas, even
though an estimated 30% of the pre-season
population on the hunted area was harvested
each year. Dorney and Kabat (1960) and
Fischer and Keith (1974) also found no
detectable relationship between hunting and
subsequent populations, and suggested that
32
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
DEC
JAN 1978-79
JAN 1980
Fig. 3. Since 1925, Wisconsin has been divided into 2 or more zones with different ruffed
grouse hunting seasons. From 1973 to 1979, 17 counties had roughly 1 October-31 January
hunting seasons (cross-hatched area), and the rest of the state had 1 October-31 December
seasons (diagonal lines and clear area). In 1980, the 4 month hunting zone was extended to
include all or parts of 31 additional counties (cross-hatched and diagonal line areas) while the
remaining northern third of the state retained the 3 month season (clear area). Ruffed grouse
hunting has been closed in Waukesha County since 1978 because of the low grouse population
in that area. Data were compiled from Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources Hunting
Regulations.
1982]
33
DeStefano and Rusch — Ruffed Grouse in Wisconsin
ruffed grouse populations in Wisconsin and
Alberta could withstand higher harvest rates.
Other researchers, working on bobwhite
quail in Texas (Parmalee 1953), Gambel’s
quail ( Lophortyx gambelii ) in Arizona
(Swank and Gallizioli 1954), and wild tur¬
keys ( Meleagris gallopavo) in Virginia
(Weaver and Mosby 1979) came to similar
conclusions.
On the basis of research and general ac¬
ceptance of the principle of compensatory
mortality, game managers concluded that
hunting had no effect on grouse numbers
from year to year. Attitudes of game man¬
agers thus changed from concern about
“over-hunting” in the early part of this
century to acceptance of the generalization
that “hunting has no effect.” Changes in
Wisconsin ruffed grouse hunting regulations
reflected this change in attitude. Season
lengths have grown steadily since the late
1940s, and further increases in the hunting
season have been instituted as recently as
1980 (Fig. 1).
Modern Ruffed Grouse Harvest
In 1980 Wisconsin sportsmen could hunt
ruffed grouse for 4 months in the southern
half of the state and 3 months in the north
(Fig. 3). Sales of small game and sports¬
men’s licenses have been generally increas¬
ing since 1935 (Fig. 4). In our opinion, ex¬
tended hunting seasons, growing numbers of
hunters, heavy concentrations of hunters on
some lands, and the anticipated increase in
demand for ruffed grouse hunting in Wiscon¬
sin (Wis. Dept, of Natural Resour., unpubl.
rep., Ruffed grouse management plan, Madi¬
son, Wis., 1978) warrant continued scrutiny
and study of population dynamics and an¬
nual harvests of Wisconsin’s ruffed grouse.
Earlier studies on ruffed grouse harvests
were often conducted on very large, inac¬
cessible tracts of land. Also, relatively little
was known about movements of grouse until
recent years. They were assumed to be rela¬
tively sedentary, and the magnitude of dis-
Fig. 4. Sales of small game and sportsmen's li¬
censes in Wisconsin, 1930-80. Not all license buy¬
ers hunt ruffed grouse. Approximately 177,000 li¬
cense holders hunted ruffed grouse annually in the
late 1970s (Wis. Dept. Natural Resour., unpubl.
rep., Ruffed grouse management plan, Madison,
Wis., 1978).
persal was not fully appreciated. Later re¬
search (Chambers and Sharp 1958, Godfrey
and Marshall 1969, Hale and Dorney 1963,
Rusch and Keith 1971) has shown that dis¬
persal, which occurs in fall and spring, is
important to the dynamics of ruffed grouse
populations, and involves large segments of
the grouse population and movements of
several kilometers in young grouse. Grouse
may move from unhunted to hunted areas
in fall and spring, thus partially obscuring or
alleviating the effects of hunting on certain
population segments. Scattered public wild¬
life areas or isolated woodlots which are not
surrounded by good ruffed grouse habitat
may not have a reserve of grouse to replace
those shot in the fall.
Further consideration and reexamination
of the idea of compensatory mortality in
ruffed grouse is also warranted. It is possible
that hunting in late summer or early fall,
when annual grouse numbers are relatively
high, would merely take birds which would
otherwise suffer late fall or winter mortality.
In Alberta, Rusch and Keith (1971) found
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
34
HATCH
MONTHS
Fig. 5. Theoretical changes in numbers of a popu¬
lation of Wisconsin ruffed grouse over 1 year.
Peak hatch for ruffed grouse in Wisconsin is ap¬
proximately 1 June (Hale and Wendt, 1951). The
population probably then quickly declines in early
summer and levels off in late summer, after the
chicks have grown and juvenile survival improves.
During the fall dispersal period mortality prob¬
ably again increases because grouse, especially the
young of the year, move into unfamiliar and inse¬
cure areas where they are vulnerable to predation
and accidents. When the dispersal period ends in
late fall, the population probably levels off and re¬
mains stable until the spring breeding season. A
lesser amount of movement and dispersal may also
occur in the spring. Population curve was gen¬
eralized from estimates of density of ruffed grouse
on study areas in Alberta (Rusch and Keith 1971)
and Manitoba (Rusch et al. 1978). Comparable
data were not available for populations of ruffed
grouse in Wisconsin.
that ruffed grouse populations declined
rather rapidly in mid-fall to late fall and re¬
mained stable over winter. If our generalized
annual population curve for ruffed grouse
(Fig. 5) is accurate, grouse that survive the
fall dispersal period have a good chance of
surviving to the breeding season. Substantial
and successful late season hunting — Novem¬
ber through January, for example — may re¬
move birds from the population that would
otherwise survive to breed in the spring.
It is probable that ruffed grouse popula¬
tions in Wisconsin have not yet been mea¬
surably affected by sport hunting. Yet the
ideas described in this paper, like others in
the past, raise questions that need to be ad¬
dressed by additional research. Do ruffed
grouse in Wisconsin follow the same annual
population curve as that generalized for
grouse in Alberta? Is late-season hunting
pressure moderate or heavy in some areas
of Wisconsin? Is spring dispersal adequate
to replace stock taken from populations of
ruffed grouse that are heavily hunted? An¬
swers to questions like these may help man¬
agers develop new strategies for grouse har¬
vests which will maximize or optimize breed¬
ing grouse numbers in managed and unman¬
aged habitats throughout the state. The ulti¬
mate goal is a management plan which will
maximize harvests without adversely affect¬
ing ruffed grouse populations.
Literature Cited
Allen, D. L. 1954. Our Wildlife Legacy. Funk
and Wagnalls, New York. 422 pp.
Baumgartner, F. M. 1944. Bobwhite quail
populations on hunted vs. protected areas. J.
Wildl. Manage. 8:259-260.
Bump, G., R. W. Darrow, F. C. Edminster,
and W. F. Crissey. 1947. The Ruffed Grouse:
life history, propagation and management.
N.Y. State Conserv. Dept. 915 pp.
Chambers, R. E., and W. M. Sharp. 1958.
Movement and dispersal within a population
of ruffed grouse. J. Wildl. Manage. 22:231-
239.
Dorney, R. S., and C. Kabat. 1960. Relation of
weather, parasitic disease and hunting to
Wisconsin ruffed grouse populations. Wis.
Conserv. Dept. Tech. Bull. No. 20. 64 pp.
Erickson, A. B. 1951. Closed season no boon
to ruffed grouse. Conserv. Volunteer 14:34-
36.
Errington, P. L., and F. N. Hamerstrom, Jr.
1935. Bob-white winter survival on experi¬
mentally shot and unshot areas. Iowa St. Col¬
lege. J. Science 9:625-639.
Fischer, C. A., and L. B. Keith. 1974. Popula¬
tion responses of central Alberta ruffed
grouse to hunting. J. Wildl. Manage. 38:585-
600.
1982]
DeStefano and Rusch — Ruffed Grouse in Wisconsin
35
Godfrey, G. A., and W. H. Marshall. 1969.
Brood break-up and dispersal of ruffed
grouse. J. Wildl. Manage. 33:609-620.
Hale, J. B., and R. S. Dorney. 1963. Seasonal
movements of ruffed grouse in Wisconsin. J.
Wildl. Manage. 27:648-656.
- , and R. F. Wendt. 1951. Ruffed grouse
hatching dates in Wisconsin. J. Wildl. Man¬
age. 15:195-199.
King, R. T. 1937. Ruffed grouse management.
J. Forestry 35:523-532.
Leopold, A. 1949. A Sand County Almanac.
Oxford Univ. Press. 269 pp.
McCabe, R. A. 1964. Some aspects of wildlife
and hunting in northern Wisconsin. Trans.
Wis. Acad. 53:57-65.
Palmer, W. L. 1956. Ruffed grouse population
studies on hunted and unhunted areas.
Trans. N. Am. Wildl. Conf. 21:338-345.
Parmalee, P. W. 1953. Hunting pressure and
its effect on bobwhite quail populations in
east-central Texas. J. Wildl. Manage. 17:
341-345.
Rusch, D. H., and L. B. Keith. 1971. Seasonal
and annual trends in numbers of Alberta
ruffed grouse. J. Wildl. Manage. 35:803-822.
- , M. M. Gillespie, and D. I. McKay.
1978. Decline of a ruffed grouse population
in Manitoba. Can. Field-Nat. 92:123-127.
Schorger, A. W. 1944. The prairie chicken and
sharp-tailed grouse in early Wisconsin.
Trans. Wis. Acad. 35:1-59.
- . 1945. The ruffed grouse in early Wis¬
consin. Trans. Wis. Acad. 37:35-90.
Scott, W. E. 1937a-e. Conservation history.
Wis. Conserv. Bull, a, 2(3): 10-15; b, 2(4):
14-20; c, 2(5) :23-30; d, 2(6):27-37; e,
2(9) :26-3 1 .
- . 1938. Conservation history. Wis. Con¬
serv. Bull. 3(4): 26-37.
Swank, W. G., and S. Gallizioli. 1954. The in¬
fluence of hunting and of rainfall upon
Gambel’s quail populations. Trans. N. Amer.
Wildl. Conf. 19:283-297.
Weaver, J. K., and H. S. Mosby. 1979. Influ¬
ence of hunting regulations on Virginia wild
turkey populations. J. Wildl. Manage. 43:
128-135.
EVALUATION OF INGESTED SHOT LEVELS IN WATERFOWL
HARVESTED IN WISCONSIN IN 1980
David L. Strohmeyer
Department of Biology
University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh
Abstract
A topic of current concern in wildlife biology is the poisoning of waterfowl
due to ingestion of waste lead shot. In 1980, citizens of Wisconsin took political
action which resulted in a legislative mandate to halt lead shot restriction and to
require investigations that would determine whether such restriction was, in fact,
appropriate. A Toxic Shot Evaluation Committee was formed of eight persons
knowledgeable and concerned about the problem, and representative of its various
points of view. The recommendations eventually offered to the Department of
Natural Resources and the Natural Resources Board were based on a survey of
past research from Wisconsin and throughout the nation, and on an investigation
that the Committee itself performed. In five representative regions of the state,
hunters were asked to contribute the gizzards of waterfowl from their hunting bag.
A total of 3,801 was received. Analysis of their contents was then performed by
volunteers from the hunting and non-hunting public, supervised by committee
members and observed by DNR personnel. Quantitative data on total occurrence
of shot, geographic and species variation in occurrence, and relative amounts of
lead vs. steel shot were obtained.
Introduction
Although fatal lead-poisoning due to the
ingestion of waste lead gun-shot is estimated
to kill more than 1,000,000 birds annually,
there has been no practical alternative to
lead shot until recently. In 1977 lead shot
was prohibited for waterfowl hunting with
twelve gauge guns in five southeastern Wis¬
consin counties and along the Mississippi
shoreline of six other counties. Steel shot was
the required alternative in those areas. The
basis for selecting these counties was the
waterfowl harvest level of 20 or more water-
fowl per square mile. The rationale of this
restriction was that high harvest resulted
from heavy hunting pressure which de¬
posited large amounts of waste shot in those
wetlands. The greater the deposition, other
factors being equal, the greater the proba¬
bility of lead-poisoning originating in those
areas. In 1978 and 1979 the critical harvest
level was amended to ten per square mile
and the no-lead (steel) “zone” expanded to
include 21 counties in southeastern Wiscon¬
sin and eight along the Mississippi River.
In early 1980 political action by a number
of Wisconsin citizens, both hunters and non¬
hunters, led to legislation which canceled,
for that year, the prohibition of lead shot,
on the ground there was insufficient informa¬
tion to demonstrate that a lead-poisoning
problem occurred in Wisconsin, and that the
harvest index did not validly represent geo¬
graphic “hotspots.”
The 1980 legislation, therefore, required
formation of a citizens’ advisory committee
which would investigate these concerns and
determine what criteria would best answer
them and what specific procedures were
needed to provide data. These criteria and
procedures were then to be recommended
to the Department of Natural Resources.
The Toxic Shot Evaluation Committee
was comprised of eight members: Dr. Vern
36
1982]
Strohmeyer — Ingested Shot in Waterfowl
37
Larsen of Shiocton, Harold McEuen of On-
alaska, Charles Morgan of La Crosse, Wil¬
liam Peterburs of Mequon, James Rehbein
of Beloit, Jeff Renard of Neenah, Herb Thei-
sen of Friendship and David Strohmeyer,
representing the Oshkosh area and serving as
chairman. In a series of meetings during late
1980 the committee soon discovered that
documentation pertaining to lead-poisoning
was actually quite abundant. Appraisal of
approximately 140 references indicated that
recent studies had become very specialized.
Furthermore, basic information on lead¬
poisoning, such as places of occurrence and
numbers dying, tended to remain in files and
unpublished reports, apparently viewed as
being too repetitious to warrant conventional
publication. A substantial amount of the
documentation applied to the Wisconsin
situation (19 references dating from 1937 to
1980); Wisconsin had been a forerunner in
the study of lead-poisoning and continues to
be a focal area for many of the studies re¬
lating to lead-poisoning. The Wisconsin rec¬
ords supported the use of harvest levels for
determining lead-restriction zones in that the
locations of previous die-offs coincided very
closely with the high-harvest counties.
The Committee, in concurrence with the
U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Final En¬
vironmental Impact Statement (1976), felt
that steel-shot zones should be rather spe¬
cifically determined. It therefore suggested
a three-year program for sampling water-
fowl gizzards and wetland sediments, both to
update the data and to identify “hotspot”
areas. Rather than delay until a recommen¬
dation for data collection could be made to
the Department of Natural Resources and
processed through legislative channels, the
committee decided to organize its own study
of the frequency of occurrence of shot in the
gizzards of waterfowl harvested during the
1980 hunting season.
Methods
The members of the Toxic Shot Evalua¬
tion Committee represented the major water¬
fowl hunting regions of Wisconsin which are,
essentially, the southeast quarter of the state
and the Mississippi River area. The Com¬
mittee members asked hunters in their areas
to save gizzards from the waterfowl they
shot, and to provide data regarding the lo¬
cale, species and date, and to participate in
regular inspection sessions at some conveni¬
ent time and place. At these sessions each
gizzard was opened and its contents washed
into a white enamel tray and searched for
shot. Shot which had been largely eroded
by the gizzard’s grinding action might remain
as a mere fleck of metal and was difficult to
detect. If any shot was found in a gizzard,
the organ was inspected carefully for en¬
trance holes that would indicate whether an
uneroded shot had been fired into the giz¬
zard when the bird was killed. Any such shot
were recorded separately and not included
in the ingested category. Data on species,
hunting locale, date, presence-absence of
shot, number of shot present, whether steel
or lead, and whether eroded or not were re¬
corded for each gizzard. The data from the
various locations throughout the state were
sent to David L. Strohmeyer and assembled
for presentation to the Natural Resources
Board and for this paper.
Results
A total of 3801 gizzards was collected
from 30 counties in Wisconsin (Table 1).
Twelve of the counties provided very few
gizzards (total of 46) and are included as a
collective unit. The 3755 gizzards from the
other 18 counties represent 1.5% of their
annual harvest (as estimated from the 10-
year mean, 1966-1975) and would seem to
be an adequate sample. Some counties were
more thoroughly sampled than others, per¬
haps even excessively so. One objective of
the continuation of this study will be a more
balanced distribution of samples from the
various counties. One intangible in sample
collection, however, is the level of coopera¬
tion by hunters from those areas.
Overall, 10.6% of the 3801 gizzards con-
38
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
Table 1. County Comparison of Gizzard Data, 1980.
1982]
Strohmeyer — Ingested Shot in Waterfowl
39
tained at least one shot at the time the bird
was killed. This is a minimum value as some
shot may have gone undetected and it omits
all shot considered to have been fired-in. An
additional 184 gizzards (5.5% of the 3361
gizzards evaluated for this condition) con¬
tained fired-in shot.
The ’78 and ’79 steel shot zone included
21 southeastern counties which harvested
more than 10 birds per square mile. The
present study provides adequate ingestion
data for 12 of those 21 counties, and for
two counties with a harvest of less than 10
birds per square mile (Table 1). The inges¬
tion rates for the former counties range from
1.4 to 18.7% (median = 9.4), while for
the latter two counties they range from 1.1
to 67%. Only in four counties, Adams,
Kenosha, Racine and Walworth, does the
ingestion level not agree well with the har¬
vest index.
Twenty specific wetland areas contributed
sufficient gizzards to permit an estimate of
the extent of shot ingestion in birds har¬
vested there (Table 2). The fewest gizzards
from a single area included in this summary
are the 47 from Lake Tichigan, while the
largest number was the 334 from Lake Butte
des Morts. Most of these areas show rather
high percentages of shot. It is reasonable
that those areas which can supply large
numbers of gizzards are heavily hunted, and
therefore are areas of high shot deposition
and high potential for shot ingestion.
Wisconsin waterfowl hunters take most of
their harvest from rather few species of birds.
Sixty-one percent of the annual bag is com¬
prised of just three species; adding the next
six species raises the total to 88% of the
annual harvest. These species do not show
equal frequencies of ingestion of waste shot
(Table 3). The mallard shows a high rate,
while the ringneck and scaup show very
high rates. The widgeon, black duck and
Canada goose are all high, and all of these
species are among the nine most harvested.
Only the number two, three and four spe¬
cies (see Table 3) in the statewide bag fall
Table 3. Species Occurrence of Shot in Gizzards.
* Not separated by species.
below the five percent level which has been
identified by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Ser¬
vice as a limit critical to the reduction of
large-scale lead-poisoning. Several of the less
hunted species, such as the pintail and the
redhead, also show high rates of ingestion.
Different counties show different rates of
harvest for various species. Certainly the
lesser scaup is more heavily represented in
the harvest on Lake Winnebago than in most
other areas of the state. The three most com¬
monly harvested species (or species groups)
for each adequately sampled county are pre¬
sented in Table 4. Adams county, for ex¬
ample, harvests mostly mallards, secondly,
other dabblers and thirdly, geese. Very few
divers are shot there in spite of the proximity
of the large pools on the Wisconsin River.
40
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
Table 4. Percent Shot Ingestion in the Three Most-Harvested Species Per County.
* — All but mallard, bluewing and greenwing
** r= Both Canada and snow
f = Mergansers, bufflehead, goldeneye and scoters
This table also shows the percent occurrence
of ingested shot for those species in that
county. For example, only 3% of the mal¬
lards killed in Adams county contained shot,
although 11.3% of the state total of har¬
vested mallards did so. Fifteen percent of
the dabbler category and 14% of the geese
harvested in Adams county contained in¬
gested shot. Numerous other comparisons of
this type are possible. Kenosha ringnecks
show 13% occurrence, but Winnebago ring-
necks show 33%. Shawano county scaup
show 6% occurrence, but in Waupaca
county, the next one south, the scaup show
21% occurrence of shot. Walworth and Ra¬
cine counties harvest mostly low shot-oc¬
currence species, hence their low overall in¬
gestion levels in spite of their 10+ harvest
level.
One interpretation which can be made of
the different levels of occurrence between
counties is that most shot is not being
brought in from other areas. If it were, there
would be less variation in occurrence along
north-south migration routes. These region¬
ally different levels suggest local origin of
shot for certain species. For example, the
Winnebago county ringnecks seem to be get¬
ting their shot from Lake Butte des Morts
(70 of 97 ringnecks came from Butte des
Morts, and 21 of them contained shot).
These data also suggest areas which do not
seem to be shot sources for some or all spe¬
cies. As more data accumulate it may be¬
come possible to identify specific problem
areas within counties.
Table 5 presents the number and type of
shot found. Considering the number of giz-
* 388 plus 16 unspecified from LaCrosse = 404.
1982]
Strohmeyer — Ingested Shot in Waterfowl
41
zards collected in counties with lead shot re¬
striction in 1977, ’78 and 79, the amount of
steel shot is rather low. This could be evi¬
dence of ingestion of the current year’s sup¬
ply of shot, or, possibly, of ingestion in other
areas of the state. It could also suggest vio¬
lation of the restriction, widespread use of
20 gauge guns (in which lead use was per¬
mitted) or long-term availability of lead
shot from years prior to the restriction. Data
from 1981 and ’82 will help in determining
which of these alternatives is correct.
The great majority of gizzards contained
only one shot. The percentages of birds with
various numbers of shot agree very well with
those found in the Bellrose (1959) study
which summarized data on 35,000 gizzards,
and with a study done in England (Thomas,
1978). It would seem, then, that a typical
occurrence pattern exists. It is appropriate
to mention that not all birds which ingested
lead shot would have died. The chances of
death increase, though, as the number of in¬
gested shot increases (Bellrose, 1959). Re¬
cent studies, especially one by Dieter and
Finley (1979), show that even partial ab¬
sorption of a single pellet can cause meta¬
bolic disorders sufficient to kill a bird or
make it much more vulnerable to natural
predators or to hunters.
Literature Cited
Bellrose, F. C. 1959. Lead poisoning as a mor¬
tality factor in waterfowl populations. Ill.
Nat. Hist. Surv. Bull. 27(3 ): 235-288.
Dieter, M. P. and M. T. Finley. 1979. Amino¬
levulinic acid dehydratase enzyme activity
in blood, brain and liver of lead-dosed ducks.
Environ. Res. 19:127-135.
Thomas, G. J. 1978. Lead poisoning in water-
fowl and ways of reducing it. Internat. Wa¬
terfowl Res. Bureau Bull. 45:27-31.
U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. 1976. Steel:
Final Environmental Statement. Proposed
use of steel shot for hunting waterfowl in
the United States. U.S. Government Print¬
ing Office, Washington, D.C. 276 pp.
VEGET ATION AL CHANGE IN UNIVERSITY BAY
FROM 1966 TO 1980
William J. Vander Zouwen
Department of Wildlife Ecology
University of W isconsin-Madison
A bstract
The aquatic macrophytes of University Bay, Lake Mendota, Dane Co.,
Wisconsin, were sampled using the line transect method. Twenty-one lines were
sampled, and all plants intercepting every 5th meter segment of each line were
recorded. Data were used to construct a contour map of the vegetated zone of the
bay, delimit plant communities, and determine species composition. Marked vege¬
tative changes have occurred since Lind and Cottam studied the bay in 1966. The
most pronounced changes were, ( 1 ) the decline of an exotic, Myriophyllum s pica-
turn, which had become the dominant species, (2) the decline of Vallisneria
americana and Ceratophyllum demersum, (3) the increase in importance of
Potamogeton pectinatus, (4) a 30% reduction in littoral zone area, and (5)
reduction of large continuous stands to scattered plants. The vegetative decline in
University Bay paralleled similar declines in other Dane Co. lakes.
Introduction
Many investigators have documented
aquatic macrophyte change over the last cen¬
tury, accompanying eutrophication of lakes
in North America (e.g. Lind and Cottam
1969, Harman and Doane 1970, Nichols
and Mori 1971, Stuckey 1971, Crum and
Bachmann 1973, Bumby 1977). An exotic,
Myriophyllum spicatum, has invaded many
eutrophic waters in the eastern U.S., includ¬
ing the Madison, Wisconsin lakes (Nichols
1975). In the Madison lakes, M. spicatum
replaced Vallisneria americana and several
Potamogeton species as the dominant spe¬
cies (Lind and Cottam 1969, Nichols and
Mori 1971). Lind and Cottam (1969) re¬
ported dominance of Myriophyllum exalbe-
scens, but they evidently misidentified M.
spicatum (Nichols 1971). M. spicatum has
since declined in the Madison lakes (Car¬
penter 1979). The purpose of this study was
to provide a current description of the
aquatic vegetation of University Bay, Lake
Mendota, extending the vegetation record
for this bay to a 70 year period. Results of
this study will be useful in a concurrent
study of changes in value of University Bay
as a waterfowl refuge. This paper describes
changes in the drainage basin with conse¬
quent nutrient and sediment input, changes
in distribution of rooted vegetation, species
composition changes, community change,
and apparent changes in aquatic macro¬
phyte density.
Study Area
The study area was located within the
Yahara River basin system of lakes in south-
central Wisconsin. The 106 ha University
Bay is a small bay on the south side of Lake
Mendota, bounded by the University of Wis-
consin-Madison campus to the south and the
Picnic Point peninsula to the north (Fig. 1).
The hydrography is characterized by a sand
bar extending from Willow Point to Picnic
Point. A large shallow flat (<1.5 m) oc¬
curs west of the bar and depth reaches 16 m
to the east. A more complete description of
the study area was provided by Dillon
(1956).
42
1982]
Vander Zouwen — Vegetational Change in University Bay
43
PICNIC POINT
Fig. 1. Map of University Bay showing depth contours to the limit of growth of submerged aquatic
plants. Transects ended where vegetation ended.
Methods
Sampling
Sampling of vegetation in University Bay
in 1980 was designed to be directly compar¬
able with that of Lind and Cottam (1969),
i.e. 21 transects were positioned in the same
locations as those of Lind and Cottam. I
sampled vegetation between 28 July and 11
August, 1980, using a length of polypropy¬
lene rope, held at each end by an anchored
buoy, as a transect line. Vegetation below
every 5th meter segment of this line was
sampled with a garden rake modified with
lA inch wire mesh attached to the teeth.
Each quadrat was, in essence, 1 m by 1 rake
width (i.e. 36 cm). Depth at each quadrat
was measured with a weighted line marked
at 0.5 m intervals. The density of vegetation
44
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
MYRIOPHYLLUM
MYRIOPHYLLUM-VALLISNERIA
VALLISNERIA
FLOATING-LEAVED
TYPHA-SPARGANIUM
SCIRPUS
SHALLOW-WATER SUBMERGED
Fig. 2. Map of communities of University Bay in 1980 and 1966 (adapted from Lind and Cottam, 1969).
in each quadrat was recorded as present (1
plant), scattered (discontinuous), or con¬
tinuous (solid stand). Each transect was ter¬
minated at the point beyond which no vege¬
tation was found in five consecutive quad¬
rats. Nomenclature of plant species follows
that of Fassett (1960) as revised by Ogden.
Analysis of Data
Quadrat data from all transects in this
study were combined to determine frequency
and relative frequency based on the per¬
centage of quadrats containing each species.
The depth and species occurring at each
quadrat were used to develop hydrographic
and plant community maps of the vegetated
area of University Bay (Figs. 1 and 2).
Communities were delimited in the same
manner as those of Lind and Cottam (1969).
The floating-leaved and emergent commu¬
nities were delimited on the basis of physiog¬
nomy. The remaining three communities con¬
sisted entirely of submerged plant species.
These aggregations were a Myriophyllum
community, a Vallisneria community and a
joint Myriophyllum-Vallisneria community.
The demarcation of community boundaries
was made at the point where the distribution
of the dominant species became discontinu¬
ous as recorded from transect quadrat data,
not at the point where the species ceased to
exist.
Total transect length in 1966 was approxi¬
mately 40% longer than in 1980 due to the
presence of vegetation in deeper water. In
order that percent presence (frequency) be
directly comparable with that in 1966, 1980
frequency data were corrected by dividing
by 1.4. With this correction, actual change
in area of presence can easily be ascertained.
Without the correction, a species with the
same distribution in each study would have
a higher frequency in 1980 than in 1966.
Results
Vegetation grew to a greater depth along
Picnic Point than in the southwest section
of the bay (Fig. 1 and 2). Very little vege-
1982]
Vander Zouwen—Vegetational Change in University Bay
45
Table 1. Comparison of depths at which growth
of submerged aquatics ceased in 1966 (Lind and
Cottam 1969) and the present study. Depth at end
of transect marks depth at which no more plants
were found.
tation was found in water depths greater
than 2.5 m (Table 1 ).
Submergent vegetation was generally
sparse over most of the bay. Solid, continu¬
ous stands were found only in a narrow band
along the eastern edge of the gravel bar, in
a narrow band along Picnic Point, and in
small scattered beds west of the bar. Vege¬
tation was absent in 25% of the quadrats.
University Bay contained 14 submerged
and floating-leaved plant species in 1980;
only Myriophyllum spicatum, Potamogeton
pectinatus and Vallisneria americana were
common (Table 2). The other species pres¬
ent each had a relative frequency less than
4%.
Myriophyllum spicatum occurred in nearly
all of the eulittoral zone of the bay, except
on the delta at the mouth of Willow Creek
and an area nearly devoid of vegetation west
of the bar (Fig. 2). M. spicatum grew on
organic and silt bottoms primarily. It was
the only species commonly occurring in
water deeper than 1.5 m. It occurred in
greatest density along Picnic Point in water
1.0-1. 5 m deep and along the eastern slope
of the bar in water 0.8- 1.5 m deep. Dense
mats of filamentous algae ( Mougeotia sp.
and Rhizoclonium sp.) were present on these
dense stands of M. spicatum.
Potamogeton pectinatus, the second most
frequent species, was found in scattered
Table 2. Changes in aquatic macrophyte species composition in University Bay.
a Reported as Myriophyllum exalbescens by Lind and Cottam (1969).
b Numbers in parentheses are percent frequencies corrected for a 40% greater total transect
length in 1966 than 1980, for comparison with 1966 frequency data.
c Less than 0.05.
46
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
solid stands just north of the delta, at the
north end of the bar, and near Willow Point,
in addition to scattered plants elsewhere.
This species was primarily located on or
west of the bar. There was no pattern to dis¬
tribution with respect to depth or bottom
type, and few fruiting plants were found. It
was not as continuous as Myriophyllum
spicatum, but grew with it in all water less
than 1.5 m deep except near the tip of Pic¬
nic Point.
Vallisneria americana was limited to sandy
bottom areas near Willow Point, along both
sides of the bar and along Picnic Point (Fig.
2). As with the vegetation in general, V.
americana was present in greater depths
along Picnic Point than near the Willow
Creek delta. The depth to which V. ameri¬
cana. grew ranged from 1.5-1. 9 m. It was
in poorest condition west of the bar where
it was silt-covered and rotting. Healthy,
flowering stands were present along Picnic
Point where relatively little silt was found
on the plants.
The Myriophyllum community was most
prominent in the bay (Fig. 2) and was
nearly monotypic in the deeper areas. M.
spicatum became codominant with V. ameri¬
cana forming Myriophyllum-Vallisneria com¬
munities on sandy bottom along the bar and
Picnic Point (Fig. 2). The community domi¬
nated by V. americana alone was found only
in a narrow strip at the distal end of Picnic
Point in water depths of 1.6-1. 8 m.
Two emergent communities were re¬
corded, a large Typha-Sparganium marsh on
the mudflats in the northwest corner of the
bay and a small bed of Scirpus validus on
the bar (Fig. 2). The former was very dense
whereas the latter was sparse.
Floating-leaved communities consisting
of Nymphaea tuberosa and Nelumbo lutea
were situated at the northwest and southwest
corners of the bay (Fig. 2). Myriophyllum
spicatum and Ceratophyllum demersum were
the predominant submerged species below
the floating-leaved plants. Silt and marl bot¬
toms were characteristic of these communi¬
ties.
The continually forming sand delta at the
mouth of Willow Creek and a large portion
of the deeper water west of the bar (Fig. 2)
were nearly devoid of vegetation.
Discussion
Bay Area Changes and Nutrient and
Sediment Input
In order to understand the vegetational
changes in University Bay, changes in nutri¬
ent and particulate matter input should be
known. Until 1910, University Bay was
bounded to the west by a 53 ha marsh which
undoubtedly trapped large amounts of nutri¬
ents and silt that would otherwise have en¬
tered the bay. In 1910, the marsh was
drained and planted to corn. Thereafter,
fertilizer-enriched water was pumped into
the bay. From 1940 to 1980, the Madison
population increased from 67,000 to
171,000, increasing the input of urban pol¬
lution, especially with the onset of the “de¬
tergent era.” In addition, the rapidly grow¬
ing communities upriver from Lake Men-
dota dumped treated sewage into the Yahara
River until 1971. Probably the major con¬
tributor of nutrient and particulate matter
to University Bay during the last 30 years
has been Willow Creek (also known as Uni¬
versity Creek), which wound through a
marsh until the early 1950’s. This creek was
channelized, and the storm sewer outfall of
the Hilldale area was placed at the head of
the creek. This rapidly growing residential
and commercial area increased in size from
less than 8 km2 to greater than 15 km2 dur¬
ing the 1950’s and early 1960’s (Sterrett,
1975). This, together with increased build¬
ing density and pavement surface, greatly
increased runoff and thus nutrient and par¬
ticulate loading to University Bay.
Ahern (1976) estimated that 922 kg of
total phosphorous and 353,000 kg of par¬
ticulate matter entered University Bay via
1982]
Vander Zouwen — V egetational Change in University Bay
47
Willow Creek in 1972 alone. High sedimen¬
tation is evidenced by the delta forming at
the mouth of the creek including an expand¬
ing, willow covered, island. Further evidence
that nutrient loading has been most promi¬
nent since the early 1940’s was provided by
Bortleson and Lee (1972) when they found
drastically increased phosphorous and nitro¬
gen concentrations in the top 15 cm of the
marl, representing the period of 1940 on.
Maximum Depth of Rooted Vegetation
Denniston (1921) and Andrews (1946)
found rooted vegetation common to water
depths of 5-7 m in University Bay. Indeed,
some of the long-stem pondweeds grew pro¬
fusely east of the bar to these depths. How¬
ever, in 1966, most of the 21 transects
ended in depths of 2. 5-4.0 m, and by 1980,
vegetation depth was further restricted, most
of the transects ending between 1.5 and 2.5
m (Table 1). This change from 1966 to
1980 resulted in a littoral zone reduction
of approximately 30%.
West of the bar, a large area of water
where dense growths had occurred in 1966
was largely devoid of vegetation in 1980.
This area coincides with water depths be¬
tween 1.0 and 1.5 m (Figs. 1 and 2). On
days when a high particulate load was car¬
ried by Willow Creek, it was evident that
the current carried and deposited silt and
sand primarily west of the bar. Wave action
and carp activity in this shallow area further
increased turbidity, preventing plants from
growing in water as shallow as 1.0 m. Tur¬
bidity and silt resulting from Willow Creek
also explains the shallower maximum depth
of rooted vegetation found in 1966 (Lind
and Cottam) and 1980 on this side of the
bay (Fig. 1). It appears that factors causing
major changes in maximum depth of vege¬
tation have occurred since the early 1940s
and continue to affect vegetation. Similar
reductions in deep zone vegetation following
eutrophication and siltation with related tur¬
bidity, have been reported elsewhere (Har¬
man and Doane 1970, Morgan 1970, Felste-
hausen and Rabl 1973, Bumby 1977). Tur¬
bidity reduces light penetration and thus the
depth at which plants can grow.
Cover Changes
Rickett (1921:509) stated, “In Univer¬
sity Bay, almost all of the species found in
the lake are present in a dense tangled
growth.” Andrews (1946:8) observed that
“at each end of the bay aquatics with float¬
ing leaves become so abundant that large
mats of floating algae and plant fragments
are held in place permitting growths of duck¬
weed in open water.” Lind and Cottam
(1969) suggested that the vegetation was
dense enough to impede human use. Upon
casual observation, it became obvious that
such dense growths of vegetation did not
occur in 1980. As mentioned earlier, the
area of solid, continuous stands of vegeta¬
tion was very limited. Moreover, the fact
that in 25% of the quadrats not even 1 plant
was found implies discontinuity.
There were also indications that the float¬
ing-leaved communities have thinned. Myri-
ophyllum spicatum was infrequently found
in the floating-leaved communities by Lind
and Cottam in 1966. Further, in Lake
Wingra, M. spicatum occurred in the float¬
ing-leaved communities only where Nym-
phaea tuberosa leaves were widely scattered.
In 1980, the corrected frequency for N. tu¬
berosa was half that in 1966 (Table 2), and
M. spicatum was the dominant submerged
species in this community.
Species Composition
Extensive beds of Vallisneria americana,
Potamogeton species, and Chara sp. found
in 1921 and 1946 were replaced by Myrio-
phyllum spicatum by 1966 (Lind and Cot¬
tam 1969). Whether M. spicatum caused
the decline of these species or invaded fol¬
lowing the decline is not known. However,
other lakes, having become eutrophic yet
48
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
lacking exotic species, also have experienced
a decline in native species (Stuckey 1971,
Crum and Bachmann 1973). Moreover,
weedy species usually require disturbance or
reduction in vigor of native species before
explosive growth occurs.
The greatest change in vegetation of Uni¬
versity Bay between 1966 and 1980 has
been the decline of M. spicatum. Corrected
frequency data show a decline from 74.2 to
36.1% in 1980. M. spicatum was still the
most abundant species with a relative fre¬
quency of 45.4% in 1980. The deep water
zone of M. spicatum has disappeared as well
as a large area west of the bar (Fig. 2). This
decline was most noticeable in Lake Men-
dota between 1974 and 1975, and it had oc¬
curred in the other 4 Madison area lakes by
1978 (Carpenter 1979). This pattern of
invasion, abundance, and decline has been
typical of most M. spicatum invasions (Car¬
penter 1979).
Phillips et al. (1978) presented a mech¬
anism for vegetative decline, whereby in¬
creasing nutrient levels result in increasing
growth of filamentous algae and other epi¬
phytes. These epiphytes shade and, conse¬
quently, reduce the growth of macrophytes.
Reduction in competition and in secretion
of phytoplanktonic suppressants from macro¬
phytes then results in increased phytoplank¬
ton biomass, further shading the macro¬
phytes. Although filamentous algae were
very abundant in 1966 and 1980, they could
not, alone, account for the reduction in M.
spicatum in University Bay; the disparity in
loss between different parts of the bay would
not be explained.
Carpenter (1979) discounted toxic
metals, harvesting, herbicides, climatic vari¬
ables, and nutrient levels as the cause of
decline. Carpenter (1979:57) suggested
that the decline . . was a result of syner-
gistically interacting factors, perhaps in¬
cluding nutrients, epiphytes, competitors,
and parasites or pathogens.” Competition
was not likely a factor in University Bay,
because all of the common species except
Potamageton pectinatus also declined (Ta¬
ble 2); P. pectinatus was not dense enough
to cause competition with M. spicatum over
most of the bay. It is likely that seston and
epiphytes contributed to the decline; how¬
ever, something more was involved since the
decline occurs with most invasions of M.
spicatum. Bayley et al. (1978) described
a disease which could be spread from one
plant to another under low light conditions,
such as occurs with turbidity. Perhaps this
is occurring in the Madison area.
The frequency of Ceratophyllum demer-
sum increased 8-fold with the first year of
decline of Myriophyllum spicatum in Lake
Wingra; it is rated highly tolerant of turbid¬
ity (Davis and Brinson 1980). C. demersum
was described as being very abundant every¬
where west of the bar in University Bay in
1970 (Gillette unpubl. rept.). However, in
1980 C. demersum abundance was much
reduced (Table 2). I searched for this species
in 1981, finding few plants; these were in
the most protected areas of the bay.
Carpenter (1979) suggested the reduction
in density of M. spicatum in 1977 reduced
competition with C. demersum. Perhaps this
was occurring in University Bay in 1970.
The reduction in density of M. spicatum
from solid stands to scattered plants since
1970, together with decreased distribution,
has likely led to increased wave action and
turbulence in University Bay. This would
adversely affect C. demersum (non-rooted)
and may explain its current distribution and
low abundance.
Vallisneria americana frequency de¬
creased by almost one-half from 1966 to
1980 (Table 2). It was restricted to the
coarsest bottoms. Perhaps siltation or re¬
suspension of sediments was less there.
Healthy plants were most abundant east of
the bar, along Picnic Point, far from the silt
source, Willow Creek. Perhaps, also, Myrio¬
phyllum spicatum could not have competed
with V. americana on this substrate as it has
1982]
Vander Zouwen — Vegetational Change in University Bay
49
an affinity for fine organic substrates (Patten
1956).
Most other species remained in low abun¬
dance. By 1980, Potamageton zosteriformis,
Char a sp., and Ranunculus trichophyllus
had disappeared.
The one species that has significantly in¬
creased in importance since 1966 (Table 2),
Potamogeton pectinatus, has survived high
levels of urban pollution elsewhere (Butcher
1933, Haslam 1978, Ozimek 1978). It also
doubled in frequency in L. Wingra (Carpen¬
ter 1979). The linear leaves of P. pectinatus
remain relatively free of settling particles
(Sculthorpe 1967, Sheimer and Prosser
1976). Moreover, the filamentous algae so
abundant on Myriophyllum spicatum in
University Bay were negligible on P. pec¬
tinatus. P. pectinatus is, however, very sus¬
ceptible to shading in its early period of
growth (Anderson 1978). These properties
may have allowed P. pectinatus to persist
and increase while other species have de¬
clined.
Community Changes
The northern pondweed communities
have disappeared. The Scirpus validus bed
has been reduced from a strip across the bar
(Rickett 1921) to 3 separate beds in 1966
and to 1 bed by 1980 (Fig. 2). A delta of
sand now lies where a diverse community
occurred in 1950 at the mouth of the creek
(White unpubl. rept.). Furthermore, there
are no longer beds of shallow water commu¬
nities dominated by Elodea canadensis, Najas
flexilis, Chara sp. and Zannichellia palustris
(Fig. 2). Now, the Myriophyllum community
of 1966 could be better called the Myriophyl-
lum-P. pectinatus community, and Myrio¬
phyllum spicatum has replaced Ceratophyl-
lum demersum as the dominant submerged
species in the floating-leaved community.
Finally, the Vallisneria community has been
reduced from near uniform distribution (An¬
drews 1946) to a few strips on sandy sub¬
strates by 1966 and reduced even further
by 1980 (Fig. 2).
Conclusions
There has been an obvious decline in the
macrophyte vegetation of University Bay
between 1966 and 1980. The maximum
depth of rooted vegetation has been re¬
duced; a 30% reduction in littoral zone
area has resulted. The continuity or density
of vegetation has been reduced consider¬
ably. The pattern of abundance and decline
of Myriophyllum spicatum followed that of
invasions of this species elsewhere in North
America and invasions of Elodea canadensis
in Europe (Sculthorpe 1967). However, the
vegetative decline in University Bay was not
limited to M. spicatum. Other species, com¬
mon in 1966, have decreased considerably;
some species have vanished. Only one na¬
tive species, known to be relatively tolerant
of urban pollution, increased significantly
in importance from 1966 to 1980. Whether
the factors which affected the abundance of
native species also led to the decline of M.
spicatum is not known. However, it was
obvious that turbidity and siltation from
Willow Creek effluent did have an effect on
M. spicatum, because the condition of these
beds differed between areas near and far
from the creek mouth. As Carpenter (1979)
suggested, it is likely that many factors led
to its decline in the Madison lakes.
The future of the vegetation in University
Bay is, of course, uncertain. The decline of
M. spicatum has been apparent for 6 years,
and only 1 native species has increased.
There is considerable space where macro¬
phytes could grow without competition from
other macrophytes; however they will not
likely increase in abundance if nutrients and
particulate matter continue to enter Lake
Mendota from its watershed. Experiments
in British lakes revealed that isolation of
areas from nutrients and silt resulted in a
positive response from native vegetation
(Phillips et al. 1978). Although the state of
50
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
Wisconsin has been addressing watershed
management, it is not likely that growth of
macrophytes will be actively encouraged;
the state is also responsible for macrophyte
control.
Acknowledgments
I acknowledge R. A. McCabe for guid¬
ance and review of the manuscript and M.
Ammacher for field assistance. Funds were
provided by the Max McGraw Wildlife
Foundation and the Department of Wildlife
Ecology, College of Agricultural and Life
Sciences, University of Wisconsin-Madison.
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Ahern, J. 1976. Impact and management of
urban runoff. M. S. Thesis. Univ. of Wis.-
Madison. 207 pp.
Anderson, M. G. 1978. Distribution and pro¬
duction of sago pondweed ( Potamogeton
pectinatus L.) on a northern prairie marsh.
Ecology 59:154-160.
Andrews, J. D. 1946. The macroscopic inverte¬
brate populations of the larger aquatic plants
in Lake Mendota. Ph.D. thesis, Univ. of
Wis. 104 pp.
Bayley, S., V. D. Stotts, P. F. Springer, and J.
Steenis. 1978. Changes in submerged aquatic
macrophyte populations at the head of Ches¬
apeake Bay, 1958-1975. Estuaries 1:171-
182.
Bortleson, G. G. and G. F. Lee. 1972. Recent
sediment history of Lake Mendota, Wiscon¬
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Bumby, M. J. 1977. Changes in submerged
macrophytes in Green Lake, Wisconsin, from
1921 to 1971. Trans. Wis. Acad. Sci., Arts
and Lett. 65:120-151.
Butcher, R. W. 1933. Studies on the ecology of
rivers. I. On the distribution of macrophytic
vegetation in the rivers of Britain. J. Ecol.
21:58-91.
Carpenter, S. R. 1979. The invasion and de¬
cline of Myyriophyllum spicatum in an eu-
trophic Wisconsin lake. P. 1 1-32. In: Aquatic
Plants, Lake Management and Ecosystem
Consequences of Lake Harvesting. Institute
of Environmental Studies, U.W.-Madison,
435 pp.
Crum, G. H. and R. W. Bachmann. 1973. Sub¬
merged aquatic plants of the Iowa Great
Lakes region. Iowa State J. Res. 48:147-173.
Davis, G. J. and M. M. Brinson. 1980. Re¬
sponses of submersed vascular plant com¬
munities to environmental change. U.S. Fish
and Wild. Serv. Biol. Serv. Prog. FWS/OBS-
79/33.
Denniston, R. H. 1921. A survey of the larger
aquatic plants in Lake Mendota. Trans. Wis.
Acad. Sci., Arts and Lett. 20:495-500.
Dillon, S. T. 1956. A nine-year study of fall
waterfowl migration on University Bay,
Madison, Wisconsin. Trans. Wis. Acad. Sci.,
Arts and Lett. 45:31-57.
Fassett, N. C. 1957. A Manual of Aquatic
Plants. (Revised Edition; E. C. Ogden, Ed.).
Univ. Wis. Press. Madison. 405 pp.
Felstehausen, H., and N. Rabl. 1973. Lake
Koshkonong improvement: problems and
possibilities. Proceedings of the Water Re¬
sources Management Workshop. Univ. of
Wis. -Madison. 28 pp.
Gillette, L. N. 1970. University Bay waterfowl
census report. Unpubl. Rept. at Univ. Wis.-
Madison Wildl. Ecol. Dept.
Harman, W. N., and T. R. Doane. 1970.
Changes in the aquatic flora of Otsego Lake
between 1935 and 1969. N.Y. Fish and
Game J. 17:121-123.
Haslam, S. M. 1978. River plants: The macro¬
phytic vegetation of watercourses. Cam¬
bridge Univ. Press, Cambridge, 396 pp.
Lind, C. T. and G. Cottam. 1969. The sub¬
merged aquatics of University Bay: A study
in eutrophication. Amer. Midi. Nat. 81:353-
369.
Morgan, N. C. 1970. Changes in the fauna and
flora of a nutrient enriched lake. Hydrobio-
logia 35:545-553.
Nichols, S. A. 1971. The distribution and con¬
trol of macrophyte biomass in Lake Wingra.
Ph.D. Thesis. Univ. of Wis. -Madison. Ill
pp.
Nichols, S. A. 1975. Identification and man¬
agement of Eurasian watermilfoil in Wis¬
consin. Trans. Wis. Acad. Sci., Arts and Lett.
63:116-128.
Nichols, S. A. and S. Mori. 1971. The littoral
macrophyte vegetation of Lake Wingra.
Trans. Wis. Acad. Sci., Arts and Lett. 20:
501-527.
1982]
Vander Zouwen—V egetational Change in University Bay
51
Ozimek, T. 1978. Effect of municipal sew¬
age on the submerged macrophytes of a lake
littoral. Ekol. Pol. 26:3-39.
Patten, B. C. 1956. Notes on the biology of
Myriophyllum spicatum L. in a New Jersey
lake. Bull. Torrey Bot. Club 83:5-18.
Phillips, G. L., D. Eminson, and B. Moss.
1978. A mechanism to account for macro¬
phyte decline in progressively eutrophicated
freshwaters. Aquatic Bot. 4:103-126.
Ricket, W. H. 1921. A quantitative study of the
large aquatic plants of Lake Mendota. Trans.
Wis. Acad. Sci., Arts and Lett. 20:501-527.
Scheimer, F. and M. Prosser. 1976. Distribu¬
tion and biomass of submerged plants in
Neusiedlersee. Aquatic Bot. 2:289-307.
Sculthorpe, C. D. 1967. The biology of aquatic
vascular plants. Edward Arnold Ltd., Lon¬
don. 610 pp.
Sterrett, R. J. 1975. The geology and hydro¬
geology of University Bay, Madison, Wis¬
consin. M.S. Thesis. Univ. of Wis. -Madison.
162 pp.
Stuckey, R. L. 1971. Changes of vascular
aquatic flowering plants during 70 years in
Put-in-Bay Harbor, Lake Erie, Ohio. Ohio J.
Sci. 71:321-342.
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Dept.
SUCCESSION AND ELM REPLACEMENT
IN THE DUNNVILLE BOTTOMS
John L. Larson William J. Barnes
Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin University of W isconsin-Eau Claire
A hstract
Six forest stands were sampled in the flood plain forests of the Dunnville
Bottoms. Present composition of the trees was determined and the composition
of the next generation was predicted from sapling data. Elm is presently an ex¬
tremely important tree in these bottoms, and Dutch elm disease will reduce its
numbers and average size. Its present associates, especially hackberry and ash,
will likely increase in numbers and, in some cases, in size owing to canopy gaps
created by dying elms. The more open nature of the canopy may persist in places
because of the occasional development of dense thickets of shrubs.
Introduction
Elm is a dominant in the bottomland
forests of eastern North America, and may
comprise 25% to 75% of the trees present
(Fowells, 1965). The loss of elm, because
of Dutch elm disease, will greatly affect the
composition of these river bottom forests.
Presently, elm is the most abundant and
one of the largest trees in the flood plain
forests of the Dunnville Bottoms. However,
since Dutch elm disease entered this stand
about 15 years ago, about one-third of the
elms have died. This study attempts to pre¬
dict the successional changes that will take
place.
Study Area
The Dunnville Bottoms is an extensive river
bottom flood plain located at the confluence
of the Red Cedar and Chippewa Rivers in
southeastern Dunn County, Wisconsin (Fig¬
ure 1). The bottoms are about four miles
(6.4 km) long and from about one-half (0.8
km) to two and one-half miles (4.0 km)
wide (Figure 2). Several small ponds occur,
as well as substantial areas that are low and
marshy. Several sloughs carry water in times
of flooding or intensive rainfall. Much of this
area was acquired by the State of Wisconsin
in the 1940’s, and has been managed by the
Department of Natural Resources primarily
as a hunting area. Portions of these bottoms
were once farmed, with the now vacant fields
scattered throughout the area.
The Dunnville Bottoms is located within
the Central Plains Geographic Province of
Wisconsin, entirely within the older glacial
drift area (Pre-Wisconsin drift). The allu¬
vial soil is composed of nearly level sandy
loams to silt loams, and nearly level poorly
drained soils that have a silty clay-loam sub¬
soil (Wing, 1969). The elevation in the
bottoms ranges from 700 to 730 feet (220
to 223 meters) above sea level, and areas
less than 720 feet are probably flooded an¬
nually or nearly that often. Most flooding
occurs in the spring months, with April hav¬
ing the highest average water levels (U.S.
Geological Survey, 1961-79).
The vegetation is predominantly bottom¬
land hardwoods with silver maple and spe¬
cies of elm and ash as the dominants.
Methods
Six wooded stands of at least 5 acres (2
Hectares) were selected for study (Figure
2). All occur on low, relatively level land
that is subject to flooding. The six stands
were very similar in composition, with elm,
ash and silver maple as dominants. No evi¬
dence of recent disturbance by fire, grazing
or cutting occurs in any of the stands.
52
1982] Larson and Barnes — Elm Replacement in Dunnville Bottoms 53
Trees were sampled during September and
October of 1980 using the Quarter Method
(Cottam and Curtis, 1956) at 300 randomly
selected points in the six stands. A total of
1200 trees were recorded, which included
both live and dead elm. The names of trees
whose crowns overlapped the sampled trees
were also recorded.
No distinction is made between species of
elm in this study because of the difficulty
in identifying dead elms and reaching the
branches of live elms to obtain distinguishing
characteristics. Almost all of the elms that
were examined were Ulmus americana; al¬
though individuals of U. thomasii and U.
rubra also occur. Also, almost all of the
trees recorded as ash were Fraxinus penn-
sylvanica, although F. nigra did occur in
some samples. Bur oak ( Quercus macro-
carpa Michx.) is a common species through¬
out the bottoms. The study area is at the
> - 1
1 mile
Fig. 2. Extent of the study area and the location of
the six stands. Diagonal hatching indicates DNR
management area.
54
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
northern limit of the range of swamp white
oak ( Q . bicolor Willd.); however, no indi¬
viduals of this species were noted in the
sample.
The number of individuals of each spe¬
cies of sapling beneath the crowns of sam¬
pled trees was also recorded. Saplings are
defined as any potential overstory tree that
is less than 4 inches (101.6 mm) diameter
at breast height (dbh), but at least 1 inch
(25.4 mm) diameter at ground level. Sap¬
lings beneath live and dead elms were re¬
corded separately. Wedges were cut from
randomly selected saplings beneath live and
dead elms to observe diameter growth rates.
Height growth was also observed by noting
the growth increments between terminal bud
scale scars for the most recent two years
(1979 and 1980). The species and number
of seedlings were recorded in a 39.37 inch
( 1 meter) diameter circular plot centered
at each quarter point.
Table 1. Some standard phytosociological param¬
eters for the combined data of the six stands. Two sets
of data are presented for comparing the effects of Dutch
elm disease on the composition of these stands.
Results
More than fifteen species of trees were
found in the six stands. Of these, elm ( Ul -
mus spp.), ash ( Fraxinus spp.) and silver
maple (Acer saccharinum L.) were the most
abundant (Table 1). Basswood (Tilia amer-
icana L.), hackberry ( Celtis occidentalis
L.), river birch ( Betula nigra L.), bur oak
( Quercus macrocarpa Michx.), and box
elder ( Acer negundo L.) occurred quite fre¬
quently. The remaining species, bitternut
hickory ( Carya cordiformis (Wang) Koch.),
butternut (Juglans cinerea L.), red oak
( Quercus borealis Michx.), jack oak
( Quercus ellipsoidalis Hill.), cottonwood
(Populus deltoides Marsh.), blue beech
( Carpinus caroliniana Walt.) and willow
(Salix spp.) occurred infrequently (Table
1).
Elm, silver maple and ash are the domi¬
nant trees based on their importance value
for the combined data and were, in fact,
dominant species in all of the 6 stands. The
effect of excluding dead elm from the data
summary is of course an increase in the im¬
portance values of the remaining species.
The average basal area for all six stands
is 92 square feet/acre (20.7 m2/HA),
which is somewhat less than the 100 square
feet/acre (22.5 m2/HA) reported for south¬
ern Wisconsin flood plain forests by Curtis
(1959). The loss of some elm, because of
Dutch elm disease, may be partly respon¬
sible for this difference. The average Com¬
positional Index (Curtis, 1959) of the six
stands is about 540, quite similar to the 560
reported by Curtis (1959) for southern Wis¬
consin flood plain forests.
Elm is presently the most abundant tree
in the Dunnville Bottoms, and was even
more abundant prior to the death of large
numbers of individuals. Approximately 34%
of all elms sampled were dead, with a range
of 21% to 53% in the 6 stands. Dutch elm
disease apparently affected the larger elms
to a greater extent than the smaller trees, as
a greater percentage of the larger trees were
dead.
1982]
Larson and Barnes- — Elm Replacement in Dunnville Bottoms
55
Size class distribution of the more abun¬
dant trees is illustrated in Figure 3. Live elm
and ash have their maximum densities in the
smaller size classes; while silver maple is well
represented in the largest size classes. The
largest silver maple recorded had a dbh over
40 inches (100 cm) and many individuals
occurred that were over 24 inches (60 cm).
Some very large elm trees also occurred, the
largest being a live elm of more than 50
inches (127 cm) dbh.
Hackberry is the most abundant sapling
(37.1% of all saplings), while ash (17.2% ),
elm (15.4%) and bitternut hickory (13.9%)
are also quite abundant. A fairly large num¬
ber of basswood saplings (11.1%) were also
recorded; however, these were almost all ba¬
sal sprouts of mature trees. Silver maple is
also a prolific sprouter; however, it accounted
for only 3.4% of all saplings, despite being
one of the most abundant trees in the mature
size classes.
The kinds and numbers of saplings be¬
neath each species of tree are illustrated in
Table 2. Each entry in a row is the percent
DIAMETER CLASS (Inches)
Fig. 3. Size class distribution of trees.
of the total number of saplings found under
a canopy tree of the species listed. Canopy
trees of elm include both live and dead in¬
dividuals.
Table 2. Number of saplings beneath different spe¬
cies of canopy trees. Each entry in a row is the percent
of the total number of saplings found under a canopy
tree of the species listed. Canopy trees of elm include
both live and dead individuals.
SAPLING S
CANOPY TREES
O cc
uj O oc
O uj
£ J ®
5 </> o
< <
Table 3. Radial growth, in inches/year, of saplings
below live and dead elms.
56
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
The average radial growth rates for the
last 4 years of saplings beneath live and dead
elm are illustrated in Table 3. These data
are based on at least 15 samples each for
all species except basswood where only 5
samples were obtained from under dead elm.
Except for basswood, all differences in ra¬
dial growth beneath live and dead elm were
found to be statistically significant (p.
<0.001) with a t test. All except ash ex¬
hibited greater radial growth rates beneath
dead elm. Mean height growth for the last
2 years beneath live and dead elm is illus¬
trated in Table 4. At least 15 samples each
were taken for all species except basswood,
where only 5 samples were obtained from
under dead elm. All differences in height
growth beneath live and dead elm were found
to be statistically significant (p. < 0.05)
using a t test. Hackberry, ash and bitternut
hickory had greater height growth rates be¬
neath the dead elms. These data suggest that
hackberry and bitternut hickory respond well
to release from suppression with both radial
and height growth. Ash responds with en¬
hanced height growth; while elm and bass¬
wood respond with enhanced radial growth.
Only three species have produced rela¬
tively large numbers of seedlings in recent
Table 4. Height growth, in inches/year, of saplings
below live and dead elms.
years. These are ash (32.2% of all seed¬
lings), hackberry (30.2%) and elm
(27.8%).
Discussion
Succession
The future composition of the forest com¬
munity can be predicted by using the rela¬
tive number of each species of sapling found
beneath the individual mature trees (Horn,
1975). This is done by multiplying the pro¬
portion of each species of sapling below each
species of canopy tree by the relative density
of the canopy trees. The assumption is made
that each species of sapling under the canopy
of a tree has a probability of replacing that
tree proportional to its numbers.
This tree-by-tree replacement model was
used to predict the composition of the next
generation of trees in the Dunnville Bottoms.
Canopy tree data (including dead elm) and
sapling data from Table 2, were used to
generate the present and predicted compo¬
sition values illustrated in Figure 4.
COMPOSl T I ON
Relative Density of Canopy Trees
Fig. 4. Present and predicted composition of the six
stands in the Dunnville Bottoms.
1982]
Larson and Barnes — Elm Replacement in Dunnville Bottoms
57
A system of rating trees according to age
class profiles was also devised by Horn
(1975) for use in successional studies. An
“invading” species is defined as one with
many seedlings and saplings, but only small
trees. A “locally reproducing” species has
individuals in all size classes, with a substan¬
tial number of young trees and saplings. A
“senile” species occurs only as larger trees
with few, if any, seedlings and saplings.
Silver maple is predicted to decline from
its present relative density of 21.0% to 4.4%
in the next generation. It is an example of
a “senile” species, as many of the individ¬
uals are in the larger size classes and there
is a paucity of the relatively shade intolerant
seedlings and saplings. Silver maple stands
usually develop on low areas at the river
bank where new alluvium has been deposited.
Physiographic events of this nature have not
occurred in these six stands in recent years,
and no new stands of silver maple are pres¬
ent. The location of silver maple stands in
these low, frequently flooded areas, and its
tolerance to flooding, may be important
modifying factors in predicting its density
in the next generation. Because it is more
tolerant of flooding than many of the other
species, and because of the probable high
survival rates of basal sprouts, silver maple
may be more successful in the next genera¬
tion than this model predicts.
River birch, box elder, and bur oak are
shade intolerant “senile” species whose den¬
sities are predicted to decline in the next
generation. However, unlike silver maple,
none of them is presently very abundant,
with relative densities of only 1.4, 1.7, and
4.5% respectively. Bur oak occurs at higher
elevations where conditions are apparently
no longer conducive to its reproduction.
River birch and box elder are both tolerant
of flooding and usually become established
on newly deposited alluvium, often as asso¬
ciates of silver maple.
Elm, basswood, and bitternut hickory are
classified as “locally reproducing” species,
although elm and basswood are predicted to
decline somewhat in density, while an in¬
crease is predicted for bitternut hickory.
These three species are represented in the
understory by relatively large numbers of
saplings and small trees which should re¬
spond well to openings created by the death
of large elms.
Basswood and bitternut hickory are both
intolerant of flooding, and thus are restricted
to the higher elevations in these bottoms.
No seedlings of basswood were recorded and
almost all saplings were of sprout origin.
All basswood trees were sprouting, and it
seems likely that these sprouts, with their
large root systems, have a greater chance of
replacing the mature stem than saplings of
other species. If so, basswood density should
change very little in the future. Bitternut
hickory seedlings were quite sparse, al¬
though saplings were common. Good seed
production in bitternut hickory occurs ap¬
proximately every three to five years (Fow-
ells, 1965), and several recent low produc¬
tion years could explain the present lack of
seedlings. Ware (1955) found that bitter¬
nut hickory is a minor component of the
flood plain forests of southern Wisconsin,
and it will probably continue to be so in the
Dunnville Bottoms.
Elm is more flood tolerant than basswood
and bitternut hickory, and occurs on a
greater variety of sites. Elm produces abun¬
dant seed, and large numbers of seedlings
and saplings occur throughout the bottoms.
Dutch elm disease is likely to affect the fu¬
ture of this species, as high mortality rates
occur especially in the larger mature trees.
Thus, it is expected that a general decline
in the average size and number of seed-bear¬
ing individuals will occur.
Ash and hackberry are considered to be
“invading” species in these bottoms. Ash
trees are abundant (relative density of
21.0%), but the vast majority of trees are
small (average dbh of 9.6 inches is the smal-
est among the six most common species).
Ash is capable of producing fruit when only
3 to 4 inches dbh (Fowells, 1965), as illus-
58
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
trated by the presence of large numbers of
seedlings and saplings. Ash is quite flood
tolerant and should succeed on a variety of
sites. Although it is not especially shade
tolerant, it grows rapidly following release
from suppression. Gaps created by dead elms
should provide an excellent opportunity for
this species.
Large numbers of hackberry seedlings
and saplings occur in the Dunnville Bottoms,
although mature trees are not common.
Ware (1955) found this species to be a
minor component of flood plain forests in
southern Wisconsin. Other studies have
found it to be abundant in the sapling sizes,
but limited in the number of mature trees
(Lindsey et al, 1961, Bell, 1974). Hack-
berry is a prolific “seed” (drupe) producer,
and avian and mammalian dispersal is com¬
mon (Krajicek, 1958). It is quite shade
tolerant, and some saplings in this study
were found to be over 35 years old. Height
and diameter growth of this species is gen¬
erally slow (Putnam, 1951). Thus, it ap¬
pears that a combination of very high re¬
productive rates, but very slow growth rates
results in proportionately more saplings and
small trees and fewer large individuals.
Hackberry is not very tolerant of flooding,
and thus is restricted to the higher eleva¬
tions.
Elm Replacement
Elm is the most abundant tree in the
Dunnville Bottoms and is presently classified
as a “locally reproducing” tree. Dutch elm
disease entered this stand about 15 years
ago, and the subsequent loss of large seed¬
bearing trees will ultimately reduce the num¬
ber of seedlings and saplings as well as ma¬
ture trees.
A clear replacement sequence of elm is
not yet apparent; although some predictions
can be made on the basis of the saplings now
present under live and dead elm. A statisti¬
cally significant difference was found (p.
<0.01, 8 df using a Chi square test on a
2X9 contingency table) between the kinds
Table 5. The numbers of saplings of different species
that occurred under live and dead elm trees.
of saplings under live and dead elm (Table
5). This difference is due primarily to the
greater number of elm saplings observed
under elm trees than was expected on the
basis of chance, and to the greater observed
number of silver maple saplings under dead
elm than was expected. Presently 45% of all
saplings under elm (both live and dead) are
hackberry; while 22% are ash. Elm (15%),
bitternut hickory ( 10% ), silver maple (4%)
and basswood (2%) account for most of
the rest of the saplings.
Other recent studies have predicted hack¬
berry to increase in numbers with the death
of elm (Pelz and Rolfe, 1977; Micelli et al.,
1977; McBride, 1974). Hackberry is a slow-
growing tree and not very tolerant of flood¬
ing, thus its future domination in these stands
is probably overestimated by the techniques
used in this study. Nevertheless, it possesses
opportunistic characteristics such as wide¬
spread seed dispersal and flexible seedbed
requirements. These attributes, along with
relatively high shade tolerance, enable it
to maintain large populations of seedlings
and saplings. These large numbers of young
hackberry under elm should ultimately re¬
sult in some successful replacements. Only
6.1% of the trees that overlapped the crowns
1982]
Larson and Barnes — Elm Replacement in Dunnville Bottoms
59
of elm were hackberry. Thus, lateral growth
of this species into the openings created by
the dead elms is probably not of much sig¬
nificance.
Replacement of elm by its former asso¬
ciates, especially species of ash, was ob¬
served by Grittinger (1978) in some low¬
lands of eastern Wisconsin. Ash is the sec¬
ond most abundant sapling below both live
and dead elm in the Dunnville Bottoms, and
its crown was found to overlap with 12.8%
of the elms. This tree exhibits rapid height
growth when released from suppression,
which may permit it to reach the canopy
before other species upon the death of elms.
Also, mature trees may exhibit enhanced
growth as their canopies take advantage of
the openings created by the dying elms.
The remaining species had relatively few
saplings present under elm. Bitternut hickory
and basswood crowns overlapped with the
crowns of elm only 0.4 and 4.8% of the
time. However, these two species are quite
shade tolerant, which may permit their sap¬
lings to persist under elm until opportunity
presents itself. Silver maple crowns over¬
lapped with 24.9% of the elm crowns. The
death of elms at the lower elevations, where
silver maple is abundant, may result in en¬
hanced lateral and sprout growth by this
species.
Saplings were absent beneath 25% of the
dead elms. A heavy cover of shrubs, espe¬
cially prickly ash ( Xanthoxylum americanum
Mill.), grey dogwood ( Cornus racemosa
Lam.), chokecherry (Primus virginiana L.)
and brambles (Rubus spp.) occurred in
most such cases. The shade cast by the
shrubs may preclude establishment of trees,
although it is possible that more tolerant
species such as basswood and yellowbud
hickory may eventually become established
and grow through the shrub canopy. Barnes
(1976), working in southeastern Michigan,
and McBride (1973), working in southeast¬
ern Iowa, also found a substantial number
of sites where a dense cover of shrubs de¬
veloped below dead elm trees. McBride
states that inhibition of tree reproduction by
the dense shrub cover will result in a more
open nature of the forest.
In summary, it appears that elm will re¬
main a component of the forests of the
Dunnville Bottoms for the immediate future.
However, it will be greatly reduced in num¬
bers and in average size. Present associates
of elm are likely to increase in abundance
in most of the gaps created by the dying
elms; while the remaining gaps may be oc¬
cupied by persistent stands of shrubs. Based
on sapling density under both live and dead
elm, hackberry and ash are predicted to be
the trees that will realize the greatest increase
in abundance.
Literature Cited
Barnes, B. V. 1976. Succession in deciduous
swamp communities of southeastern Michi¬
gan formerly dominated by American elm.
Can. J. Bot. 54:19-24.
Bell, D. T. 1974. Tree stratum composition
and distribution in the streamside forest.
Amer. Midi. Nat. 92(l):35-46.
Cottam, G. and J. T. Curtis. 1956. The use of
distance measures in phytosociological sam¬
pling. Ecology 37:451-460.
Curtis, J. T. 1959. The Vegetation of Wiscon¬
sin. Univ. of Wis. Press, Madison, Wisconsin
657 p.
Fowells, H. A. 1965. Silvics of Forest Trees
of the United States. U.S.D.A. For. Serv.
Handb. 271, Washington, D.C. 762 p.
Grittinger, J. F. 1978. Loss of elm from some
lowland forests in eastern Wisconsin. Trans.
Wise. Acad, of Sci., Arts and Lett. 66:195-
205.
Horn, H. S. 1975. Forest Succession. Scientific
American 232:90-98.
Krajicek, J. E. 1958. Silvical characteristics of
hackberry. U.S. For. Serv. Central States
Expt. Sta. Misc. Release 31:1-11.
Lindsey, A. A., R. D. Petty, D. K. Sterling and
W. van Asdall. 1961. Vegetation and en¬
vironment along the Wabash and Tippe¬
canoe Rivers. Ecol. Monogr. 31 (2) : 105-156.
McBride, I. 1973. Natural replacement of
disease-killed elms. Amer. Midi. Nat. 90(2):
301-306.
60
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
Micelli, J. C., G. L. Rolfe, D. R. Pelz and
J. M. Edington. 1977. Brownfield woods,
woody vegetation and changes since 1960.
Amer. Midi. Nat. 98(2) :469-475.
Pelz, D. R. and G. L. Rolfe. 1977. Stand struc¬
ture and composition of a natural mixed
hardwood forest. Trans. Ill. State Acad, of
Sci. 69(4) :446-454.
Putnam, J. A. 1951. Management of bottom¬
land hardwoods. U.S. For. Serv. South.
Forest Expt. Sta. Occas. Paper 16. 60 p.
Sather, L. M. and C. W. Threinen. 1962. Sur¬
face water resources of Dunn County, Wis¬
consin. Conservation Department, Madison,
Wise.
U.S. Geological Survey. 1961-1979. Water re¬
source data for Wisconsin. Madison, Wis¬
consin.
Ware, G. W. 1955. A Phytosociological Study
of the Lowland Forests in Southern Wiscon¬
sin. Ph.D. Thesis. Univ. of Wis. -Madison
115 p.
Wing, G. N. 1969. Soil Survey of Dunn
County, Wisconsin. U.S.D.A. Soil Conser¬
vation Service.
THE WITCH TREE COMPLEX
Silvester John Brito
Department of English and Folklore
University of Wyoming
In an American Indian settlement1 on
the northwest shore of Lake Superior there
exists a belief system which has successfully
withstood the ravages of time and history.
Both of its religious and socio-cultural prac¬
tices are centered upon a sacred tree, and the
legends, beliefs, and practices surrounding
this particular tree play an integral part in
the belief system.
Based upon the oral history narratives ob¬
tained from local Indian informants,2 it is
clear that this particular belief system de¬
veloped in accordance with the unique life
style of the natives who reside on the Min¬
nesota shore of Lake Superior — a way of
life characteristic of a hunting, fishing, and
gathering society. The lives of these people
are directly related to this belief system.
Their success in hunting and fishing, their
safety on, or near, the water, and sometimes
the safety of their families, depends upon
their knowledge and understanding of the
interrelationships between the tree and the
other spirits of the region. I shall examine
these operational components, their relation¬
ship and interdependence in the following
order: the Witch Tree and man; man, water
spirits and the spirit tree; Nanabojou and
the water spirits; celestial spirits and man;
the Little People and man; wigwam shakers,
the oracles; the Sugar Bush Rock and
the Little People; and traditional rituals vs.
Christian religions.
In view of related data on Ojibwa culture
gathered by other writers, this study deals
with a local variant of the Ojibwa Grand
Medicine Lodge.3 Furthermore, due to its
esoteric nature, this study describes and ex¬
amines the working components according
to an emic approach.4 For this purpose I have
developed an emic model (see appendix A)
in order to more clearly present the major-
factors which comprise this belief system.
Each element in this belief system can
operate as an independent unit; however,
within the system each element is inter¬
dependent with others, and they in turn,
are related to the core of the complex
— the beliefs that are centered around the
Witch Tree. The knowledge of the functions
of these units in relation to the Witch Tree
complex is dependent upon the oral transmis¬
sion of information by natives of the area
who understand the inter-acting complex of
this belief system. In essence, this emic
model is used as a vehicle to apply cognitive
theory which basically seeks to view the dy¬
namics of culture through the eyes of those
who are regarded as members of that culture.
The Witch Tree and Man
The so-called Witch Tree stands within
the Grand Portage, Minnesota, area which
comprises the greater part of the Ojibwa
Indian reservation — the Grand Portage band
of Chippewa. Its geographic location is ap¬
proximately four miles north of the com¬
munity of Grand Portage, an area which
still abounds in wilderness land. The geologi¬
cal formations are the remains of the ke-
weenawan volcanic period when molten lava
poured over the region. The glacial period
is represented all along the shore of Lake
Superior with abundant evidence of the great
ice sheets.5 The forests are composed of
birch, aspen, mountain ash and many varie¬
ties of fir, spruce and pine. The western shore
of Lake Superior is rugged and as one travels
north the rocky cliffs become increasingly
high. The Witch Tree, itself, is located on
Hat Point which escaped the glaciers and
has never been burned over. Upon it may be
61
62
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
found preglacial formations, rare ferns and
mosses.6 Hat Point is located between Was-
WahGonig Bay, which means “spear fishing
by torchlight,” and Grand Portage Bay.
This tree is centuries old and quite unlike
the massive and majestic white cedars which
are indigenous to this particular geographic
area. The tree is a small, gnarled, and bristly
red cedar. The trunk is contorted, grey with
age and the ceaseless buffeting of the ele¬
ments. It has a stoic appearance, as if it were
made of stone. The natives say that neither
the trunk nor the branches of the tree sway
even with the strongest winds.7 It grows out
of a rock separated from the main body of
land by a few inches of water. There is no
visible means of sustenance for the tree and
the Indian people of this region consider its
growth miraculous.8 Furthermore, red cedar
is an unusual species to this area. All of
these factors contribute to the mystical qual¬
ities perceived by the supporters of this be¬
lief system.
The local name of this tree was popular¬
ized either by white men who misunderstood
its significance, or by local Indians who had
converted to Catholicism and were led to
believe that the tree and its powers were
evil.9 Elizabeth Thbault and Peg Hender¬
son, two of the more traditional inhabitants
of Grand Portage, feel that the English name
for this magnificent tree had its origin with
the artist Dewey Albinson, who was instru¬
mental in bringing the tree to the attention
of the general public.
The tree is believed to have the power to
influence unseen spirits and thus the order¬
ing of natural events. It has been incorrectly
reported by non-Indian writers that in the
old days the Indians would make round¬
about portages to avoid passing the tree. It
is said they dared approach it only in large
groups, drumming and singing and bearing
gifts of tobacco and vermillion.10 It is true
that then, as now, offerings were made, but
Celia Hendrickson and Elizabeth Thbault
state that it is erroneous to say that the In¬
dian people avoided the tree.
In Ojibwa the tree is called “manido
gishigence,” manido meaning spirit and gish-
igence meaning small cedar. Billy Blackwell
informed me that natives of this area also
refer to it as “the cedar” or “the old cedar.”
Indian people view cedar boughs as symbols
of a life giving source. Cedar boughs are
also used by Indians for medicinal purposes.
Both red and white cedar have been used by
Indians in the Southwest as well as in the
Great Lakes area as sacred incense in their
ceremonies.11 The importance of the Witch
Tree, however, lies not only in the boughs
but within the tree itself. In essence, the tree
is a manifestation of a land phenomenon
which is directly related to the world of the
water spirits and therefore, the tree is em¬
ployed as an intermediary between man and
the water spirits. In local native beliefs and
practices, the tree is directly associated with
the water and is a symbolic representative
to man of that world.
From a practical point of view, since the
19th century this tree has been used as a
landmark by the people of this area.12 Fur
traders, voyageurs and Indian fishermen
were, and are, better able to navigate the
treacherous shifting waters of Lake Superior
by taking their bearing from this cedar tree.
Man, Water Spirits and the Spirit Tree
For many centuries as Indian people
passed Hat Point they would stop and place
offerings at the base of the tree and in the
nearby waters. These offerings consisted
mainly of tobacco since it is a general belief
of most traditional Indians that tobacco is a
special gift of the Great Spirit to be offered
when praying for compassion or favor.13
Billy Blackwell stated that around the Grand
Portage area it is believed that Indians
should not take tobacco on the waters or in
the air while crossing a body of water with¬
out thinking of the waters or offering to¬
bacco to them. They believe that the water
spirits are anthropomorphic and, like man,
appreciate the pleasure of smoking tobacco.
Therefore, if one does not offer them to¬
bacco or at least think about doing so, the
water spirits erroneously believe the tobacco
1982]
Brito— The Witch Tree Complex
63
is being brought to them, and in an attempt
to obtain it, they may cause the man carry¬
ing the tobacco to drown. This is not con¬
sidered a maleovolent act, but an error on
the part of the spirits for there is no way
they can know the tobacco is not meant for
them. In such circumstances the tree grow¬
ing between water and land is used as an
intermediary between man and the water
spirits.
The Grand Portage people, like other
traditional Ojibwa, believe that there is a
great spirit or manido above but also many
other spirits who watch over and take care
of the areas they inhabit and that some of
these spirits are treacherous if not treated
properly.14 Billy indicated that the Ojibwa
know what these beings look like because
some of the old people have seen them or
dreamed of them. Their appearances have
been described and passed down for as long
as these Indians have lived in this area.
Some of these water spirits, or manidos, are
described as underwater serpents with one,
two, or three horns, or as underwater pan¬
thers.15 Traditional natives of the area be¬
lieve that the water manidos can act alone,
as invisible spirits, and that they can appear
as manifestations of the water panthers or
horned serpents. My informants never spe¬
cified whether or not the water panthers and
serpents can exist when not possessed by the
water spirits; however Billy Blackwell and
Mark Naganub told me that they are insepar¬
able, yet separable, depending upon the con¬
ditions under which they appear.
In examining the nature of the belief sys¬
tem involving the Witch Tree it is important
to keep in mind that the elements can oper¬
ate independently, as well as being directly
and indirectly related, when assuming a ma¬
jor role in man’s ordering of his world.16
The Witch Tree becomes a significant source
of power in man’s attempt to order his world
as it helps him to maintain an adequate
means of subsistence, establish safety, and
create stability. Let us see how the outlying
components which surround the Witch Tree
affect this particular belief system.
Nanabozo and the Water Spirits
Nanabozo, an outlying component of the
Witch Tree complex, is an Ojibwa culture
hero.17 He has no power to give to these peo¬
ple when they are in need and although there
is no evidence that the Grand Portage peo¬
ple recognize a direct relationship between
the Witch Tree and Nanabozo, in their leg¬
ends Nanabozo is seen as having encounters
with the water manidos. These encounter
tales, as told by Billy Blackwell and Mark
Naganub, illustrate the power of the water
spirits when in combat with Nanabozo. De¬
spite the intensity of the battles between the
two, neither destroys the other. Nanabozo
as a culture hero has the power to combat
the spirits, but he can never transfer this
power to man because the great spirit has
not endowed him with this power. As a
demigod he has the power to encounter the
elements and adequately defend himself
against evil manidos, but he cannot transfer
this power to man. Nanabozo is important
in this belief system only because it is
through his encounters with the water spirits
that the people measure the power of the
water spirits since, in the main, they them¬
selves have no direct contact with them (See
Appendix A).
Although the water spirits are generally
evil and injurious to man, they also have the
ability to grant mystical gifts of power to
man. When the people deal with the water
manidos, either to appease their wrath or
for permission to travel the waters, they act
through the Witch Tree, as intermediary,
leaving tobacco at its base as a sacrificial
offering to both land and water elements.
Celestial Spirits and Man
A covert relationship exists between the
Ojibwa believers, the celestial beings, and
the Witch Tree. Prayers are directed to the
intermediary powers of the Witch Tree,
which extend not only to the water spirits
but also to the celestial beings such as the
Thunderbirds, who control the thunder¬
storms and winds. Both elements are a threat
64
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
to those who travel by water and air. The
natives recognize the tree’s power to with¬
stand these elements which in turn is inter¬
preted as strength to deal with the water and
with the celestial manidos.
The Little People and Man
The Little People, Maymaygwaysiwuk,18
are somewhat like the manidos, but their
ability to grant power to man should not be
confused with that of the manidos. Their
role in this belief system is more analogous
to that of the mystical “little people” of the
Irish who mischievously create havoc in
man’s life and on rare occasions bestow
supernatural gifts of power upon him.
The natives of Grand Portage accept the
Little People as an integral part of an inter¬
related belief system of invisible power
sources. These Indian people feel that they
must contend with the Little People when
they encounter those particular elements
which relate to their survival. Those who
believe in the Little People also believe in
the Witch Tree. When my informants spoke
of the Witch Tree in general, or of specific
occurrences related to it, they also brought
up stories concerning the Little People.
In their tales about the Little People these
Ojibwa Indians indicate that these super¬
natural beings have mystical powers which
can be used to either help or hinder man,
though they do not make specific reference
to the use of these powers. The Indians at
Grand Portage hunt and fish in the area
they believe to be the land base of the Little
People. This area includes the waters and
nearby shoreline which are believed to be
under the power of the Witch Tree. The
local Ojibwa believe that the Little People
occupied this particular geographic region
prior to their own arrival and therefore the
Ojibwa feel this area belongs to the Little
People. WasWahGonig Bay is a major hunt¬
ing ground which belongs to the Little Peo¬
ple. Here, and in adjacent areas, the Little
People play tricks on man to discourage him
from hunting and fishing, but on rare occa¬
sions they perform acts of kindness to man.
Jennie Hietok told me a story about a man
who was having a hard time catching enough
fish in WasWahGonig Bay to feed his family.
He left his canoe, and when he returned
found it filled with fish. He saw little foot
prints on the ground and around the canoe
which gave him reason to believe that the
Little People had magically filled his canoe.
Elizabeth Thbault told me another story,
not as positive, about a man who was fish¬
ing in WasWahGonig Bay and had his canoe
filled with more fish than he needed. He
landed his canoe and went inland to gather
firewood to cook his noon meal. When he
returned there were no fish in his canoe, but
there were little foot tracks around it. As he
looked toward the Witch Tree he saw sev¬
eral stone canoes manned by the Little Peo¬
ple.19
In general, the Grand Portage people be¬
lieve the Little People resent human beings,
especially when they enter the Little People’s
domain. They feel that because man cannot
predict the Little People’s behavior they
should supplicate the power of the Witch
Tree when entering these particular areas to
hunt or fish. In doing so they believe that
if the Little People are encountered they will
be compassionate and refrain from playing
tricks which would prevent the Indian peo¬
ple from successfully hunting or fishing.20
The Little People apparently respond fa¬
vorably to small children. Peg Henderson
told me tales in which the Little People steal
children, play with them, treat them to a
special banquet, and then return them un¬
harmed. It is believed that the Little People
hypnotize the children, for when the children
are found they are in a state of suspended
animation. When asked where they have
been, they will not respond for hours or
days. With the exception of a few cases in
which the children related that they have
been with the Little People, the adults do
not know where they have been. The major
source of information concerning the where¬
abouts of these children is gained through
the wigwam shakers.21
1982]
Brito — The Witch Tree Complex
65
Wigwam Shakers: Oracles
The Ojibwa of Grand Portage view wig¬
wam shakers as Indian oracles. Help is
sought from these people in order to locate
children who cannot be found, or after the
children have returned to determine what
happened to them while they were gone.
There are several stories concerning en¬
counters with the wigwam shakers. Elizabeth
Thbault told me that there was once a little
girl who had been lost for a considerable
time. In order to learn her whereabouts her
parents went to a wigwam shaker who said
that she had been taken by the Little People.
After she was found she bore witness to the
divination of the wigwam shaker. Another
more sorrowful story, involves a child who
was lost and when her parents went to the
wigwam shaker he told them specifically
where they would find her — in an under¬
water cave off the shore of Lake Superior.
They followed his directions and found her,
dead, exactly where he said she would be —
in an underwater cave. (In this case it is be¬
lieved that through carelessness, when the
parents became absorbed in berry picking
and forgot to watch over the girl, the water
spirits claimed her.) The local Ojibwa fear
both the water spirits and the Little People.
The natives who live on or near the lake-
shore recognize the danger of leaving a child
by the water’s edge. They fear that either the
water spirits or the Little People may snatch
up the youngster.
The Sugar Bush Rock and the Little People
Although the wigwam shaker divines the
deeds of the Little People he cannot control
them. Some measure of control however, is
associated with the Sugar Bush Rock which
functions in much the same way that the
Witch Tree does. Elizabeth Thbault and
Mark Naganub told me that Indians have
heard the Little People drumming and sing¬
ing close to the base of the rock and some
have even claimed to see the Little People
in this area. To protect themselves against
the wrath of these supernatural beings, these
natives supplicate the intermediary powers
of the Sugar Bush Rock for a bountiful har¬
vest of maple sugar and berries and for as¬
surance of success in their hunting. If they
offer tobacco to the Sugar Bush Rock and
the Witch Tree, then the people feel they will
be safe whenever they travel in any of the
areas occupied by the water spirits or Little
People.
Old Traditional Rituals vs.
Christian Religions
Within the last decade the younger gen¬
eration of Indian people at Grand Portage
have begun a revival of old traditional rit¬
uals. Billy Blackwell explained one such rit¬
ual — that of offering a sacred bundle to the
waters of Lake Superior. Associated with
this ritual is the belief that by making such
a physical religious offering the attention of
both the water spirits and the Witch Tree
will be gained. Since they have revived this
ritual, the traditional natives of Grand Por¬
tage believe that their world has become
more orderly. They feel that in the past too
many Indians were giving too much atten¬
tion to Christian religions and because of
this their world order tended to become dis¬
rupted. Hence, by reinstating this particular
ritual the Witch Tree becomes more active
in helping with those ventures involving the
nearby waters.
The local Roman Catholic priest, Father
Jude Koll, feels that with the revitalization
of old traditional rituals, the practice of at¬
tending Christian church services has begun
to wane significantly. Many Ojibwa under
the age of 35 feel that Christianity has not
helped their people, and has, in fact, actually
hindered them. John Flatt and several other
older members of this Indian community
stated that the Christian religion has not
been the answer for their people and there¬
fore, they feel it is a good thing that the
younger generation is returning to the old
Indian religious practices and beliefs.
In this analysis I have examined the na¬
ture of the belief complex surrounding the
Witch Tree. I have noted that the tree itself
66
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
does not have any particular physical inter¬
action with man. It can however, respond in
a mystical way to man’s supplication through
his prayers and gifts. Therefore, as an inter¬
mediary between the other elements in the
model it is evident that it can and does use
its supernatural powers to help man success¬
fully order his world. Man is successful in
fishing, crossing the waters, hunting, and
navigating the air as long as he invokes the
intermediary powers of the Witch Tree.
In sum, according to the analytical model,
it is evident that the Witch Tree is a particu¬
lar entity upon and around which the other
entities revolve and respond both directly
and indirectly. Not only do they operate in
such a fashion, but their interaction with
each other is based on an initial action and
reaction relationship to this particular entity,
the Witch Tree. From a structured point of
view, this phenomenon is not necessarily the
core of the belief system for the system does
not have a nucleus. The Witch Tree acts
as a focal point and dominating entity in
the interaction between the outlying elements
in this belief system.
Notes
1 For the purpose of this paper the following
terms will be used interchangably : American In¬
dian, Indian, Ojibwa, Indian people, native, tradi¬
tional inhabitants, and Chippewa.
2 1 interviewed the following informants during
the summer of 1976 as part of a study sponsored
by a joint grant from the Minnesota American
Revolution Bicentennial Commission and the
Graduate School at the University of Wisconsin-
Milwaukee.
Billy Blackwell, age 28, Ojibwa/French Canadian
Mark Naganub, age 60, Ojibwa
Elizabeth Thbault, age 78, Ojibwa
Wilfred Montefraud, age 75, Ojibwa
Celia Hendrickson, age 75, Ojibwa
Herman Henderson, age 45, Ojibwa
Peg Henderson, age 40, Ojibwa
John Flatt, age 70, Ojibwa
Jennie Hietok, age 81, Ojibwa
Henry Flatt Peterson, age 71, Ojibwa
Father Jude Koll, age 60, Anglo-Saxon
3 Selwyn Dewdney, The Sacred Scrolls of the
Southern Ojibway (Toronto: University of Toronto
Press, 1975); Carolissa M. Levi, Chippewa Indians
of Yesterday and Today (New York Pageant Press,
1956); Sister Bernard Coleman, “The Religion of
the Ojibwa of Northern Minnesota,” Primitive
Man, (July and October, 1937), Iff; and Ruth
Landes, Ojibway Religion and the Midewiwin
(Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1968).
These sources provide information concerning
Ojibwa religion.
4 R. W. Burchfield, Editor, A Supplement to the
Oxford English Dictionary (Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1972), p. 934. The following is a definition
of emic: “. . . in contrast to the etic approach, an
emic one is in essence valid for only one language
or one culture at a time; it is an attempt to dis¬
cover and to describe the pattern of that particular
language or culture in reference to the way in
which the various elements of that culture are re¬
lated to each other in the functioning of that par¬
ticular pattern, rather than an attempt to describe
them in reference to a general classification derived
in advance of the study of that particular culture.”
3 Elizabeth Bachmann, “Our Legendary Witch
Tree,” The Conservation Volunteer (Nov. -Dec.
1966), 43.
,! Ibid., 44.
7 All informants reported this fact about the
Witch Tree.
'This was the consensus of all informants.
!l Rev. Peter Jones (Kahkewaquonaby), History
of the Ojibway Indians; with Especial Reference to
their Conversion to Christianity (London: A. W.
Bennett, 1861). This book deals with conversion
methods.
10 Elizabeth Bachman, “Our Legendary Witch
Tree,” The Conservation Volunteer (Nov. -Dec.
1966), p. 41.
11 H. B. Alexander, The World's Rim: Great
Mysteries of the Native American Indians (Lin¬
coln: University of Nebraska Press, 1970). See this
source for more information.
12 Bachmann, p. 42.
13 Ruth Underhill, Red Man's Religion (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1965). See this source
for further information.
14 Gerald Vizenor, Anishenabe Adisokan; Tales
of the People (Minneapolis: Nodin Press, 1965).
This book contains many tales relating to this
subject.
13 Norval Morriseau, Selwyn H. Dewdney, editor.
Legends of My People the Great Ojibway (To¬
ronto: The Ryerson Press, 1965), pp. 37-40.
1G Arnold Van Gennep, Rites of Passage (Chi¬
cago: University of Chicago Press, 1975). See this
source for further information.
17 Richard M. Dorson, Bloodstoppers and Bear-
walkers (Cambridge: Harvard University Press,
1972), pp. 41-51.
18 Morriseau, pp. 75-78.
19 Morriseau, pp. 79-80, records the use of stone
1982]
Brito — The Witch Tree Complex
67
canoes by supernatural beings.
20 Informants: Billy Blackwell and Elizabeth
Thbault.
21 Morriseau, pp. 85-88; A. K. Black, “Shaking
the Wigwam,” The Beaver (Dec., Outfit 265), pp.
13-34. See these sources for more information.
APPENDIX A
RectangulaA elements depict moh.e consiAtant behavioh.
MeAa.pkij6ie.al- Physical
Physical- Metaphysical
l
VihecA Physical oh. Metaphysical inteARction
Physical
Relationships between Elements :
VihecA -4 - AAr
- ►* Indihect on. VihecA
UndeAStood, not logically hational
• A HecAs Picking, Hunting, GaAhehAng, and Child Stealing
XAfifiecAs Fishing (Hunting), Gathehing, and Navigation
* Aj $(ecA6 Fishing, Navigation
AA l^eets GaAheAlng, Hunting
ANIMALS AND ANTHROPOMORPHISM
IN CHILDREN’S LITERATURE
Sonia Vogl
Department of Outdoor Education
N. I. U.-Taft Field Campus
Oregon, Illinois
Animals have long been popular subjects
in literature, especially children’s literature.
However, they have often been treated an-
tnropomorphically, to the dismay of biolo¬
gists who feel that endowing animals with
human emotions and motives presents mis¬
guiding pictures of such creatures and may
lead children to false impressions and ex¬
pectations of real life animals. After all,
biologists could point to a period only a few
hundred years ago when animals as well as
men could be brought to trial for moral
derelictions. A dog could be solemnly con¬
demned for killing sheep, or a cat as the
accessory to witchcraft. There are people
who continue to hold a cat morally responsi¬
ble for stalking birds and wolves for killing
deer, as though these were decisions made
by the individual creatures. One woman 1
know deeply disapproves of mourning doves
because they make nests so shallow that
their eggs are easily lost over the edge. Bi¬
ologists argue that childrens’ literature de¬
voted to anthropomorphic creatures encour¬
ages the tendency to judge animals by hu¬
man standards. Sometimes such judgments
are legislated; laws require that the cat be
belled and other laws promise a bounty for
wolves or coyotes even in areas where they
are no direct threat to domestic animals. In
more peaceful settings a woman may be ap¬
palled that her cat doesn’t recognize her
own kitten of several years previous. The
cat has failed to live up to the sentimental
expectations of human motherhood.
Alternatively, many biologists feel that
the “Bambi syndrome” resulting from an¬
thropomorphic treatment of animals is dan¬
gerous, both to humans and to the animals,
since most children (and many adults) come
to view animals as cuddly, soft, friendly crea¬
tures which they can treat as pets. In reality,
of course, even squirrels and rabbits can
inflict severe wounds, and many animals
carry lice, ticks, rabies and other diseases
and parasites. Baby animals, especially, may
be picked up and carried home as “pets,”
where they either succumb to improper care
or become a nuisance and a hazard as they
get older. The Bambi syndrome is also scored
by wildlife biologists as a source of pressures
against rational management of wildlife popu¬
lations through hunting and trapping.
Despite such well-founded uneasiness by
biologists, childrens’ stories continue to
abound with anthropomorphic animals.
Snakes got a bad press in the Bible and no
author seems to have tried to endear a snake
to young readers. However spiders, mice,
water rats and other unlikely small creatures
have shared childrens’ affections with kit¬
tens, dogs, horses, pigs, and such wild crea¬
tures as raccoons, deer, bears, and foxes.
Anthropomorphism is too deeply embedded
in our literature, and not only childrens’ lit¬
erature, to be easily eliminated even if it
proved desirable to eliminate it.
Aesops Fables illustrates one use which
has been made of anthropomorphism. The
didactic stories provide a means of convey¬
ing both practical and moral judgments
without pointing to specific people. The
creatures in these stories talk as humans do
and evince human emotions including regret
in “The Sick Lion,” a story in which other
animals insult a dying lion who now wishes
that he had treated them less arrogantly in
the past. Vanity is castigated in “The Fox
68
1982]
Vogl — Animals in Children’s Literature
69
and the Crow” in which a fox flatters a crow
into singing and therefore dropping its food.
The cautionary tales were intended for adults
as well as children and adults were also the
original audience for animal stories such as
those collected by the brothers Grimm, as
well as for the tales of Reynard the Fox. In
fact, there was almost no literature designed
exclusively for children until the 18th cen¬
tury. But the 19th century produced a flood
of literature for the children of the increas¬
ingly literate and education-oriented middle
class. Animal stories increased dramatically
in the latter half of the century, and Magee
(p. 221) has suggested a connection be¬
tween the emergence of Darwinism and the
increased interest in animals. However that
may be, the production of animal stories for
children has increased with the ensuing
years. During 1980-81 over 1000 children’s
animal books were in print in America.
The books exhibit degrees of anthropo¬
morphism ranging from the almost totally
anthropomorphic to the entirely realistic. In
general, the books for younger children are
the most anthropomorphic and are the most
likely to continue the cautionary tradition
begun by Aesop’s Fables. The books for
older children are the most realistic and are
often designed to teach readers about the
instincts, habits and life cycles of wild and
domestic animals. Thus the books for older
readers, at their best, serve to counter the
possible misconceptions gained from early
exposure to anthropomorphic tales.
Animal stories for children can be de¬
fended on the ground that they have positive
impact on children’s behavior. Pet stories
bring out children’s desire to nurture and
protect, while the vulnerability of wild crea¬
tures encourages a sense of compassionate
kinship. Since many animals, particularly the
wild ones, are unfamiliar to young readers,
giving them human characteristics can make
them seem less alien (Markowsky, p. 460)
and thus engage the reader’s interest and
sympathy. Moreover, “talking beast stories
are perhaps the first kind of fantasy that
younger children encounter” (Sutherland,
p. 222). Anthropomorphic animal books
may also be a child’s introduction to humor
in literature. Children too young to have
seen any of the animals represented seem
to be amused by pictures of animals wear¬
ing clothes, not because they know that ani¬
mals don’t wear clothes but because they are
familiar with clothing on people and a kit¬
ten’s face and paws peeking out of the garb
they associate with themselves or their par¬
ents strikes them as funny. At a somewhat
more sosphisticated level the discrepancy be¬
tween the animal and its actions and clothes
may be a source of humor. At a still higher
level of sophistication the anthropomorphic
animals can become caricatures of trades¬
men, grumbling grandfathers, or fearful chil¬
dren. The child is amused by the recognizing
the types while the text is simultaneously
suggesting methods for dealing with such
people.
Animal stories can be divided into three
broad categories based on the degree of an¬
thropomorphism present: 1) those in which
animals behave like human beings; 2) those
in which animals behave like animals ex¬
cept that they talk and may wear clothes;
and 3) those in which they behave entirely
like animals (Sutherland, p. 341). It has
been suggested that these categories repre¬
sent the chronology of a child’s reading.
However, adults also enjoy anthropomorphic
animal tales, particularly in satire, and chil¬
dren of any age often enjoy both realistic
and fanciful animal stories, alternately.
The three categories of animal stories can
be illustrated best by examining one or two
of the best known stories in each category.
In the category of complete anthropo¬
morphism Little Bear and subsequent books
in the series by Else Homelund Minarik are
widely available in bookstores and libraries.
Little Bear is a child with childlike feelings
and experiences, with whom child readers
can identify. He and his friends entertain
themselves by trying to stop his hiccups.
They discover their imaginative capacities
70
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
when he and Owl pretend that a log is their
boat for a fishing expedition, and when they
imagine that they find a mermaid in the river
near where they are picnicking. Little Bear
consciously plans his future — he will be a
fisherman some day. He also learns to write
a letter to his friend Emily who has gone
away to school. Little Bear appears to be a
biological bear — meaning that he has fur
and looks like a bear, but he really is only
a nominal bear. He lives in a house with
furniture with father Bear, who wears suits,
and mother Bear, who wears dresses and
cooks dinner. Family relationships and the
imaginative play of childhood form the basis
of the stories.
A more complex story in which the char¬
acters are animals dressed and acting like
human beings is the childhood classic, The
Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame.
Each chapter tells a complete story of the
four friends: reflective Mole, kindly Water
Rat, shy Badger and rich, conceited, trouble¬
some Toad. The characters assume quite dif¬
ferent traits from those commonly associated
with their species. Their thoughts, personali¬
ties and actions are clearly those of children
rather than animals. When Mole was lost in
the deep wood, Rat became alarmed. “The
rat looked very grave, and stood deep in
thought for a minute or two.” He armed him¬
self with pistols to look for his friend and
as he passed through the wood, “wicked
little faces . . . vanished immediately at the
sight of the valorous animal.” Rat brought
“a fat, wicker luncheon basket” on a fishing
expedition. When Rat offered to teach Mole
to swim, “Mole was so touched by this kind
manner of speaking that he had to brush
away a tear or two.” In a burst of crea¬
tivity Rat composed poetry.
The friends and other creatures owned
property that only humans have. Toad’s
house was grand, with stables, a boathouse,
and a banquet hall. “Toad is rather rich,
you know, and this is really one of the nicest
houses in these parts, though we never admit
as much to Toad.” Toad prepared a cara¬
van for his friends and himself so that they
could travel.
The friends are overtly kind to each other
in human manner. Toad, according to Rat,
“is indeed the best of animals . . . [although]
he is both boastful and conceited.” Badger
had a fire and a fine dinner prepared for his
friends who had just come in from a fright¬
ening night in the deep wood. Toad loved
cars, but was a careless driver so that Rat
and Badger tried to figure out a way to keep
him from being killed by accident.
The equally classic tale of Winnie the
Pooh, while superficially belonging to the
class of anthropomorphic animal tales, is
technically a tale of anthropomorphic dolls,
since these are stuffed toy animals and, un¬
like Little Bear, must first be endowed with
life and only then with characteristics either
bear-like or human.
The category of partially anthropomorphic
stories is in some ways the most complex.
The animals in such tales usually behave like
animals except that they talk. They may also
have some human characteristics which pro¬
vide a familiar footing for the reader, but
“the secret of the good ‘dressed animal’ is
that it never loses its believability as an ani¬
mal, even though it wears clothes and talks”
(Sutherland, p. 97).
The stories which are partially anthro¬
pomorphic are those which are most altered
by illustrations. “Goldilocks and the Three
Bears” has been reprinted for a hundred
years and in that time has had dozens of
illustrators. The bears’ house is more or less
tree-like depending upon the illustrator’s
vision. The bears’ beds may be nests of
leaves or four posters. The chairs and the
cooked porridge as well as the conversation
make the story partly anthropomorphic, but
as other household details and clothing are
depicted by the illustrator the story can seem
much more anthropomorphic than the text
warrants. Southey’s bears were still bears
and Goldilocks prudently fled for her life.
(I have heard rumors of a modern version
of the story in which Goldilocks is invited
1982]
Vogl — Animals in Children's Literature
71
to stay for breakfast and accepts— an altera¬
tion which makes Southey’s ‘dressed animals’
nearly the equivalent of Little Bear and his
family.)
Peter, in Beatrix Potter’s classic Tale of
Peter Rabbit is another dressed animal. Al¬
though the animals wear clothes, talk and go
to the market, they never lose their believ-
ability as animals. They live in a hole in
the ground and eat what rabbits normally
eat. Peter stole vegetables from a garden,
which is what rabbits often do. When he was
chased and again when he was lost, he was
frightened, but no human motives or
thoughts are attributed to him. He and his
family continue to live rabbit-like lives de¬
spite their clothes and language. Death oc¬
curs, as it does in nature, but is treated in a
matter of fact way. Children can identify
with Peter, who is much like a child, except
that his basic rabbit nature is not changed.
E. B. White’s masterpiece, Charlottes
Web contains barnyard animals who look
and act just like ordinary animals to every¬
one except the little girl, Fern, but who can
communicate with each other remarkably.
Wilbur, the runt pig who was raised on a
doll bottle, is the focal point of the story.
His banishment to the barnyard starts the
amazing fantasy in which animals understand
each other and are understood by Fern.
Charlotte, the aloof, intelligent spider, feels
sorry for Wilbur, who has been marked for
butchering, and weaves messages into her
webs which eventually save him. The fact
that Charlotte can write and Wilbur can
mourn his own demise mark the animals as
having human characteristics. Wilbur is
a child needing affection, “Wilbur didn’t
want food, he wanted love”; he is also
a true pig who loves to roll in the muck,
“So he pushed the straw aside and stretched
out in the manure,” and would love to be
“in a forest . . . searching and sniffling along
the ground, smelling, smelling, smelling.”
Charlotte lives like a spider, “I drink them —
drink their blood. I love blood,” yet feels
emotions, as she said to Wilbur, “You’re
my best friend, and I think you’re sensa¬
tional.” She was at once a believable spider
and a feeling being, as she sat “. . . mood¬
ily eating a horsefly and thinking about the
future.” Templeton, the rat, . . had no
morals, no conscience, no scruples . . .’’He
said of himself, “I prefer to spend my time
eating, gnawing, spying, and hiding.” He
also took frequent trips to the dump. The
animals, who remain true to the character¬
istic of their species (Charlotte dies after
laying her eggs), speak and show emotion
in a story that is a believable fantasy.
Partially anthropomorphic animals are
human enough through their dress and
speech to enable children to identify with
them. Yet despite their appearance, each
remains true to the basic biological pattern
of his or her species.
The third category of animal stories is
limited to tales in which animals both look
and act like animals. However they often
display characteristics which children ad¬
mire in human beings. There is greater va¬
riety in these stories than in those in the
other two categories. Realistic stories for
young children are usually cheerful, while
the tragedy which occurs in the lives of many
animals is more often portrayed in the stories
for older readers.
The primary criterion for realistic stories
about animals is that the animals be por¬
trayed objectively. If there is conjecture
about motives it should agree with interpre¬
tations recorded by animal behaviorists. Sen¬
timentality and melodrama should be used
very sparingly.
The well known author, Marguerite
Henry, specialized in horse stories. Her
Misty of Chincoteague portrays the lives of
two captured wild ponies, Misty and her
mother Phantom. The story is realistic
throughout. Both ponies act as ponies nor¬
mally do. Phantom never lost her wildness
although she had been captured and became
well trained. Misty loved attention and did
pony-like pranks to obtain it. As Misty gave
the boy, Paul, a great swipe with her tongue,
72
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
“it was as if she had said, ‘Why is everyone
so quiet? I’m here! Me! Misty!’ ” Both
ponies nuzzled for sugar and loved treats.
Throughout the book when the animals are
credited with emotions, it is clear that the
interpretations are being made by people.
During a hard rain after they had been
caught, “Misty’s head fell across Paul’s lap.
not because she wanted human comfort but
because she was tired from the hard drive
and the rain.” As Phantom ran back to her
island after being freed, she turned once to
look back to her people. “ ‘Take good care
of my baby,’ she seemed to say. ‘She be¬
longs to the world of men, but I— I belong
to the world of wild things!’ ” Motives are
never imputed directly to the horses and the
animals are never sentimentalized.
Realistic stories designed to teach chil¬
dren about pets and to counter the senti¬
mentalized animals and the “dressed ani¬
mals” they may have encountered in earlier
reading have begun to appear in recent
years. Stories of children overreacting to
their pets and their assumed needs are
among the fine realistic stories to be pub¬
lished in the past decade. None of these has
the classic reputation of the books previ¬
ously discussed, but they deserve mention
because they are representative of a mod¬
ern approach to animal stories. ... A boy
believes that a baby bird he has rescued
needs help in learning to fly in the book
Bird by Liesel Skorpen. . . . Dick Gacken-
rack’s Do You Love Me? is the story of a
small boy with no playmates who acciden¬
tally kills a bird he had found by too much
fondling. He later discovers that his new
puppy enjoys cuddling as much as he does.
Leave Herbert Alone, by Alma Whitney, is
amusing in a wry way. A girl is so eager
to show her love for a cat that she frightens
him and must learn gentler methods in her
approach.
Perhaps the problem of anthropomor¬
phism in childrens’ animal stories is less
important than it has been made to appear.
Certainly anthropomorphism has literary and
practical virtues of engaging the attention of
young readers, serving as a vehicle for slightly
veiled teaching about social relationships,
and introducing young readers to fantasy
and to humor in books. Moreover, there are
so many excellent animal stories in print that
as readers become older they will inevitably
be exposed to realistic animal stories, some
of them deliberately designed to correct more
fanciful representations of animals and many
of them designed to provide biologically ac¬
curate accounts of the lives of wild and do¬
mestic animals.
Literature Cited
Magee, William H., “The Animal Story: A
Challenge in Technique,” in Only Connect:
Readings on Children s Literature. Ed. by
Sheila Egoff, G. T. Stubbs and L. F. Ashley.
Oxford Univ. Press, Toronto. 1969.
Markowsky, Juliet Kellogg, “Why Anthropo¬
morphism in Children’s Literature?”, Ele¬
mentary English 52:460-462. 1975.
Sutherland, Zena, and May Hill Arbuthnot,
Children and Books, (5th Edition) Scott,
Foresman and Co., Glenview. 1977.
BODY LENGTHS, BODY WEIGHTS AND FECUNDITY OF
SEA LAMPREYS ( PETROMYZON MARIN US) FROM
GREEN BAY, LAKE MICHIGAN
Wendel J. Johnson
University of Wisconsin Center-Marinette
A bstract
This paper describes the results of measurements of body length, body
weights and egg counts of ovarian samples in a representative collection of female
sea lampreys from the Peshtigo River, and compares these data to other published
regional sea lamprey studies. Specimens were collected during spring spawning
runs of 1979 and 1980. Fecundity was determined by counting the number of eggs
in one gram samples from each of 14 ovaries, and then multiplying by the total
ovarian weight. For each of these parameters, our samples showed means of body
length, 484.5 mm; body weight, 267.4 grams, and eggs per female, 97,016. These
mean values were greater than any yet published for landlocked Great Lakes sea
lamprey populations. Green Bay and its tributaries appear to be highly productive
sea lamprey habitat.
This study compares morphological and
fecundity data of Green Bay samples with
data from selected sea lamprey studies from
other Great Lakes sites and an original
anadromous population.
The sea lamprey ( Petromyzon marinus
L.) is a primitive vertebrate belonging to
the Class Agnatha. It is characterized by
having no jaws or paired fins, seven gill
pouches and a slender eel-like body form.
There are well developed dorsal and caudal
fins and a single median nostril. The oral
disk has many strong, sharp, horny teeth
which with a rasping tongue are used to
break the skin of prey and allow the para¬
site to feed on the body juices.
The species has a nonparasitic larval, or
ammocoete, stage that lasts for several years
(3-10) before they metamorphose and be¬
come parasitic on fish. After 12-20 months
as adults (Applegate, 1950), they migrate
in the spring into fresh-water streams to
spawn and die. The species is native to the
Atlantic coasts of North America and Eur¬
ope, but has invaded the Great Lakes in re¬
cent times.
The history of the progress of the sea
lamprey through the Great Lakes has been
well documented by fisheries biologists (Ap¬
plegate, 1950; Smith, 1971). It has been
an aggressive colonizer and rapidly increased
in numbers in this new and rich habitat.
Control programs began in Lake Michigan
in the 1950’s and have continued to the pres¬
ent in various degrees of intensity and with
different methods. Initial control used me¬
chanical traps, then electrical weirs and
finally chemical agents that kill ammocoetes
in the spawning streams. The selective
lampricide, 3-trifluoromethyl-4-nitrophenol
(TFM) has been dramatically effective al¬
though streams have to be treated periodi¬
cally to guard against reestablishment of the
population. Complete eradication appears
impossible due to difficulty in the treatment
of certain streams and the possibility that
some lampreys are spawning in Green Bay
itself.
Procedure and Methods
Although collections have been made dur¬
ing the spawning runs on the Menominee
and Peshtigo Rivers each year since 1978,
specimens for this study were collected pri-
73
74
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
Fig. 1. Captured Peshtigo River Sea Lampreys — 1980. (n = 300)
Table 1 . Sizes of Peshtigo River Sea Lampreys — 1980
s — standard deviation calculated as
n - 1
1982]
Johnson — Sea Lampreys from Green Bay
75
marily during the 1980 run. Five female
lampreys from 1979 were also used in the
egg counts.
Three small (2 X 4 X 1 Vi') mechanical
traps designed to catch spawning sea lam¬
preys were operated for approximately eight
weeks from late April to mid-June. Traps
were checked five days per week and reset
according to water levels. All sea lampreys
were kept in our laboratory, weighed, mea¬
sured and the sex determined. All lampreys
and ovaries were preserved in a ten percent
formaldehyde solution.
Total body length was measured to the
nearest millimeter and body weight was
taken to the nearest gram.
The fecundity methodology used was pio¬
neered by Vladykov (1951), where because
of the extremely large number of eggs, num¬
ber of eggs in a one gram unit was deter¬
mined and then the total egg number was
estimated by multiplying eggs/gram X total
ovarian weight. Adult females have only one
ovary.
The ovary was removed from each female,
dried on paper toweling and weighed to the
nearest gram. A one gram sample was then
removed from the central region of the
elongated ovary and all eggs were counted
in that sample. Counting was done using a
Bausch and Lomb binocular zoom micro¬
scope.
This method of determining the fecundity
of lampreys is tedious but fairly accurate.
Lampreys spawn only once so approximately
one-half of the primary ova are developing
into mature eggs (Hardisty, 1964), which
are all the same size. The weight of the
ovary consists mainly of the eggs, while
connective tissue accounts for only a small
percent of the weight.
Results
Time of Spawning Run
Sea lampreys began entering our traps
when the river water temperatures reached
about 10°C (50°F). However, as is shown
in Figure 1, the peak spawning period was
between 15.6 to 21.1°C (60° to 70°F) when
50 percent of the Peshtigo River specimens
were taken. Trap catches rapidly drop off
once the water temperatures pass 21°C
(70°F) .
Body Length
As indicated in Table 1, Peshtigo River
adult female sea lampreys were longer than
males; females = 481.8 mm. (±42.8),
males 473.3 mm. (±38.5). In Table 1 the
spawning run is divided into three periods;
early (May 1-15), middle (May 16-31) and
late (June 1-15). The middle period could
probably be considered the peak spawning
period.
Body Weights
This sexual dimorphism continues with
body weights as the females in the samples
had approximately a four percent heavier
mean body weight of 241.0 gm. (±55.6).
However, males apparently enter the rivers
heavier (note May 1-15 subsample), but
lose weight more rapidly than females. With
both sexes, the heaviest weights were from
individuals in the first subsamples. Apple-
gate (1950) suggests that the larger size of
early migrants may be due to an earlier at¬
tainment of sexual maturity among larger
specimens than among the smaller ones.
Neither sex feeds during the spawning run
(Applegate 1950) and, therefore, they are
utilizing stored energy.
Fecundity
Fourteen adult sea lampreys, five from
1979 and nine from 1980, were used to
obtain representative samples of ovarian
weights, eggs per gram sample and extra¬
polated total egg counts. Mean value for
these three parameters were 48.8 g (±18.6),
2141.4 (±416) and 97,016.4 (±29,398.1)
respectively. As can be seen in Table 2,
there is a great deal of variability between
samples. There does not seem to be a di¬
rectly linear relationship between lamprey
lengths and ovarian weight or total egg counts
76 Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters [Vol. 70
Table 2. Fecundity of Green Bay Sea Lampreys (n = 14)
although larger females tended to have higher
egg counts. Egg diameters were also mea¬
sured with the mean value (0.98 mm.) very
close to one millimeter.
Discussion
The purpose of this study was to compare
morphological and fecundity data between
the Green Bay samples and selected pub¬
lished sea lamprey studies from other Great
Lakes sites and an original anadromous
population. Table 3 illustrates these com¬
parisons and shows the distinctively longer,
heavier body and greater absolute fecundity
of the anadromous form from Quebec in
contrast to the land-locked forms which have
been referred to as a dwarf race (Vladykov,
1951). Although individuals in the present
Green Bay samples are larger than in any
of the other reported Great Lakes studies,
our specimens are still much more diminu¬
tive than the marine samples. Smith (1971)
earlier found that among males, Green Bay
samples from Michigan rivers were generally
Table 3. Comparative Body Lengths, Body Weights and Eggs Per Ovary Among Selected Sea Lamprey Populations.
estimated number of eggs
1982]
Johnson — Sea Lampreys jrom Green Bay
77
larger than lampreys from the main lakes.
He suggested the difference in size may have
been caused by differences in food supply,
in the environments, or in the timing of
establishment and decline of the lamprey
populations. Since the last treatment of the
Menominee and Peshtigo Rivers, the U.S.
Fish and Wildlife Service has noted a slight
decline in lamprey size (John Heinrich,
Pers. Comm.).
Vladykov noted that fewer oocytes matured
in the dwarf forms and suggested this was
due to their reduced body size. Hardisty
(1964) suggests a possible theory for the
origin of the land-locked race is that those
individuals with low reproductive fecundity,
reduced body size and ill-equipped physio¬
logically for life in the sea tended to remain
in lakes and upper reaches of the river
systems after metamorphosis throughout the
trophic period.
However, among the Great Lakes popula¬
tions, the Green Bay samples appear to be
representative of a rich and productive habi¬
tat. Presently, the tributaries of Green Bay.
i.e. the Menominee and Peshtigo Rivers, are
carefully monitored and periodically treated
with a lampricide (TFM) to destroy am-
mocoetes in the sediment of the stream bot¬
tom. Despite the reduction in adult lamprey
in the spawning runs of 1979 and 1980, the
sea lamprey because of its tremendous egg
production, maintains a potential to rapidly
reinfest suitable streams. The sex ratios on
the Menominee and Peshtigo Rivers are
skewed toward females with the percentage
of males being 45.8 in 1977, 48.9 in 1978,
53.8 in 1979 and 42 in 1980. This pre¬
ponderance of females suggests a population
declining and under stress (i.e. from the
lampricide) as has been reported by Hein¬
rich et al. (1980). This shift to female domi¬
nance has been recorded earlier in Lakes
Michigan and Superior as lamprey popula¬
tions decrease in numbers from peak levels
(Smith, 1971). Monitoring the Menominee
and Peshtigo Rivers will continue for the
next several years.
Acknowledgments
Contributions to the field and laboratory
work were made by Laura Forst, Marlene
Rysewyk, Kathy Benser, Donald Bergfelt,
Edward Kraus, Frank Faucett, David Krue¬
ger and Thomas Sommerfeldt. I also ap¬
preciated the cooperation of the U.S. Fish
and Wildlife Service and particularly the
help and encouragement of John Heinrich.
Literature Cited
Applegate, V. C. 1950. Natural History of the
Sea Lamprey, Petromyzon marinus , in Mich¬
igan. U.S. Fish and Wildlife Serv., Special
Sci. Rep. Fish. 55‘237 p.
Hardisty, M. W. 1964. The fecundity of lam¬
preys. Arch Hydrobiol. 60(3) :340-357.
Heinrich, J. W., J. G. Weise and B. R. Smith.
1980. Changes in biological characteristics
of the sea lamprey ( Petromyzon marinus)
as related to lamprey abundance, prey abun¬
dance, and sea lamprey control. Can. J. Fish.
& Aquat. Sci. Vol. 37:1861-1871.
Manion, P. J. 1972. Fecundity of the sea lam¬
prey ( Petromyzon marinus ) in Lake Su¬
perior. Trans. Amer. Fish Soc., No. 4:718-
720.
Smith, B. R. 1971. Sea lampreys in the Great
Lakes. Pg. 207-247, in M. W. Hardisty and
I. C. Potter, Eds. The biology of lampreys.
Vol. I. Acad. Press, N.Y.
Vladykov, V. D. 1951. Fecundity of Quebec
Lampreys. The Can. Fish Culturist, No. 10,
1-14.
A NEW DISTRIBUTION RECORD FOR A
WISCONSIN CRAYFISH ( ORCONECTES 1MMUN1S )
C. W. Threinen
Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources
Little has been written in Wisconsin about
the distribution and abundance of the vari¬
ous crayfish species. Yet, interest in the
status of the various species has heightened
with the rapid spread of a newly encountered
species for Wisconsin, namely Orconectes
rusticus. This report concerns a seldom en¬
countered species, Orconectes immunis
(Hagen), which was reported in Creaser’s
1932 original distribution work but has not
been reported since.
In September of 1981, I visited a minnow
dealer, Mr. James Larson, in the northwest¬
ern part of Wisconsin near New Richmond.
He had a collection of crayfish from Fish
Lake in Polk County that appeared to have
much different characteristics than other
common Wisconsin species. He graciously
gave me four specimens — two males and
two females — for identification.
The specimens were identified as Orco¬
nectes immunis with the use of Hobb’s (1976)
general reference on crayfish and Creaser’s
(1932) reference for Wisconsin. The males
were clearly I Form (sexually mature) and
had the usual characteristics of the genus
Orconectes. The distinguishing character for
the genus is a two-pointed gonopod. Vital
measurements on all four specimens appear
in Table 1.
Identifying characteristics were as follows:
The carapace had no lateral spines on it and
was relatively smooth. The acumen was
relatively short, flat, and blunt, the tip being
about as long as the width. There were no
upturning or lateral spines such as are char¬
acteristic of some other species. The chel-
iped of the males was distinctly larger than
that of the females — a characteristic of most
crayfish species. O. immunis is characterized
by a tooth in the middle of the lower digit
or, as described by Creaser in 1932, an in¬
dentation at the base of a movable finger
which creates the impression of having a
tooth.
The male gonopods (I Form) were two-
pointed and had a distinctly downward turn
from the normal horizontal position. This
bend amounted to a full 90° from horizontal
- — much more of a bend than is typical of
other Orconectes species, in which the gono¬
pods are either straight or gently curved.
The presence of I Form males is suggestive
of late summer and early fall mating for the
species.
The female orifice or annulus ventralis
had shoulders, a mesiad rise and a depres¬
sion to the left. In this respect, it is unique
among the other Wisconsin Orconectes spe¬
cies which have a valley in the middle.
Normally, color is not a reliable charac¬
teristic of crayfish species, but it is unique
enough to be distinctive for O. immunis. The
overall body color is greenish-brown to oli¬
vaceous with no distinct marks. However,
the chelipeds are very strikingly colored a
reddish-purple which tends to merge with
the olivaceous color on the outside but is
quite bright to the interior. This characteris¬
tic was reported for O. immunis in New
York as well (Crocker, 1957).
Fish Lake is a 56-acre winterkill lake
with a four foot maximum depth (Sather
and Threinen, 1961). Thus, it must be as¬
sumed that the species will prosper in ad¬
verse environmental conditions. This record
confirms the presence of Orconectes im¬
munis in northwestern Wisconsin. The near¬
est and only previous reported Wisconsin
records were for the shores of Lake Pepin
and Milwaukee County (Creaser, 1932).
Given its entry into the bait distribution
78
1982]
Threinen — A New Record for a Wisconsin Crayfish
Table 1 . Sizes of four specimens of Orconectes immunis from Fish Lake, Polk County.
79
o* I Form cr I Form 9 9
Total length (cm) 7.8 8.0 8.5 9.5
Carapace length (cm) 3.7 4.1 4.1 4.3
Cheliped length (cm) 3.8 3.5 3.0 3.0
circles with widespread markets, an expand¬
ing distribution can be expected.
Fig. 1. The gonopod and annulus ventralis of the
crayfish Orconectes immunis (from Crocker, 1957).
The national distribution is reported as
being from New England to Wyoming in the
north, southward to Alabama. This distribu¬
tion record for Wisconsin would fall well
within that area. As Creaser (1932) noted,
the species is probably more abundant than
indicated by isolated encounters. The spe¬
cies was also reported in 1981 in the mus-
kellunge rearing ponds at the Spooner Fish
Hatchery, although not yet formally con¬
firmed.
Bibliography
Creaser, Edwin P. 1932. The decapod Crustacea
of Wisconsin. Trans. Wisconsin Acad. Sci.,
Arts and Letters. 27:321-338.
Crocker, Denton W. 1957. The crayfishes of
New York State (Decapoda, Astacidae).
Bull. N.Y. State Museum and Science Ser¬
vice. No. 355, 97 ppp.
Hobbs, Horton H., Jr. 1976. Crayfishes of
North and Middle America. Env. Prot.
Agency (Water Pollution Control) Res. se¬
ries 18050 Eldo 5/72, 173 pp.
Sather, La Verne M. and C. W. Threinen.
1961. Surface water resources of Polk
County. Wis. Cons. Dept. 143 pp.
OUR LANGUAGE — A SMORGASBORD OF TONGUES:
THE SCANDINAVIAN INFLUENCE
Howard Martin
Department of Liberal Studies
UW-Extension, Madison
“I am of this opinion that our own tung
should be written cleane and pure, unmixt
and unmingled with borrowings from other
tunges,”1 so wrote Sir John Cheke (1514-
57), Regius Professor of Greek at Cambridge
University, in the latter years of his life.
Such an opinion was not restricted to a
commentator of the sixteenth century. The
nineteenth century English historian, Ed¬
ward A. Freeman, while working on his
five volume History of the Norman Con¬
quest, saw as one result of the Norman Con¬
quest the abiding corruption of our language.
Both men would rather have seen an ‘‘Eng¬
lish” term used instead of borrowing from
Latin and French as English did extensively
throughout the centuries after 1066. Thus,
one would say crossed for crucified, mooned
for lunatic. Both would have preferred more
use of the process of word creation as was
used by the Anglo-Saxon writers, by Ger¬
man and Icelandic even today. Thus, for
example, one would say foresayer for
prophet, likejamme for parallelogram, and
leechcraft for medicine. Neither of these
writers was fully aware that, “of all the as¬
pects of a language, vocabulary and mean¬
ing are the most sensitive to the external
social and historical forces that determine
which words a culture preserves and which
it borrows from another.”2
Our tongue has become, one might say, a
smorgasbord of tongues. It has not remained
“unmixt and unmingled with borrowings of
other tunges,” but has borrowed from many
and varied languages over the centuries. Let
it suffice to list here in the interests of space:
million and rocket from Italian; barbecue
and cigarette from Spanish; smuggle and
hustle from the Low German Languages
(Dutch, Frisian, Plattdeutsch, Afrikaans);
plunder and zither from High German; mam¬
moth and polka from the Slavic languages;
assassin and gazelle from Arabic; amen, Sab¬
bath and cabal from Hebrew; spinach and
shawl from Persian; horde and vampire
from Turkic; nabob and pajamas from San¬
skrit and Hindi; calico and atoll from Dra-
vidian; silk and ketchup from Tibeto-Chi-
nese; tycoon and geisha from Japanese;
amok and kangaroo from Malay-Polynesian
and Australian Aborigine.
And the Scandinavian influence? It began
long before any of the words just cited were
borrowed. Alas, Cheke’s and Freeman’s de¬
sire to return to what they considered native
English words was doomed even before 1066
and the Norman Conquest. The language of
the seaborne invaders from the North, the
Danish tongue (ON donsk tunga, Sw. dansk
tunga) had begun to penetrate almost every
domain of the English language.
These seaborne invaders, the Vikings, all
called Dene by the English, raided and set¬
tled England for almost 300 years. First they
came as roving bands, raided on a small
scale and left, then they came with large
armies, invaded and began to establish set¬
tlements in that area of England later ap¬
propriately named the Danelaw. Finally they
deposed the English King Ethelred the Un¬
ready and became rulers of England, Nor¬
way, and Denmark. The Scandinavians had
come to England along two main routes: the
Danes accompanied by some Swedes came
directly across the North Sea to Yorkshire
and East Anglia; the Norwegians came by
stages. They had settled the Shetland Islands,
the Orkney Islands, and the Western Isles
off the cost of the North of Scotland. They
80
1982]
Martin - — A Smorgasbord of Tongues
81
had settled, too, in Northern Ireland and the
Isle of Man in the Irish Sea. From these
places they sailed to the northwest of Eng¬
land and established permanent colonies in
Cumberland, Westmorland, North Lanca¬
shire and West Yorkshire.
It is not known how many Vikings came
and settled but since more than 1400 places
in England, particularly in the areas men¬
tioned above, the East and the North, bear
Scandinavian names, the number was con¬
siderable and their influence on English ver¬
nacular speech was not small. It has been
said that Scandinavian vocabulary was ubi¬
quitous in the English language. We use
many Scandinavian words in our standard
English and many remain in English dia¬
lects.
We first obtain a clear picture of Scan¬
dinavian loan words in English in the writ¬
ings of the thirteenth century. Hundreds of
Scandinavian words appear and we know
that they are Scandinavian loan words be¬
cause we cannot trace them to an OE source,
we know that an Old Norse original exists,
and further most of these texts were written
in areas where the Scandinavians settled. We
are often helped in our proof when we have
strong evidence that the word is used in pres¬
ent day dialects. Examples of this latter phe¬
nomenon will be given later in this paper.
In some instances we can tell that words are
borrowed from Scandinavian because of dif¬
ferences in the development of certain
sounds in North Germanic and West Ger¬
manic. For example, the sound sk. In OE,
this became sh as in ship, shall, fish. In ON
it remained sk (ON skip, skal, fisk). Thus
we have a word from OE meaning shirt and
one from ON meaning skirt yet both come
from the same Germanic word. Sky, skin,
scrape, scrub and “scot” in scotfree (scot
meaning tax) are examples of borrowed
Scandinavian words beginning with sk. Simi¬
larly, words retaining the hard pronuncia¬
tion of k and g which became ch and y in
OE are of Scandinavian origin. Kid (as in
kidgloves), dike, get, give, and egg are all
Scandinavian, as are kirk for church and
brig for bridge. The latter two are evident
in place names quite frequently. Aye, nay
and hale as in “hale and hearty” are bor¬
rowed words that also show a difference in
sound development. English has no and
whole for the latter two.
Here we see both the English and Scan¬
dinavian words retained and there are other
examples of this phenomenon. (The English
word is given first) : Rear — raise, from —
fro, craft — skill, hide — skin, sick — ill. Near¬
ly all the examples given are common words
yet they are not necessarily used by us all
in the same way. In England sick and ill
mean two different things, here they mean
the same. Sometimes the ON word pre¬
vailed over the English word so that we use
anger (ON angr) rather than the original
English words, torn or grama, wing rather
than fedra, sky for woken, boon for ben,
bark for rind, take for nima, sister for swe-
oster, window ( vind auga) instead of “eye
thurl,” plow as a verb rather than as a noun
meaning “a measure of land,” holm meaning
islet or watery meadow not ocean. The Old
English word dream meant joy, the Old
Norse, vision in sleep. Thus “dream” as we
use it is Norse in origin. It will perhaps sur¬
prise the reader that the pronouns “they,”
“their,” and “them” are all of ON origin and
yet we assume such words are English words.
To these we can add “both,” “same,”
“though,” and “till.”
Who would think that “law,” “outlaw,”
“flat,” “loose,” “low,” “odd,”, “tight,” “awk¬
ward,” “rotten,” “tattered,” and “to die”
are Scandinavian words? They are, and
there are many more common words too
numerous to mention here. Of course many
also have faded from common use and other
words ( from French, Latin and other
sources) have prevailed. Earlier the number
of place names of Scandinavian origin and
the locations in which most of them occur
were mentioned. The Scandinavian origin
of these place names is shown usually by a
suffix, sometimes by a prefix. For example,
82
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
by meaning a “farmstead” or “town.” There
are 600 place names ending like this in the
East and Northeast. Grimsby, Derby, New¬
by, Rugby, and Thoresby are but a few.
We also retain the meaning “town” in our
word “by-law,” i.e., town law. Other words
used to form place names are beck (ON
bekkr) meaning stream, brig (ON bryggja)
meaning bridge, holme (ON holm) meaning
watery meadow, lathe (ON hlatha ) meaning
barn, thorpe (ON porp ) meaning village,
thwaite (ON pveit ) meaning an isolated
piece of land, toft (ON toft ) meaning a piece
of land. Some examples are: Drybeck, Brig-
house, Lindholme, Silloth, Scunthorpe,
Braithwaite, Micklethwaite, Lowestoft. There
are 300 names like Scunthorpe, almost 300
like Braithwaite, and 100 like Lowestoft.
The largest group of the 1400 Scandinavian
place names is found in the county of York
and county of Lincoln. These are the areas
settled predominantly by Danes and some
Swedes. The second largest group is in Cum¬
berland and Westmorland, those areas set¬
tled by the Norwegians. In some districts of
Yorkshire over 75% of the place names
are of Norse origin.
This county, Yorkshire, was divided by
its Viking settlers into three parts which they
called pridjungr, a word which subsequently
became “thriding,” a thirding so to speak.
Later this became “riding” and hence we
had the West Riding, the East Riding, and
the North Riding (the latter made known to
Americans by James Herriott’s novels). In
these ridings and the surrounding areas it is
common to find natural features bearing
Norse names. People walk up banks in
North England, that is, up hills, and ants
live in banks (ON bakki — elevation). They
climb in gills (small ravines, ON gil), walk
through carrs (marshes, ON kjarr), down
into slacks (hollows, ON slakki), along riggs
(ridges, ON hryggr ), may have fellwalking
(fell, ON fjall — hillside) as a hobby and, on
walks, may view a large force (waterfall,
ON fors), watch the trout swim in a beck
(stream, ON bekkr), and fish in the rivers
of the Yorkshire dales (valleys, ON dalr).
In the areas settled by the Vikings dia¬
lects are preserved, particularly in the farm¬
ing communities, and much of Northern
England is farmed in one way or another.
Traditional regional dialects are best pre¬
served in such communities, and farming —
a universal industry — provides us with a
large scale of material from Old Norse.
Thus we have lea for scythe (ON le), garth
for croft (an enclosed pasture for sick ani¬
mals — ON gar dr), midden for bin (a place
to put ashes — ON mydding), gesling for
gosling (ON gceslingr), steg for gander (ON
steggi), stithy for anvil (ON stedi), stee for
ladder (ON stige), stack for cock as in hay¬
stack. (To the author, Little Boy Blue slept
under a haystack, not a haycock, ON
stakkr). The people clip sheep not shear
them (ON klippa), a farmer plows his field
athwart (diagonally, from ON um pvert),
calls giss to his pigs (cf. Norwegian gis),
addles his money (from ON odlast — to ac¬
quire property, later meaning earn), per¬
haps keeps a clatch of chickens (ON klekja)
and calls the farm equipment for his horses
gear (ON gorvi) . This last word came to be
used in a general way for equipment. As
boys, Yorkshiremen among others say “get
your gear” before they go to play soccer or
rugby.
Since games have been mentioned, let it
be said that, in parts of Northern England,
boys lake ( leik from ON leika) football, not
play it and the game the bairns, i.e., children
(ON born), play here called “tag” is “tig”
(from the Old Norse word tjuga meaning
to touch) to children in Northern England.
The boys are called “lads” and a daughter
“our lass,” both lads and lass being most
likely of Norse origin. It is hoped one’s
children do not grow up to be gormless, i.e.,
silly, dumb (from ON gaumr — wit/sense ) ,
or gowks (fools from ON gaukr — cuckoo),
that, when they are playing with wood they
don’t get spells in their finger (ON spjolr —
splinter/sliver), that while they are outside,
the rain does not teem down (ON toema —
1982]
Martin — A Smorgasbord of Tongues
83
to pour), that their families don’t flit (ON
flitja — move), and we readily accept it if
some have big lugs (ears, c.f. Norwegian
lugga — to pull by the ears) and are kay-
fisted (ON kei — left). All of the examples
given here are current words and place-
names, some to be sure only in dialects but
many in our standard language and all from
the Viking settlers.
It is surprising that our stock of Scan¬
dinavian words contains very few recent
loan words from the modern Scandinavian
languages. “Rug,” “muggy,” and “ski” came
into use in the late nineteenth century.
“Skol” is a much more recent addition to
frequent use, although it was used in Scot¬
land in the sixteenth century. “Geyser,”
“rune,” “skald,” and “saga” all came from
Icelandic in the eighteenth century, and in
this century we have borrowed “ombuds¬
man” from Swedish and lest it be forgotten
“smorgasbord”!
This paper has been written by a York¬
shire tyke, the name of which all Yorkshire-
men are proud. Little did he know that it
came from ON tik and meant originally a
dog, a low fellow. He, like Cheke and Free¬
man, was not totally aware of which words
a language would borrow and why.
Notes
1 Quoted from Joseph M. Williams, Origins of
the English Language: A Social and Linguistic His¬
tory (New York: The Free Press, 1975) p. 88.
' Op. cit., p. 41.
MORE WISCONSINESE
Carrie Anne Estill
Dictionary of American Regional English
University of W isconsin-Madison
This paper represents a continuation of
the material 1 have collected about Wiscon¬
sin speech. Previous findings have been pub¬
lished in Transactions of the Wisconsin
Academy of Sciences, Arts, and Letters,
Vol. 69, 1981. The data for this paper was
collected in a similar manner as the material
for the last paper. Students from Linguistics
101: An Introduction to Human Language,
an introductory-level course for non-majors
at the University of Wisconsin-Madison were
sent out over Thanksgiving vacation 1980
and Easter break 1981 to interview speakers
of English about some aspects of Wisconsin
speech. Each student was to interview a per¬
son 15-25 years of age, one 40-50 years of
age, and one 65 years old or older. In the
first group, 191 questionnaires were tabu¬
lated; in the second, 77. All the speakers
were Caucasian or Semitic except for five
Blacks from Milwaukee.
The first construction I will look at is the
use of by to mean ‘do,1’ as in the sentence:
“Let’s go by John’s this evening/’ This sen¬
tence was accepted by 93 percent of the
informants, with nearly unanimous approval
by speakers along Lake Michigan. Speakers
in Sheboygan, Calumet, Manitowoc, and
Milwaukee counties would even accept the
sentence, “Let’s go by John this evening”
where no possessive is marking the Proper
Noun. This expression comes from German
bei, which when construed with the dative
case means “near” or “at.”
The next construction I will examine is
aft as a shortening for afternoon. Informants
were asked if they would say the sentence
“What are you doing this aft?”. Thirty-two
percent said they would say the sentence;
27 percent of the young, 45 percent of the
middle-aged group, and 26 percent of the
oldest group. This form seems to have sta¬
bilized among all age groups, show no par¬
ticular geographical distribution, and be a
relatively stable lexical item.
Speakers were asked if they would say,
“It’s a nice day, in so.” This use of in so as
a tag would be equivalent to standard En¬
glish isn't it in this particular sentence, but
in negative sentence this tag is positive; for
example, “It isn’t a nice day, is it?”. The
tag rule for English is extremely compli¬
cated. The verb in the tag must agree with
the verb in the main sentence in tense, num¬
ber and the opposite of positive or negative.
In addition, the speaker must know what
the expected answer will be. Negative tags
usually elicit a positive answer; positive tags
a negative answer. Most languages have
much simpler all-purpose tags. German has
nicht wahr, literally “not true,” or gel, short
for “1st es geltig?” (“Is it valid?”). French
uses n'est ce pas “is it not.” Canadian En¬
glish has the simple tag eh?, as in a sentence
my bridge partner, who is from Toronto
said to me the other day, “You would have
led a spade, eh?”. The implication, of course,
was that I should have since the verb of the
sentence was positive. Eight percent of the
speakers interviewed admitted using the con¬
struction in so. These responses were from
the counties of Dane, Door, and Sheboygan.
We asked our informants what they called
athletic shoes made of canvas. The over¬
whelming reply was tennis shoes. Six percent
called them sneakers, which is still used in
the urban areas of the East Coast. All the
speakers in our survey who said sneakers
were from the more urban areas of our state
— Green Bay, Madison, and Milwaukee.
84
1982]
Estill — More Wisconsinese
85
Sneakers was used by more older informants
than younger speakers. We did not collect
a single instance of tennies. This is probably
due to our lack of informants under the age
of 15, since this word seems to be popular
among school-aged children.
An item which amused me when I moved
to Wisconsin seven years ago from Califor¬
nia was the period in school when one exer¬
cises. In Junior High School, we called it
gym and in High School P.E. No one here
in Wisconsin seems to call it P.E. I said to
a group of new-found Wisconsin friends,
“Are you going to take any P.E. this semes¬
ter?” and all I received were puzzled looks,
no answers. Then one woman, who must
have done some travelling to another area
of the country, said “Oh, you mean Phy.
Ed.” Sure enough, 39 percent said Phy. Ed.,
10 percent said Phys. Ed. and 51 percent
said Gym. But the expression does seem to
be changing over time; Phy. Ed. is gaining
currency among the young, gym is losing it,
and Phys. Ed. is remaining the same. The
statistics are, for the young: 50 percent Phy.
Ed., 10 percent Phys. Ed., 40 percent Gym;
for the middle-aged: 30 percent Phy. Ed.,
10 percent Phys. Ed., 60 percent Gym; for
the oldest group: 35 percent Phy. Ed., 6
percent Phys. Ed., 59 percent Gym.
We found a very interesting distribution
for the lexical item for soft drink. Among
the young and the middle group, pop was
preferred by the majority of the state with
a noteworthy pattern of exception. From
Manitowoc County to Racine County on
Lake Michigan with the inland county of
Waukesha, part of the greater Milwaukee
area, all speakers prefer “soda.” There were
examples of soda and soft drink scattered
throughout the state, most usually in the
older age group.
In Calumet, Manitowoc, and Sheboygan
counties, residents fry out rather than “cook
out,” when cooking bratwursts over coals.
There exists the corresponding noun A fry
out, to which one may be invited to fry out
these brats. I would venture to say this is a
direct translation of the German verb hraten,
used for frying rather than kochen, used for
cooking generally and boiling in particular.
This is the same verb stem seen in the word
Bratwurst itself. Calumet, Manitowoc, and
Sheboygan counties were settled by a large
percentage of German immigrants.
About half the informants surveyed syl¬
labified Wisconsin as [wl-skan-sn] rather
than the standard [wls-kon-sn]. This dis¬
tinction, however, is somewhat muddled by
the fact that most speakers use extremely
heavy stress on the second syllable, I have
been unable to hypothesize a reason for this
phenomenon. It does give a particular qual¬
ity to a native’s speech when he says, “I’m
from Wisconsin .” I might add that in casual
speech the word is often shortened to
[skonsn].
Of the informants surveyed, 10 percent
said the name of the largest city in the
state is [mwa-ki] in two syllables, 25 percent
said [mi-WD-ki] without the [1] and 65 per¬
cent said [mll-wa-ki] in three. Since [m I
w 1] are all sonorants, it is rather a simple
matter of assimilation to come out with
[mwD-ki]. Note that this does not happen,
however, to Pewaukee, a city 25 miles to
the west of Milwaukee, [pwa-ki] seems odd
and unnatural, [p] is not a sonorant and
cannot be easily merged or assimilated with
neighboring sounds.
DISCOVERING THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS:
A LOOK AT ENGLISH TEACHING IN
GERMANY AND AMERICA
Richard Brenzo
Houston, Texas
When one has spent years teaching lower-
division composition and literature in the
United States and then teaches essentially
the same courses in the English Department
of a German university, comparisons be¬
tween the two academic systems become in¬
evitable. Such a comparison will discover
the advantages of both systems: “In Amer¬
ica you can assume that the students will ac¬
tually read the texts” or “Germans believe
human beings have a right to a paid vaca¬
tion!” Some of the contrasts between the
two systems are amusing. Others are instruc¬
tive: for example, the differences in course
loads, in the students’ background, in meth¬
ods of evaluating students’ progress, in cur¬
riculum, and in departmental structure. The
following discussion of English teaching at
one particular German university will by no
means be an indictment of American En¬
glish departments. On the contrary, my ex¬
perience in Germany has taught me — be¬
lieve it or not — that we Americans do many
things right at our universities.
First, the reader should know several facts
about the English Department at the Justus
Liebig University in Giessen, Germany,
where I taught for two years, and the cor¬
responding department at the University of
Wisconsin-Milwaukee, where I had previ¬
ously taught for eleven years. In the late 60’s
and early 70’s the UWM English Program
had about one hundred staff members (in¬
cluding 40-50 teaching assistants, as well as
lecturers who concentrated on composition
and lower-division literature courses). There
were several hundred majors, and in addi¬
tion, the department served the entire uni¬
versity as instructors of literature and basic
writing. The department at Giessen also has
several hundred “majors,” although it does
not serve the entire university as do Ameri¬
can English departments. This is one reason
why the faculty is relatively small: seven
professors, five tenured faculty of lower rank,
half-a-dozen graduate assistants (who teach
only one literature seminar per semester),
nine lecturers, and three or four part-time
instructors. The department has its own
“teacher-training” institute; it does not deal
with a separate education department. It
should be remembered that the German de¬
partment at Giessen would be equivalent to
an American English department, while En¬
glish is part of the foreign language program
(although it is the most popular foreign
language, which accounts for the large num¬
ber of majors). The courses taught by lec¬
turers like myself include essay writing, trans¬
lation, phonetics, grammar, American, Brit¬
ish, and Canadian studies, and an amor¬
phous course called “Listening and Compre¬
hension.”
I first learned of the vacant position at
the Justus Liebig University through Profes¬
sor Ihab Hassan, who has many friends at
German universities. Giessen was trying to
build a partnership with UWM (Wisconsin
is the sister-state of Hessen, where Giessen
is located). The Giessen English department
in particular wished to establish relation¬
ships with English-speaking universities for
the sake of both student and faculty ex¬
changes, since it is essential to have a cer¬
tain number of native speakers teaching uni¬
versity-level English in Germany. I was not
only qualified to handle the teaching assign¬
ments, but could also speak and read Ger¬
man fluently as the result of a year’s study
in Berlin; thus, I was an obvious candidate
86
1982]
Brenzo— Teaching in Germany and America
87
for the two-year lecturer’s position. Na¬
turally, the thought of returning to Germany
as a teacher instead of a student was enor¬
mously appealing. Just as appealing was the
salary, which was double that of my lec¬
turer’s pay in Milwaukee. Even with the
higher prices in Germany, it represented a
substantial salary boost. It was paid over
twelve months, with a Christmas bonus of
one month’s pay. True, these lucrative pay
scales are a factor in the financial problems
which German universities are also suffering.
Still, for the first time in my life, I was be¬
ing paid what I thought I was worth.
The English program as it existed at the
time I began teaching in Giessen (Septem¬
ber, 1979) allowed the individual instruc¬
tor a great deal of freedom in selecting top¬
ics for courses in American and British
studies (called Landeskunde) . I was sched¬
uled to teach three of these courses; my
orientation in teaching them came mainly
from the other instructors. First, there was
the question of specific subject matter.
Landeskunde classes are intended to give
students a broad understanding of culture,
society, and government in the English-
speaking countries. On the whole, German
school classes about America focus on a
narrow range of topics, particularly the
problems of blacks and Indians. Without
downplaying the racial problems in the
United States, I tried to introduce my stu¬
dents to other aspects of American civiliza¬
tion.
At first I picked impossibly broad topics:
American institutions, social relationships,
arts and culture. My best inspiration was a
course on the American frontier, which I
taught a second time because it was so popu¬
lar. Germans are extremely interested in
cowboys and Indians; in fact, the whole
complex of images associated with the Wild
West signifies “America” to the average
German. Later I taught courses on protest
movements and on religion in America. I
knew the former topic would be a sure-fire
student draw. The latter topic attracted more
interest than I had expected. Germans seem
both repelled and fascinated by the enthusi¬
asm for, and commercialization of, religion
in the United States. Church attendance in
Germany is very low (although most people
still belong officially to a church). The Prot¬
estant churches, in particular, have rather
unexciting services and their programs have
little popular appeal. Moreover, some peo¬
ple feel the churches compromised them¬
selves by not opposing the rise of Nazism
in the 1930’s. Interestingly, many clergymen
today are vocal opponents of nuclear arma¬
ment, perhaps in an effort to promote the
Church as an anti-establishment force.
My essay writing classes were much like
similar classes in the United States, focus¬
sing on themes drawn largely from personal
experiences and opinions. In retrospect, I
believe I should have required at least one
research project, since the students did not
understand research concepts and often
showed little imagination when writing from
their own experience. For instance, given an
assignment on comparison, almost half of the
students compared country life to city life.
This apparently is a hot topic in Germany,
but the papers it inspired were dismayingly
dull, repetitious, and generalized. Techni¬
cally, the students’ errors were mainly in
vocabulary, spelling, and idiom usage. There
were few of the gross errors in grammar,
syntax, or sentence completeness which frus¬
trate English teachers in America, which
testifies to the quality of basic English in¬
struction in Germany.
The “Listening and Comprehension”
course was both the despair and delight of
the lecturers. No two people ever seemed to
be able to agree on just what its goals and
methods were supposed to be. In theory, it
was supposed to give the students their main
opportunity to hear and speak English. In
fact, since there were no limits on class size,
it was almost impossible to get even most of
the students to talk in one class period. I
also learned, to my surprise, that many En¬
glish majors avoided actually speaking En-
88
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
glish if at all possible. On the other hand,
the looseness and vagueness of the course
allowed for all kinds of experimentation, as
well as providing a chance to really know
one’s students. I used a variety of material:
newspaper reports, tapes, music, jokes, simu¬
lations, games, films, and video tapes (“La-
verne and Shirley” got mixed reviews). At
the time I considered the course fun and
hoped the students were learning something;
in retrospect, I realize that / learned more
about teaching language from this course
than from any of the others I conducted in
Germany.
In preparation for my Landeskunde
courses, I drew up reading lists based on the
books available in the departmental library
(something worth initiating in America, by
the way). Although instructors of literature
courses usually expect their students to pro¬
cure copies of the basic texts, most language
instructors do not require students to buy
books, relying instead on handouts and
copies (copiers and ditto machines are even
more important at German universities than
in the States). There are no university book¬
stores as we know them, so that required
texts must be ordered through private book¬
stores; as a result (and also because of the
expense of buying books for every class),
far fewer textbooks are required.
All the instructors as well as the full pro¬
fessors, complained of the students’ unwill¬
ingness to read, and indeed, very few of my
students seemed to derive much pleasure
from actually reading English. There are
several reasons for this. Most students take
ten or twelve different two-hour courses
per week. It would be impossible for a stu¬
dent to do the amount of reading and writing
that the typical American instructor would
expect for each of these courses. A student
is only required to do written work or heavy
reading for a few classes each semester. He
need only attend the rest of his classes, and
at the end of the semester will receive the
signature of the instructor on his class list
to certify his attendance.
A second reason for the lack of interest
in reading is, unfortunately, more basic:
many of the students just don’t enjoy read¬
ing English and are not highly motivated to
study the language. One explanation I heard
was that many would-be doctors who
couldn’t get into medical school decide to
major in English instead, reasoning that
their nine years of secondary school English
would provide the basis for a major. As in
the United States, English Departments in
Germany are refuges for students who are
not exactly sure what they wish to do for
a career. In the past, most of these English
majors ended teaching in the high schools,
but since these job opportunities have al¬
most dried up, the Giessen English faculty
has tried, with mixed success, to develop
programs to train English majors as some¬
thing other than teachers. Unfortunately, as
in the states, there are large numbers of stu¬
dents who must be pushed, pulled, and
cajoled through their “chosen” program of
study.
Nevertheless, most students in all areas
of study come to the university with an en¬
viable knowledge of English and with gen¬
erally strong academic backgrounds. There
are only about forty universities in Germany
(for a population of 60 million) and they
must accept a much more elite group of stu¬
dents than American universities. The stu¬
dents are somewhat older than American
undergraduates, since they leave the Gym¬
nasium (the most demanding level of sec¬
ondary school) at the age of nineteen, after
which the men must serve fifteen months
in the armed forces before beginning their
studies. I found the students intelligent and
generally well-prepared for university work.
My essay writing students were not used to
writing themes in the form which I de¬
manded but they quickly adapted to my re¬
quirements. A more serious problem, for
students who had learned British English in
the schools, was my American accent; al¬
though this, too, was only a temporary ob¬
stacle. Most of my students were well-in-
1982]
Brenzo — Teaching in Germany and America
89
formed about current affairs and surprisingly
knowledgeable about American politics. On
the other hand, I missed that touch of goofi¬
ness which characterizes American students,
that willingness to say something outrageous
to stimulate discussion or just to show off.
Under the German system there is no
limit on the sizes of classes. Typically, in
the first week or two of the term, students
visit many courses and then pick out the
ones they want to attend for the rest of the
semester. Thus, new teachers have signifi¬
cantly fewer students than instructors who
are better known. By the same token, notori¬
ously poor teachers get very few students.
Classes offered at favorable times are always
overcrowded. Moreover, students may take
required courses repeatedly in order to raise
their grades in these subjects. At the same
time, at least when I started teaching, there
was very little monitoring by the administra¬
tion of when classes were scheduled by the
lecturers. Lecturers were not supposed to
schedule courses on Wednesdays or on Tues¬
day or Thursday mornings, since these time
slots were reserved for the required courses
taught by the professors. Aside from that,
instructors had great freedom in scheduling;
after a semester one learned that certain
times would draw fewer students. For ex¬
ample, although five of my courses were al¬
ways packed, the sixth, a “Listening and
Comprehension” section at 2:00 p.m. on
Friday, never had more than ten students.
This I regarded as my “fun” class. Other
lecturers were less scrupulous about the tim¬
ing of their classes. The system insured that
favorably scheduled courses would be over¬
crowded, resulting in a lack of individual
attention from the instructor. This freedom
to choose whatever classes they want, with¬
out enrollment restrictions, is jealously
guarded by the students and is not likely to
change. It leads to composition classes of
forty or fifty students and to “discussion”
sections of thirty. In this light, regulation
of class sizes and scheduling by American
universities appears sensible and justified.
I should mention that at Giessen, at least,
attempts are being made to regulate the
lecturers’ course loads and class schedules.
Another problem related to class schedul¬
ing is the academic calendar itself. The win¬
ter semester lasts from the middle of Octo¬
ber until the middle of February, sixteen
weeks in all. There is then a break until the
beginning of April when the summer semes¬
ter starts; this lasts thirteen weeks, until the
beginning of July. The disparity in semester
lengths is increased because there are many
one-day holidays during the summer semes¬
ter. Thus, a course scheduled on a day when
classes are often cancelled may meet only
ten times. This usually requires extensive
reorganization of syllabuses from one se¬
mester to another, since the amount of ma¬
terial which can be presented to the students
in the summer is much less than can be han¬
dled during the winter.
After two years, 1 still do not entirely
understand the grading system at German
universities, and there seems to be some
confusion about it among Germans them¬
selves. Our students were supposed to gather
a certain number of certificates, called
Scheine, from their instructors. On each
certificate is written the course title, the in¬
structor’s name, the work which was done
for the grade, and the grade itself. The grad¬
ing scale goes from “1” (the highest) to “6”
(total failure). A “4” was the lowest pass¬
ing grade, but in fact was considered a dis¬
grace. These grades are not recorded on any
permanent record, only on the Schein itself,
which is kept by the student.
The real determinants of a student’s prog¬
ress are the intermediate examinations and
the state (final) examinations, which in the
English Department consist of an essay, a
translation, and an oral test. A student has
three chances to pass each of these examina¬
tions. Although students must earn a given
number of Scheine before taking these ex¬
aminations, only the grades on the examina¬
tions actually determine whether a student
will pass. Thus, the grades for the individual
90
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
courses do not count in a students’ final eval¬
uation, serving the students mainly as clues
to their own progress and ability. The major
examinations are graded like the separate
courses, with “4” being a passing grade, but
in fact the kiss of death for future job pros¬
pects. Worse, a “4” test cannot be retaken
for a better mark. The American system,
where good grades mathematically compen¬
sate for poor ones, is far less traumatic than
the German system, where, as you can im¬
agine, each examination is preceded by a
period of incredible anxiety to the student.
One of the hardest things for an American
instructor to adjust to is the hierarchy of a
German university department. Because
there are fewer professors in the typical
German academic department than in the
typical American one, and because it is more
difficult to become a professor in a German
university, the professors have more pres¬
tige. Even within the professorial ranks there
are gradations which determine salary size,
the number of student assistants one gets,
and whether one deserves a personal secre¬
tary or not. The professors determine the
policy in every department, despite the token
presence of representatives of students and
lower-level faculty in the Departmental
Council. There is no “junior faculty” in the
American sense, that is, assistant professors
who may have been lecturers the year before
and who will work their way up to a full
professorship within the same department.
In practice, the distance between professors
and lecturers is very great and communica¬
tion is difficult and hedged about by formali¬
ties. The German language contributes to
the problem as well. People of higher rank
are always addressed as “Mister” or “Mrs.”
( Herr and Frau) plus the surname, or with
the formal form of “you” (Sie). This con¬
trasts with the American situation, where
full professors are typically on a first-name
basis with most of the staff, and sometimes
even with students.
The departmental structure and the ac¬
companying formalities have, inevitably, a
strong effect on the way programs are de¬
veloped and taught, because they tend to
impede direct consultation. Programs of
study are developed with minimal input from
the lecturers who may be doing the actual
teaching. There are few of the informal dis¬
cussions between high-ranking and low-
ranking instructors so frequent in American
colleges and universities, which often alert
administrators that a course of study is run¬
ning into trouble. Few German professors
have had the extensive experience teaching
lower-division courses, especially composi¬
tion, which fosters understanding of what a
composition teacher really faces in the class¬
room.
One of the new programs created by the
Giessen English Department is the “Foreign
Language English Major” (the actual name
has undergone several changes). This pro¬
gram, which went into effect shortly before
I began teaching at Giessen, is a response to
the declining market for English teachers in
Germany, the consequent threat of declining
enrollments in the English department, and
cuts in departmental funding and personnel.
The goal of the program is to train students
in English, a second foreign language, and
a subject such as economics or agricultural
science. After completing the program the
students are supposed to have the compe¬
tence to work for international corporations,
the government, airlines, etc. The program
has been criticized because the administra¬
tion had not determined whether there was
actually a demand for people with this kind
of specialty. Until now, however, there have
not been enough graduates from the program
to test the market.
An important part of this new foreign
language program is the “Intensive Course,”
a mini-course meeting three hours a day dur¬
ing the last two weeks of February, that is,
just after the formal end of the semester.
The exact content of this class is still being
debated. Some feel it should concentrate on
the spoken language, others believe it should
be a review of writing, translating, and read-
1982]
Brenzo— Teaching in Germany and America
91
ing as well as speaking; still others feel there
should be an extended written and oral ex¬
amination at the end to determine whether
students should be allowed to continue in
the program. This very basic question of
content has been complicated by the lack
of coordination between professors and lec¬
turers in planning the course. The expecta¬
tions of the professors have changed several
times, as have the testing procedures for the
course, and as a result, many instructors
have come to regard the course as a futile
exercise. Before I left, there were earnest
efforts on both sides to produce a sensible
course plan, but this was occuring only after
long delays. Ironically, most of the students
would benefit from a two-week immersion
in spoken English, as this is the area where
most of them are weakest.
I mention the difficulties with the Inten¬
sive Course because it was one of the most
unfortunate examples of the lack of com¬
munication among instructors and profes¬
sors. Without giving exhaustive details of
other controversies, I will simply state that
the lack of a forum for sitting down and
hashing out problems on a basis of equality
contributed to many of these conflicts. The
problem of reconciling the objectives of a
program with what can actually be done in
the classroom is a very familiar one on
American campuses. Many people in the
UWM English Department will recall the
confusion a few years ago when the College
of Letters and Sciences decided to require
that every student pass a test on grammar
and essay writing before he or she could be¬
come a junior. Nevertheless, once this policy
was decreed, the composition staff itself was
given the responsibility for developing a new
program to meet the requirement. Moreover,
the looser hierarchy of the typical American
academic department makes it easier to
thrash out these problems.
Compounding these difficulties is the fact
that bureaucrats in the Hessian educational
ministry have great power and sometimes
exercise it in unpredictable ways. This was
brought home to the entire staff several years
ago, when there was a sudden rumor that
lecturers’ teaching loads were about to be
increased to 24 hours per semester. Techni¬
cally, the loads are 16 hours, which works
out to six two-hour courses per week, the
other hours being accounted for by the inten¬
sive course and time spent grading the vari¬
ous examinations. However, some bureau¬
crat had noticed that, for salary purposes,
most language courses only counted one-half
(like laboratory courses in the United
States), meaning that lecturers might have
to put in as many as 24 classroom hours to
receive credit for 12 teaching hours. The
rationale behind this system was that lan¬
guage courses require little or no prepara¬
tion, an obvious absurdity to anyone who
has ever taught any language class. In the
course of discussions the University president
admitted that he thought language classes
consisted largely of rote drills from work¬
books. On this issue, both lecturers and
professors were united in their opposition,
and, as of this writing, course loads have
not been raised. However, the “half-credit”
rule is still the official standard for calculat¬
ing course loads.
The attitude toward pedagogical tech¬
nique shown by these rules suggests another
difference between American and German
universities. There is, I believe, less appre¬
ciation in Germany for the art and tech¬
nique of teaching than in the United States.
This may be a holdover from the days when
German universities were much more elite
and students were highly motivated and
more capable of learning on their own, re¬
gardless of whether the professors were
capable teachers. Now the universities have
more students who are there simply because
they do not know what else to do. Particu¬
larly in the English Department, there are
many students who need to do “catch-up”
work in writing, speaking, or translation. All
this requires that instructors think carefully
about how they teach, organize their classes
methodically, use a variety of techniques,
92
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
bring in films and tapes, and stay alert for
signs that students are bored or incompre-
hending. Especially in the area of language
and composition, Americans are continually
experimenting and exploring the “how” of
teaching. No one assumes that language
courses can be taught simply by means of
written or spoken drills taken from a book.
There is a growing awareness of this fact in
Germany as well, although respect for uni¬
versity pedagogy is still not as widespread
as in America.
The last few pages have been critical of
some practices at German universities. Let
me emphasize that the years I spent at the
Justus Liebig University were enjoyable and
rewarding. I made many friendships, learned
a great deal about teaching, and acquired
an admiration for my colleagues and my
students as well. My criticisms are not made
from an attitude of superiority but from a
sense of frustration that many capable peo¬
ple had so much difficulty communicating
and cooperating.
It was also a pleasure and a challenge to
instruct students with such solid training
behind them. Few of my colleagues had had
any experience teaching at an American
university, and they frequently groused
about the abilities of the German students.
I could never be as critical as they were.
Most college instructors in the United States
would envy the intelligence, ability, and mo¬
tivation of the students at Giessen. Although
I was teaching English as a foreign language,
I learned a great deal about teaching litera¬
ture and composition to native speakers as
well. Explaining the peculiarities of English
grammar and sentence structure to German
students forced me to consider why these
features had been bedeviling my American
students. I became a more sensitive, thor¬
ough teacher as a result. In addition, I was
able to counter or at least balance out some
of the German stereotypes about the United
States, while becoming aware of the German
point of view on other matters: their frustra¬
tion with our simplistic attitudes towards the
Soviet Union, their perception of our per¬
sonal shallowness, their disgust with the
cheapness of much of our culture, symbolized
for them by the MacDonald’s restaurants
proliferating across Germany. Still, many
Germans, even those who are anti-Ameri¬
can, are fascinated by the United States;
the harshest criticism of our country is often
the sign of a profound interest.
American universities have much to offer
those in Germany, especially in the areas of
course structure, registration, and teaching
technique, while Germany can show us the
value of high standards, the importance of
foreign language training, and the need for
solid high school instruction as a prepara¬
tion for college. Yet for all the differences
between the two systems, I came to realize
that some basic concerns are identical. The
problems of decision-making responsibility,
instructional freedom, and the sharing of
authority are common to universities in both
nations. Moreover, the financial crunch has
come at last to German schools. Everyone
is preoccupied with retaining teaching posi¬
tions, keeping up salary levels, maintaining
enrollments, fending off massive increases
in teaching loads, and trying to prove that
one’s own department is useful at a time of
high deficits and falling birth rates. Germany
and the United States can both take pride in
some aspects of their university systems. Yet
sometimes the issues of class scheduling,
course loads, even pedagogical methods and
authority seem minor in comparison to the
survival of the universities in anything like
their present form.
My experience in Germany helped me see
the strengths and weaknesses of the Ameri¬
can system more clearly. But ultimately, my
stay in Germany was valuable because it
showed me that certain problems are com¬
mon to all universities, perhaps even inher¬
ent in the very structure of a university. I
became a better teacher not only because of
what I learned in the classroom, but because
I deepened my understanding of the position
of universities in the 1980’s.
THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES: CLASSICAL MYTH
AND THE ALLEGORY OF REDEMPTION
Father Robert Earl
Holy Redeemer College
It is a commonplace in Hawthorne criti¬
cism that his works have been influenced by
such great English writers as Bunyan, Mil-
ton, and Spenser. Not much has been writ¬
ten, however, about ancient classic influ¬
ences on his art. No one seems to have been
sufficiently intrigued by the classical refer¬
ences in The House of the Seven Gables 1 to
analyze the book in terms of classical in¬
fluences. Perhaps the reason for this neglect
is that direct, patent references to the classics
are rare in the Hawthorne romances, In
The House there are only four. But this
sparing use of references is important be¬
cause it indicates that Hawthorne chose
carefully and did not employ them lightly.
Investigation of these references reveals that
three of the four come from The Aeneid,
which suggests that Virgil’s epic was either
one of Hawthorne’s favorite books, or that
it was simply much on his mind at the time
he wrote The House. Whichever conclusion
is correct, it seems only logical to look for
echoes of The Aeneid in The House.
Another reason for suspecting the influ¬
ence of the classics in The House is that
Hawthorne wrote two children’s books, The
Wonder Book (1851) and Tanglewood
Tales (1853), in which he retold the classic
myths of Greece and Rome. Shortly after
publishing The House, Hawthorne began
The Wonder Book and finished it in less
than two months.2 The manuscript, accord¬
ing to his son-in-law, has few corrections
and no extensive revisions. These facts give
evidence of familiarity with the myths and
indicate that they had occupied Hawthorne’s
mind for some time.3 The classical myths, it
would seem, were not only a part of Haw¬
thorne’s general cultural heritage, but con¬
scious objects of his art and thought during
the years of his greatest productivity. There¬
fore it does not seem unreasonable to specu¬
late about their influence on his fiction.
Even more important to any theorizing
about the influence of classical myth on
Hawthorne’s art is his statement about the
enduring value of myth and its use. In his
preface to The Wonder Book he states:
No epoch of time can claim a copyright
in these immortal fables. They seem never to
have been made; and certainly, so long as
man exists, they can never perish; but, by
their indestructibility itself, they are legiti¬
mate subjects for every age to clothe with
its own garniture of manners and sentiment,
and to imbue with its own morality.4
These words, written on July 15, 1851, not
long after the publication of The House of
the Seven Gables, are sufficient cause in
themselves for the curious critic to ask if,
beneath the “garniture of manners and sen¬
timent” of Hawthorne’s romance, there might
not be a myth.
The text of The House of the Seven Ga¬
bles, I believe, affords ample evidence that
echoes of The Aeneid are present in the ro¬
mance. Of the four direct references to clas¬
sical myth found in the book, the reference
to Midas5 in association with Judge Pynch-
eon is the only one not connected with The
Aeneid. The meaning of the reference is ob¬
vious and commonplace. The judge, like
Midas, is foolish in his greed. Hawthorne,
however, also associates the judge with an¬
other, more obscure legend, the myth of
Ixion. In the myth Ixion committed a mur¬
der but was pardoned by Zeus. Ixion then
became arrogant and even sought to win the
love of Hera. Zeus, therefore, formed a
phantom Hera from clouds to which Ixion
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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
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made love and boasted that he had won the
real Hera’s affection. Zeus finally condemned
Ixion to Hades where, tied to a wheel, he
must revolve endlessly. When Judge Pynch-
eon tried to kiss Phoebe and she instinctively
turns away, he is said to be “a modern
parallel to the case of Ixion embracing a
cloud, and was so much the more ridicu¬
lous. . . .”’6 In book six of The Aeneid (line
484) the hero, on his journey through the
Underworld, meets Ixion spinning on his
wheel of torture.
A third classical reference is associated
with Hepzibah. It occurs early in the book
and has no particular thematic value but
does indicate that Hawthorne had The
Aeneid in mind. As Hepzibah awaits her
first customers “her breast was a very cave
of Aeolus.”7 Aeolus is the god of the winds
and keeps them penned up in his cave where
they race about frantically until he lets them
loose on the earth. Aeolus figures promi¬
nently in the first book of The Aeneid (lines
52 through 141 ) .
The final direct classical reference is as¬
sociated with the Pyncheon elm, which is
certainly one of the main symbolic elements
in The House. Without detracting from the
common interpretation of the tree as the
cosmic force of nature straining to reclaim
for itself the artificial domain of the house,
I would like to suggest that the tree-symbol
contains still another level of meaning. Be¬
cause of other echoes of The Aeneid and
because of Hawthorne’s concern with myth
during this period of his life, I think the tree
can also be seen as a mythical tree found in
The Aeneid. In introducing us to the Pynch¬
eon elm, Hawthorne writes: “In front . . .
grew the Pyncheon elm, which, in reference
to such trees as one usually meets with,
might well be termed gigantic.”8 The rhe¬
toric here is strange enough to make one
think that Hawthorne is giving the reader
a clue that this elm is a very strange and
special tree. He does not simply compare
the elm and its size to other trees. He writes
“which, in reference to” as if to indicate that
we cannot really compare this tree to others,
but only make reference to it in relationship
to “such trees as we usually meet with.”
This may seem to be slight evidence for the
point I am going to make, but it becomes
significant in view of the final classical ref¬
erence. In the chapter “Alice’s Posies,”
Hawthorne describes the elm as it appeared
on the morning after the Judge Pyncheon’s
death.
This aged tree appeared to have suffered
nothing from the gale. It had kept its boughs
unshattered, and its full complement of
leaves; and the whole in perfect verdure, ex¬
cept a single branch, that, by the earlier
change with which the elm-tree sometimes
prophesies the autumn, had been transmuted
to a bright gold. It was like the golden
branch that gained Aeneas and the Sybil ad¬
mittance in Hades.
This one mystic branch hung down before
the main entrance of the Seven Gables so
nigh the ground that any passer-by might
have stood on tiptoe and plucked it off. Pre¬
sented at the door, it would have been a
symbol of his right to enter and be made ac¬
quainted with all the secrets in the house.9
Aeneas and the Sybil, referred to in this
passage, are found in the sixth book of The
Aeneid, the account of the hero’s journey
through the Underworld to visit his father.
The Golden Branch, which enables him to
pass unharmed through the Underworld, and
return to the land of the living, was taken,
not from an elm, but from a holm-oak.10
Hawthorne, of course, knew this but still
made the strange imagistic connection. He
did it, perhaps, because he wanted to clearly
associate the Pyncheon elm with that sixth
book of Virgil’s epic and the congeries of
images which that association would evoke.
For in that section of The Aeneid there is a
vast and shadowy elm beneath which Aeneas
and the Sybil, bearing their golden passport,
must travel. It stands in the ante-chamber
to Hades in front of the main entrance. False
1982]
Earl — The House of Seven Gables
95
dreams cling to all its branches. Beneath it
are the beds of Grief, Resentful Care, Ugly
Poverty, and Forlorn Old Age. Around it
lurk the Harpies, the Furies, and other mon¬
sters symbolic of guilt, evil, and pursuing
Fate (LL. 263-289).
The Pyncheon elm is meant to be asso¬
ciated with this mythic tree. It towers over
the house “sweeping the whole black roof
with its pendent foliage.” Beneath its leaves
dwell Hepzibah and Clifford, forlorn in their
old age, victimized by false dreams, threat¬
ened by ugly poverty, torn by resentful care,
and haunted by evil. In the shadow of the elm
stands the main entrance to the house, the
passport to which is the golden branch. Con¬
sidering these parallels between the Pynch¬
eon elm and Virgil’s Underground with its
mythic elm, it seems logical that the house
can be seen as Hades, or at least its ante¬
chamber with all its attendant miseries.
The house is also described as a human
heart because so much of mankind’s varied
experience has passed there, “so much had
been suffered, and something, too, enjoyed —
that the very timbers were oozy, as with the
moisture of a heart. It was itself like a great
human heart, with a life of its own, and full
of rich and sombre reminiscences.”11
In another context the house is said to be
the emblem of many a human heart that is
surrounded by the roar of life but is itself
gloomy and desolate.12 The outward imagery
of the house reflects the somber inward state
of its old inhabitants’ hearts. Hepzibah’s
heart is a dungeon in which joy lies en¬
chained.13 Clifford is a material ghost, a dark
and ruinous mansion in which the heart’s
hearth-fire is cold and the light of intellect
darkened.14 Both are prisoners of the house,
ghosts doomed to haunt it; and they cannot
even follow Phoebe to church.15 But, the au¬
thorial voice makes clear, the prison-house
simply reflects the fact that no “dungeon is
so dark as one’s heart” and no “jailor so
inexorable as one’s self.”16 Hepzibah and
Clifford are Shades who dwell in a twilight
Hades, and their exile from life can never
be ended until their hearts can be exorcised.
They must be freed from the terrors that
bind their own hearts.
Hawthorne once described the human
condition in terms of the human heart visual¬
ized as a dark cavern.
At the entrance there is sunshine, and
flowers growing about it. You step within,
but a short distance, and begin to find your¬
self surrounded with a terrible gloom, and
monsters of diverse kinds; it seems like Hell
itself. You are bewildered, and wander long
without hope. At last a light strikes upon
you. You peep towards it, and find yourself
in a region that seems, in some sort, to re¬
produce the flowers and sunny beauty of the
entrance, but all perfect. These are the
depths of the heart, or of human nature,
bright and peaceful; the gloom and terror
may lie deep; but deeper still is the eternal
beauty.17
The problem of human life is to get beyond
the depths where gloom and terror lie, to
break out of the private hell of the human
heart chained by its own obsession with evil.
Clifford and Hepzibah cannot escape be¬
cause they have inherited the burden of the
Pyncheon past and have been absorbed into
the life of the house with its reiterated pat¬
tern of “perpetual remorse of conscience, a
constantly defeated hope, strife amongst
kindred, various misery, a strange form of
death, dark suspicion, unspeakable dis¬
grace.”18 This psychological, moral, spiritual
trap, embodied in the hell of the great heart-
house and its inhabitants’ imprisoned hearts,
is Hawthorne’s poetic statement of the prob¬
lem of evil. His solution, at least in The
House of the Seven Gables, is his poetic
statement of the mode of human redemption.
For Hawthorne there is no cosmic, social
or religious scheme that will solve this prob¬
lem of evil. “Earth’s Holocaust” rejects such
schemes, and Hawthorne’s conclusion in that
sketch is: “Purify that inward sphere [the
human heart], and the many shapes of evil
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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
that haunt the outward, and which now seem
almost our only realities, will turn to sha¬
dowy phantoms and vanish of their own ac¬
cord. . . .”19 There is no cosmic human heart
to be purified, and so redemption must come
to each individual through the gift of human
love. Hawthorne’s theory is based on his
one great emotional experience, giving him¬
self in love to Sophia Peabody. In knowing
himself to be the object of her love, he felt
such an acute awareness of being freed
from the prison of himself that he wrote,
with a fervor rare for him, “We are not en¬
dowed with real life . . . till the heart is
touched. That touch creates us, — then we
begin to be.”20 Out of this deep, real-life
experience grew Hawthorne’s conviction that
the work of redemption, the work of Christ
himself, belonged to women because of
woman’s greater tenderness and ability to
touch other hearts with her love. In The
Blithedale Romance Coverdale states:
Heaven grant that the ministry of souls
may be left in charge of women . . . God
meant it for her. He has endowed her with
the religious sentiment its utmost depth and
purity, refined from that gross, intellectual
alloy with which every masculine theologist
— save only One, who merely veiled himself
in mortal and masculine shape, but was in
truth, divine — has been prone to mingle it.21
Coverdale goes on to cite the Virgin Mother
as an example of how divine love can be
more fittingly received by mankind since it
is filtered through the medium of a woman’s
tenderness.22 In The Scarlet Letter Haw¬
thorne introduces the same theme again
when he writes that “The angel and apostle
of the coming revelation must be a woman
indeed, but lofty, pure, and beautiful . . .
the ethereal medium of joy . . . showing how
sacred love should make us happy. . . .”23
Hawthorne’s redeemer is a woman, and the
grace she brings is her ability to love.
When composing The House of the Seven
Gables, his most obvious allegory of redemp¬
tion, Hawthorne faced a gigantic problem.
He had to redeem Clifford and Hepzibah
and exorcise the house. But his Puritan
conscience would not allow him to create a
female Christ24 nor could he “impale the
story with its moral as with an iron rod.”25
He made his female redeemer a pagan god¬
dess, a source of life and fertility.
In creating Phoebe as the redeemer-figure
of The House, Hawthorne wisely chose her
name. The Phoebe of mythology was a late¬
comer to the mythological scene. Conse¬
quently she was identified with many other
goddesses. One of these was Proserpina,
part-time goddess of fertility and young
maidenhood, and part-time Queen of Ha¬
des. 2Q Though gloomy Pluto’s partner in
ruling the dead, Proserpina seems to have
been a benign influence in the dread king¬
dom of Hades. The Golden Branch of The
Aeneid, for example, is Proserpina’s priv¬
ileged passport for heroes, plucked from her
sacred grove and brought to her in the Un¬
derworld as a gift. (Bk, VI, LI. 139-42) In
Hawthorne’s version of the Prosperpina
myth27 the goddess is an even more benign
figure. Abducted by Pluto and imprisoned in
the Underworld, the child goddess of sun¬
shine and flowers carried nature and sunlight
with her to the dark kingdom. As she walked
through Pluto’s palace, the eternal gloom
fled before her. She so warmed the hearts
of the King and all his subjects that the dark
kingdom was never the same again.
The parallels between Phoebe of The
House and the child goddess of sunshine
and flowers, who brings light and warmth
to the Underworld, are unmistakable. When
Phoebe comes to the house of the Seven
Gables, she stands in the shadow of the
mythic elm before the house’s “antique
portal” and we are told:
The sordid and ugly luxuriance of gigantic
weeds that grew in the angle of the house,
and the heavy projection that overshadowed
her, and the time-worn framework of the
door, — none of these things belonged to her
sphere. But, even as a ray of sunshine, fall
1982]
Earl — The House of Seven Gables
91
into what dismal place it may, instantane¬
ously creates for itself a propriety in being
there, so did it seem altogether fit that the
girl should be standing at the threshold.28
Phoebe spends one night in a musty, long-
unused bedroom and her mere presence ex¬
orcises the gloom and purifies it of all former
sorrow and evil.29 Clifford immediately sees
Phoebe as the essence of sunshine and flow¬
ers in a much more agreeable form of mani¬
festation.30 The old house itself, the Hades-
like prison, is changed by Phoebe’s presence.
From the time of her appearance in the
house the grime and sordidness of the old
dungeon seemed to disappear. The dry-rot of
its timber skeleton ceases its gnawing pro¬
cess. The shadows of gloomy events and the
scent of death yield to the power of her pres¬
ence.31 As the house, which objectifies the
inward state of its aged inhabitants’ hearts,
yields to the young “goddess’s” influence,
the hearts of the old people also begin to
open. Joy escapes the chains around Hep-
zibah’s heart.32 Clifford, from her presence,
breathes in harmonious life.33 Phoebe is also
angel,34 a prayer,35 a religion in herself,36 the
ideal woman,37 exorcising evil from house
and heart.
When she is about to leave, both Holgrave
and Venner tell her that she is the source of
all blessings.38 When she has gone, evil and
gloom creep back into the dark realm of the
house. Weeds overtake the garden around
the house and all living creatures forsake the
garden.39 The Grimalkin waits on the win¬
dow sill like a devil waiting to clutch a hu¬
man soul.40 Judge Pyncheon enters the house
with his evil scheme. Death follows in his
footsteps, and the old people are gripped in
terror.
Just as evil had closed in on the house
when Phoebe departed, it must flee as she
approaches again. During her absence of
five days nature had been unkind. The sun
had refused to shine. But the young nature
goddess’s return, heralded by the appearance
of the golden branch, is a signal for nature
to make amends. The sky puts on an aspect
of benediction and the street is genial with
sunshine. “Vegetable productions, of what¬
ever kind, seemed more than negatively
happy, in the juicy warmth and abundance
of their life.”41 Even the old house seems to
have gained a kind of familiarity and sister¬
hood with this renewed luxuriance of nature.
When Phoebe arrives and enters the garden,
the demon-like Grimalkin flees before her.
The garden, devoid of all other living things,
suddenly becomes alive with the Pyncheon
fowl.42
Before Phoebe enters the house, Haw¬
thorne, as if to make sure that the reader
will not miss the point of his imagery, asks
if “her healthful presence” is “Potent enough
to chase away the crowd of pale, hideous,
and sinful phantoms, that have gained ad¬
mittance there since her departure.”43 Within
the house broods the corpse of Judge Pynch¬
eon, symbol of generations of accumulated
evil. Fortuitous as his death may seem, it
too is connected with Phoebe. She, the
golden branch of the Pyncheon family, and
also the goddess-redeemer of the old Hades-
house, was absent when he forced his way
into the Underworld. But he who enters the
Underworld without the protection of the
golden branch can never exit. Like Ixion
chasing the phantom Hera, the judge has
pursued the phantom Pyncheon fortune.
Like Ixion he received a fitting punishment
and died in the old oaken chair in which so
many other stern Pyncheon masters had
hugged the same delusion. It remains for
Phoebe to exorcise the aura of gloom with
which his presence fills the house. When
Phoebe enters the house and meets Hol¬
grave, the descendent of old Maule gives us
the answer to Hawthorne’s question about
the effect of Phoebe’s redemptive presence.
Could you but know, Phoebe, how it was
with me the hour before you came! . . . The
presence of yonder dead man threw a great
black shadow over everything; he made the
universe ... a scene of guilt and of retri-
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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
bution more dreadful than the guilt. . . . The
world looked strange, wild, evil, hostile; my
past life, so lonesome and dreary; my future,
a shapeless gloom, which must mold into
gloomy shapes! But, Phoebe, you crossed the
threshold; and hope, warmth, and joy came
in with you.44
Because of Phoebe’s presence, the final
remnants of evil have been exorcised from
the old house and when Clifford and Hepzi-
bah return, filled with dread, they too are
released from their burden of gloom by her
simple, loving presence. The allegory of re¬
demption is complete.
Notes
1 For the sake of brevity the title is often ab¬
breviated to The House. All references to Haw¬
thorne’s works are to the tenth Riverside edition of
The Complete Works of Nathaniel Hawthorne, 12
vols. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin & Co., 1883). Doc¬
umentation in this text will be to volumes and
pages in this edition.
2 Works , Vol. IV, p. 10.
3 Ibid., p. 11.
4 Ibid, p. 13.
5 Works, Vol. Ill, p. 77.
G Ibid., p. 145.
7 Ibid., p. 53.
8 Ibid., p. 43.
3 Ibid., p. 337.
10 Virgil, The Aeneid, translated by H. Rushton
Fairelough. (The Loeb Classical Library, no. 63.)
(Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1967),
Book VI, line 209.
11 Works, Vol. Ill, pp. 42-43
12 Ibid., p. 348.
13 Ibid., p. 127.
14 Ibid., p. 131.
15 Ibid., p. 204.
10 Log. cit.
17 Nathaniel Hawthorne, The American Note¬
books, ed. Randall Stewart (New Haven: Yale
University Press, 1932), p. 98.
18 Works, Vol. Ill, p. 222.
19 Works, Vol. II, p. 455.
20 Works, Vol. IX, p. 223.
21 Works, Vol. V, p. 458.
22 Log. cit.
23 Ibid., p. 311.
24 Jean Norman, Nathaniel Hawthorne: An ap¬
proach to an Analysis of Artistic Creation, trans.
from the French by Derek Coltman (Cleveland
and London: Case Western Reserve University
Press, 1970), p. 208.
25 Works, Vol. Ill, pp. 14-15.
2(5 Oskar Seyffert, Dictionary of Classical Antiqui¬
ties, ed. and rev. by Henry Nettleship and J. E.
Sandys (New York: Meridian Books, 1957). cf.
entries, Artemis, Diana, Persephone, Phoebe, Pro¬
serpina.
27 Works, Vol. IV, pp. 341-378.
28 Works, Vol. Ill, pp. 90-91.
20 Ibid., p. 95.
30 Ibid., p. 135.
81 Ibid., p. 166.
32 Ibid., p. 127.
33 Ibid., p. 172.
3iIbid., p. 106.
35 Ibid., p. 202.
36 Ibid., p. 202.
37 Ibid., p. 171.
38 Ibid., p. 257 (Holgrave) and p. 264 (Venner).
39 Ibid., p. 295.
40 Ibid., p. 332.
41 Ibid., p. 336.
*2lbid., p. 353.
“Ibid., p. 351.
44 Ibid., p. 362.
THE VORTEX OF TIME: POUND AND HIS CANTOS
Elizabeth Williams
Department of English
University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee
One of the most revolutionary concepts
implicit in The Cantos of Ezra Pound is the
configuration of time as a spinning gyre: a
VORTEX. The image of a vortex is an
ancient one, but in Pound’s era it began to
crop up more frequently as a kind of gen¬
erator to make things happen in art, hence
the “Vorticist” movement. It was a situation
of Vortex vs. Vulgarity. At least this is the
twist Yeats gave to the matter when he said
that “great art, now that vulgarity has armed
itself and multiplied itself, is perhaps dead in
England.”1 Yeats’s concept of the vortex,
inherited from Empedocles and conditioned
by Blake, is a paradigm of intersecting vor¬
tices (cones), one within the other, turning
in opposite directions. This paradigm sig¬
nifies a contradiction of opposites (Concord/
Discord, Objectivity/Subjectivity, Primary/
Antithetical).2 Pound’s concept of vortex,
however, is more complicated. A single cone
or series of cones (vortices) arranged cir¬
cularly or linearly, depending on one’s point
of reference, seems to be the best model.
Time is a VORTEX, or series of vortices
joined by a single axis, the base of each vor¬
tex being a supreme concentration of energy,
a point of Infinite Density, which sets into
motion ever-widening circles of energy which
become entropic at their widest circumfer¬
ence: the principle of convergence and dis¬
sipation.
Energy was a key word for the Vorticists.
A favorite text of Pound’s was The New
Word, in which its author Allen Upward
speaks of the double vortex as a waterspout
expressing “the true beat of strength, the
first beat . . . which we feel in all things that
come within our measure, in ourselves, and
in our starry world.”3 In his Essays Pound
insisted that energy is the motive force of
art and “the point of maximum energy may
be called the vortex.”4
Time as process is linked to continuous
shaping and unshaping, forming and deform¬
ing patterns. Under this rubric of energy,
matter is “Irritable and unstable, /Is formed,
is destroyed, /Recomposes to be once more
decomposed . . .” (Canto 37).5> Pound’s
understanding of creative energy combined
with the principle of the instability of mat¬
ter led him to search for new patterns in
the making of poetry. His openness to the
non-literary arts, particularly sculpture and
painting, allowed him to incorporate the
ideas of such artists as Gaudier-Brzeska,
Wyndham Lewis, and Brancusi, in his own
work.6 Cubism, anti-naturalism, and possibly
futurism7 were more than catch words for
Pound; they were working principles to be
transposed into poetry — “(to break the pen¬
tameter, that was the first heave)” (Canto
81) — in order to break up traditional poetic
grammar with its logical connections and
parallelisms. It was a credo of the Vorticists
to juxtapose images which do not coincide
in the perceptual world to keep their art
from becoming adversely mimetic, and to
uncover the truth in appearances. The
sources of the poem are found in the shapes
and sounds of the world, they become ener¬
gized in the vortex of the poet’s mind, and
they are given back to the world as “pat¬
terned messages.”
Whether or not these patterned messages
are “true” messages, or “good” art time will
reveal. Time as a revelatory medium is the
arbitrator of truth and the discoverer of
good. When a poem reports the truth, it
stands a chance of being considered good art,
in time, whereas bad art is “inaccurate art.”
It makes “false reports” about existence.8
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Yeats's vortex:
Pound's vortex:
Historical
Time Line
Only poems which have enduring value are
carried through the vortex of time. Only
poems which transcend the time in which
they were created give a sense of freedom
from time/space limitations. We may go as
far as to say with one contemporary poet,
Octavio Paz, that “the poem is a means of
access to pure time, an immersion in the
original waters of existence. Poetry is noth¬
ing but time, rhythm perpetually creative.”9
The vortex of time, as both idea and im¬
age, permits the interpenetration of past, pres¬
ent, and future as given in the data of con¬
sciousness, and it accommodates the Berg-
sonian notions of duration and intensity.
“We do not know the past in chronological
sequence . . . what we know we know by
ripples and spirals eddying out from us and
from our own time,” Pound says, confirm¬
ing the configuration.10 When the flux of
time — Heraclitean flow — is perceived both
linearly and circularly, “messages” from re¬
corded history, and the historical process
itself, exert immense pressure on the creation
of a literary text, even to the extreme of
becoming, in Pound’s case, a philosophical
and structural principle. Being-in-the-world
means being fixed in a historical time
through birth/death and being unfixed by
the waves of the past and thrust toward the
future. Heidegger says, “Each man is in each
instance in dialogue with his forebears and
perhaps even more and in a more hidden
manner with those who will come after
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Williams — Pound and His Cantos
101
him.”11 Pound, perhaps, would not deny this
supposition, for he sought to make his Can¬
tos a kind of secular Bible to instruct his
own and future generations in aesthetic,
ethical, political and economic conduct. He
believed that humankind neither progresses
nor regresses — though he did entertain uto¬
pian dreams — but experiences periods of
high-energy levels that correspond to what
he called “The Great Ages of Kulchur.”12
While it is relatively easy to agree with
Pound’s thesis on the relationship of energy
to art, and even his concept of high and low
creative periods, it is more difficult to accept
his judgment as to what constitutes a great
age of culture. Pound had an obvious need
to shore himself up with the Myth of Utopia,
to cling to the notion of a dream society
wherein beauty, order, harmony and good
will are inviolable. So it was that he selected
certain epochs for eulogization, epochs which
signified for him not only the flourishing of
great art, but also harmonious relationships
between man and nature, between just words
and moral action (“Get the mot just before
action” — Canto 85), between polity and
economy. The epochs of “the Gods,” of
ancient Egypt, of certain Chinese Dynasties,
of Homer’s Greece, of Quattrocento art, and
Jefferson and Adams’ America, to name the
most striking examples, were imbued with
this utopian gloss, and chosen to be trans¬
mitted, through poetic text, as paradigmatic
societies.
Pound’s vision is highly personal and un¬
mediated by empiricism. All the intercultural
borrowings are governed by the boundaries
of his aesthetic and socio-economic taste:
“I have seen what I have seen” (Canto 1),
he says in the persona of Odysseus, his
literary alter-ego. Yet, a quest for a personal
truth with a possible universal application
shines through this Pound-Odysseus linkage.
In this quest — questioning? — transformed
into text, Pound sees himself engaged in the
practice of “weaving an endless sentence,”
that is, a sentence that never resolves itself,
a perpetually spinning gyre (the vortex of
time), a continual questioning, and a
“knocking at empty rooms, seeking for
buried beauty” (Canto 7). His engagement
carries echoes of the divine injunction, “Ask
. . . seek . . . knock” (Matthew 7:7). We
could say, figuratively, that in the process of
writing his Cantos, Pound went about knock¬
ing on doors of rooms which contained seg¬
ments of former civilizations, in order to
recoup those elements of the tradition which
were still viable for contemporary and fu¬
ture life. Rooms which rendered buried
beauty were restored, since “tradition is a
beauty which we preserve and not a set of
fetters to bind us,”13 and rooms which
emitted mildew and “old men’s voices” were
sealed off with ridicule.
It is time to listen to the text. Light and
water are the two elements necessary for
creation, i.e., the creative act. The funda¬
mental model is given in Genesis 1:2-3:
“. . . the Spirit of God moved upon the
face of the waters. And God said, “Let there
be light.” Pound speaks of an a priori light,
in the infinite domain of pre-life:
Gods float in the azure air,
Bright gods and Tuscan, back before dew
was shed.
Light: and the first light,
before ever dew was fallen.
(Canton 3)
The “first light” is the point of Infinite Den¬
sity, the dynamic concentration of energy,
“the white light that is allness” (Canto 36),
emanation before differentiation. It is the
“light that sings eternal” (Canto 115) —
timeless, but not static. It is erratic light,
spinning in the center of the vortex. Then,
light and water join to create life — “rain also
is part of the process” (Canto 74). While
Pound does not specifically associate light
with the masculine principle and water with
the feminine principle — he does present
Aphrodite, the feminine symbol of erotic
energy and transformation, in association
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with some form of water, such as cloud or
“tide’s change.”
“I am the torch” wrote Arthur “she saith”
in the moon barge |3Qo8o5d>cYm]og Hwg
[rosy-fingered Dawn]
with the veil of faint cloud before her
[Aphrodite] Ku@r]Qa§sAva as a leaf borne
in the current/ pale eyes as if without fire
(Canto 80) 14
In the above passage, torch(light), moon
(light), and dawn(light) are carried in the
divine form of Aphrodite who moves across
the water, veiled with faint cloud, direction¬
less as a leaf on the water. She is a symbol
of creative power which is unwilled and
natural, without artifice. Notice that both
light and water are conjoined in her, yet her
light is pale: the “torch” is diffused by the
cloud before it; the moon is a weak light in
comparison with the sun; the light of dawn
is fainter than the light of midday. Her “pale
eyes as if without fire” also suggest that her
“fire” is tempered with water so as not to
turn destructive — as in the sacrificial pyres,
firearms and artillery, hellfire, and “cigar-
butts” of the “monopolists, obstructors of
knowledge” (Canto 14) and other manifes¬
tations of the fire-that-destroys found
throughout the Cantos.
In the same way that Aphrodite contains
both creative elements within herself, the
great civilizations are depicted with an inter¬
play of light and water:
and North was Egypt
the celestial Nile, blue deep,
cutting low barren land
Old men and camels
working the water wheels;
Measureless seas and stars,
Iamblichus’ light,
the souls ascending . . .
(Canto 5)
Clarity of form (the Nile cutting through the
land), fecundity (the Nile), unity of man
and nature (men and camels), work for
one’s own sake and not for power over
others (working the water wheels), and the
absence of calculation (measureless seas and
stars) are the components of a sane society,
in Pound’s opinion. His rosy view of Egyp¬
tian civilization was partially conditioned by
his friend, Gaudier-Brzeska, who called
Egypt one of “the three primary civiliza¬
tions”: “The hamite vortex of Egypt, the
land of plenty — ”15
Pound and Gaudier-Brzeska are also in
agreement regarding the convergence of
energy in the Age of the Five Rulers and
the Hsia Dynasty and its eventual dissipation
in the lesser dynasties of Han, T’ang, and
Ming.
Gaudier-Brzeska’s text:
The blackhaired men who wandered
through the pass of Khotan into the val¬
ley of the Yellow River lived peacefully
tilling their lands, and they grew prosper¬
ous.
Their paleolithic feeling was intensified.
As gods they had themselves in the per¬
sons of their human ancestors — and of the
spirits of the horse and of the land and the
grain.
The sphere swayed .
The vortex was absolute.
The Shang and Chow dynasties pro¬
duced the convex bronze vases. . . .
The vortex was intense maturity. Ma¬
turity is fecundity — they grew numerous
and it lasted for six thousand years.
The force relapsed and they accumu¬
lated wealth, forsook their work, and after
losing their form-understanding through
the Han and T’ang dynasties, they
founded the Ming and found artistic ruin
and sterility.16
Pound’s text:
YAO like the sun and rain,
saw what star is at solstice
saw what star marks midsummer
YU, leader of waters,
black earth is fertile, wild silk still is
from Shantung
(Canto 53)
1982]
Williams — Pound and His Cantos
103
YAO, CHUN, YU controller of waters
Bridge builders, contrivers of roads
gave grain to the people
kept down the taxes
(Canto 56)
Exchange brought abundance,
the prisons were empty.
‘Yao and Chun have returned’
sang the farmers
‘Peace and abundance bring virtue.’ I am
‘pro-Tcheou’ said Confucious five cen¬
turies later,
With his mind on this age.
(Canto 53)
YAO and CHUN (Age of Five Rulers) and
YU (Hsia Dynasty) rule societies charac¬
terized by creative thought, civil order, high
productivity in the labor force, and the ab¬
sence of exploitation and usury. Peace and
harmony in the State were revered, but
Then came little dynasties, came by mur¬
der, by treason,
with/ the Prince of Tqln rising
Thus came Tqln into Empire
called themselves later TANG
hunters and jongleurs. Comedians were
the king’s eyes
but unstable.
Dry spring, a dry summer
locusts and rain in autumn
and beyond that, lack of specie
tax collectors inhuman.
(Canto 55/292)
Came Ming slowly, a thousand, an hun¬
dred thousand
the pirate Kouetchin came to him
At court, eunuchs and grafters
(Canto 56)
and south Ming had to fear more from
rottenness inside
than from the Manchu north and
north east.
(Canto 58)
We can begin to see, in the dissolution of
the Chinese dynasties, that what Pound was
seeking, in his long trek through the vortices
of time, was ever eluding him. “Totalitarian”
vision, the holistic dream, paradise on earth,
is a mirage which flashes enticingly on the
horizon of the mind. The patterns of verse
in the later cantos become more fragmented
as Pound strives to adjust his desire for
wholeness with historical facticity:
Le Paradis n’est artificiel
but it is jagged,
For a flash
for an hour.
Then agony, then an hour,
then agony,
Hilary stumbles, but the Divine Mind is
abundant
unceasing
improvisatore
Omniformis
unstill;
(Canto 92)
At best, he could present in his poetry those
“hours of history” which seemed to him
most closely linked with the abundance of
Divine Mind, as a counterthrust to his per¬
ception of sterility and fragmentation in his
own time.
“God is concentrated attention; a work
of art is someone’s act of attention, evoking
ours,”17 and so Pound directs our attention
to Homer’s Greece, to reestablish the impor¬
tance of erotic energy and fecundity.
Scilla’s dogs snarl at the cliff’s base,
The white teeth gnaw in under the crag,
But in the pale night the small lamps float
seaward
The sea is streaked red with Adonis,
The lights flicker red in small jars,
Wheat shoots rise new by the altar,
flower from the swift seed.
(Canto 47)
Despite the bestiality and violence all around
(Scilla’s dogs), requiring the sacrifice of
Adonis, the conjunction of light and water,
in the small lamps floating seaward, gives
rise to new life. The act of plowing is neces-
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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
sary, not only for planting the land — “Two
oxen are yoked for plowing” (Canto 47) —
but also for sexual planting, which is a form
of organic renewal.
By prong have I entered these hills:
That the grass grow from my body,
That I hear the roots speaking together,
The air is new on my leaf . . . (Canto 47)
The instruction to “Think thus of thy
plowing” in Canto 47 is not given to satisfy
technological purposes or hedonistic needs.
It is to remind us of our deep rootedness in
nature and our interconnection with all
forms of being, a divine vision advanced
throughout the canto by the poet’s “naming”
of the gods. Pound evokes the divine names
of Prosperine, Tamuz, Adonis and Tellus,
divinities of fertility and sacrifice, over
against the preponderance of scientific and
rational thought governing 20th-century be¬
havior. He seems to say that in our reliance
on scientific knowledge, our confidence in a
power no higher than ourselves, we run the
risk of “knowing less than drugged beasts,”
the risk of our own extinction. The exclama¬
tory naming of the gods and the ecstatic
atmosphere of the canto jars us into a way
of knowing that is both sexual and spiritual:
“The light has entered the cave. Io! Io!/
The light has gone down into the cave,/
Splendour on splendour!” (Canto 47). The
light in the cave symbolizes, first, the union
of man/woman, a holy microcosm (“sac¬
rum, sacrum, inluminatio coitu” — Canto 36)
within a holistic macrocosm (in contrast to
the eunuchs who represent de-holification),
and secondly, Platonic enlightenment, knowl¬
edge of things as they are in totality. The
healing power for a broken world resides
both in human nature and in transcendent
nature:
KAI MOIRAF ADONIN
that hath the gift of healing,
that hath the power over wild beasts.
(Canto 47)
At this nearly half-way mark in the Can¬
tos, Pound has enlarged his quest by moving
out of the corridor of culture, with its many
diversified “rooms,” into the natural world,
into the space where “the roots are speaking
together.” Yet, in order for him to experi¬
ence the “truth” of nature, “First must thou
go the road/ to hell” (Canto 47). On this
road to hell, the poet comes face to face
with the knowledge that man cannot dwell
as a “root,” that he cannot step outside his
own awareness of himself as a self, and exist
“unknowingly.” Also on this road to hell,
the poet comes to realize that the gods come
and go, even if, paradoxically, they are al-
ways-there.
The hells move in cycles,
No man can see his own end.
The Gods have not returned. “They have
never left us.”
They have not returned.
(Canto 113/ 787)
Man is “sentenced” to exist between nature
and divinity, and the tension of this “be¬
tweenness” often produces overwhelming
anxiety. The poet in an anxious state can
no longer hear the voices of the gods and
the voices of nature, as he could previously:
Through all the wood, and the leaves are
full of voices,
A-whisper, and the clouds bowe over the
lake,
And there are gods upon them,
(Canto 3/11)
nor can he enter the “rooms of culture” to
find redress, since anxiety tends to be a-
historical in that it obliterates all that is not
anxious. This is the state Pound is describ¬
ing when he says
no Empire handle
Twists for the knocker’s fall, no voice to
answer.
Damn the partition! Paper, dark brown
and stretched,
Flimsy and damned partition.
lone, dead the long year
My lintel, and Liu Ch’e’s lintel.
Time blacked out with the rubber.
(Canto 7/25)
Anxiety is the barrier, the “flimsy and
damned partition” that separates the poet
1982]
Williams — Pound and His Cantos
105
from the presence of the gods, from the
speaking voices of nature, and from the
messages of history. The “Time” that is
“blacked out” is organic and historical time,
upon which all enduring poetry is structured.
All that remains is clock-ticking time, which
Heidegger calls “ravenous time,”18 which
Pound calls “the evil Evil/A day, and a day”
(Canto 30/147). When “(Clock-tick pierces
the vision)” — (Canto 5/18) the poet be¬
comes so disordered and displaced that he
can no longer see with clarity, or hear the
totality of mediations. He characteristically
views the world with dis-trust.
To understand Pound’s eventual break¬
down, we must rid ourselves of the notion
of nature as a balanced system. Artemis,
who appears sporadically in The Cantos, is
the goddess of the hunt and of nature. In
Canto 30, she sings a song against pity:
Pity causeth the forests to fail.
Pity slayeth my nymphs,
Pity spareth so many an evil thing.
Pity befouleth April,
Pity is the root and the spring.
Now if no fayre creature followeth me
It is on account of Pity,
It is on account that Pity forbideth them
slaye.
All things are made foul in this season.
This is the reason, none may seek purity
Having for foulnesse pity
And things growne awry;
No more do my shaftes fly
To slay. Nothing is now clean slayne
But rotteth away.
(Canto 30/147)
Pity is, essentially, failure of will. It is false
sentiment for that which should be cut away,
the emotion which prevents man from acting
ruthlessly to rectify wrongs. Pity is the desire
for comfort and consolation at the expense
of truth. Pity operates in a context of clock¬
time or mechanical time, in the dull regu¬
larity of “a day and a day,” forgetful of or¬
ganic time. Those who are susceptible to
pity have impaired vision, in that they refuse
to see ruthlessness in nature itself, which
allows for seasonal change. Daniel Pearlman,
in his interpretation of Canto 30, gives lip
service to the need for ruthlessness in man,
yet, curiously, he sees nature as otherwise.
He claims Artemis “is symbolic of the self-
regulatory principle in nature, the ecological
balance by which nature maintains itself in
a sort of timeless perfection.”19 This “rea¬
sonable” view of nature is not Pound’s view
at all. Throughout The Cantos nature is
depicted dynamically as fertility, force, en¬
ergy, the continual upheaval of life-forms,
the surging of seas, storms, earthquakes, the
slaying of beasts and men: alternating con¬
struction and deconstruction. Nature is, by
its very nature, imbalanced.
Though Pound, in the beginning, desired
to create a work of “timeless perfection,”
approximating the ordered harmony of a
Bach fugue or Dante’s Divine Comedy,20 in
the course of his lifetime, which paralleled
the creation of The Cantos, his lifework, he
encountered such a turmoil of new ideas
and creative strife, that he had to give up
his first desire, lest he make a “false report.”
He was ahead of his time in his willingness
to see truth emerging as relative and uncer¬
tain, and nature as disruptive and disjunct.
Jungle:
Glaze green and red feathers, jungle,
Basis of renewal, renewals:
Rising over the soul, green virid, of the
jungle.
Lozenge of the pavement, clear shapes,
Broken, disrupted, body eternal . . .
(Canto 20)
Always Pound was “Willing man look
into that formed trace in his mind/ and with
such uneasiness as rouseth the flame”
(Canto 36). The disjunctive and fragmen¬
tary patterns of verse in the Cantos mirror
the process of nature and the breakdown of
civilizations as Pound actually conceived
them. But it is clear that his willingness to
confront the world “wide-open” drove him
toward such mental disorder that he had to
search again for an idea of order, hence his
misguided move towards Mussolini.
The tragedy of Pound lies in the fact that
he did not recognize he had lost the poetic
totality of mediations. He entered into a
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[Vol. 70
period of dis-trust, instead of breaking
vision, i.e., the ability to see and hear
through the barrier of his anxiety, which was
“Paper, dark brown and stretched,” that is,
a “paper tiger,” dangerous to life, but de-
featable. He chose to speak with an evil and
ravenous tongue as a means of combatting
anxiety. Specifically, he used the Jews as a
scapegoat, epoused the destructive totali¬
tarianism of Mussolini, and finally, blamed
his friends for the failing of his creative
energy — “Their asperities diverted me in my
green time” (Canto 115). Nor could he
understand why those messages which had
risen out of his deep frustration were not
tolerated.
in short/ the descent
has not been of advantage either
to the Senate or to “society”
or to the people
(Canto 83)
As I have indicated, it is the poet’s mis¬
sion to bring the messages of the gods, and
of nature, to the people, to con-verse with
the people,
Sd Mr. Yeats (W.B.) “Nothing affects
these people
Except our conversation.
(Canto 83)
But the poet who has lost a holistic vision
of the world, who succumbs to distrust of
and alienation from the people, is the poet
who should remain silent. “Tempus lo-
quendi,/ Tempus tacendi” (Canto 31).
Pound’s most redeeming moment came near
the end of his life when he questioned where
he had “gone wrong? What had been his
root error? That stupid, suburban anti-
semitic prejudice?’ ”21
Pound suffered, in the vortex of time, the
dissipation of creative energy, the mental
entropy, the “beclouding” leading to sec¬
tarianism and obscurantism, common to
most sentient beings. We can emphathize
and learn from his sufferings, but more im¬
portantly, he deserves to be remembered
for his moments of force and clarity, the
converging lines of holistic vision which rise
to majestic word-peaks in The Cantos. He
sought with passion to speak of what is con¬
stant and abiding amidst a background of
confusion and disorder, and he “gathered
from the air/ a live tradition” (Canto 81).
The poet is the person who “lays hold of
something permanent in ravenous time”. . . .
[T]he permanent must be fixed so that it will
not be carried away, the simple must be
wrested from confusion, proportion must be
set before what lacks proportion. . . .”22 Pound
attempted to fulfill this large task. The most
permanent, simple, and finely-proportioned
image in The Cantos is the conjoining of
light and water, already alluded to in the
figure of Aphrodite. This combination of
basic elements signifies creativity and the
renewal of life, and in addition, carries the
promise of intermittent peace:
With clouds over Taishan-Chocorua
when the blackberry ripens
and now the new moon faces Taishan
one must count by the dawn star
Dryad, thy peace is like water
There is September sun on the pools
(Canto 83)
In such imagery, nature and the word be¬
come one vast single text.23 The “poet is he
who, beneath the named, constantly expected
differences, rediscovers the buried kinships,
between things, their scattered resem¬
blances.”21 Pound takes the focus off time as
a “sequence of nows” unrelated to future
and past, and redirects our attention to the
importance of kinships, historicity, and “the
tradition.” In this sense The Cantos strive
toward the Heideggarian concept of time in
relation to being, i.e., the verse contains a
“rendering present” which is “anticipating”
(future) and “bearing in mind” (past) at
the same time.25
Was Pound’s failure to summon up the
energy to hold fast to a holistic poetic vision
the fault of his historical existence in a frag¬
mented and uncentered world, or is the
holistic poetic vision merely a myth of the
1982]
Williams — Pound and His Cantos
107
imagination? The answer to this question is
one the reader must seek out for himself. In
a time characterized by “God’s self-with¬
holding,”20 we have lost the ground of cer¬
tainty. Foucault’s observation that “the age
of resemblance is drawing to a close . . .
leaving nothing behind it but games,” trou¬
bles us. Yet, in the absence of God (gods),
nature’s presence remains as the source of
the poet’s affirmation:
How drawn, O GEA TERRA,
what draws as thou drawest
till one sink into thee by an arm’s
width
embracing thee. Drawest,
truly thou drawest.
Wisdom lies next thee,
simply, past metaphor.
Where I lie let the thyme rise
and basilicum
let the herbs rise in April abundant
(Canto 82)
Pound’s text is in con-text with all previ¬
ous and contemporaneous texts which car¬
ried positive or negative significance for him,
and his text projects “messianic” words on
yet-to-be-created texts. Explication of these
matters of vortex, time, history, and inter-
textuality open up The Cantos to new under¬
standings.
Notes
1 W. B. Yeats, “Symbolism in Poetry,” Essays
and Introductions (New York: Collier Books,
1968), p. 154.
2 W. B. Yeats, A Vision (New York: Collier
Books, 1966), pp. 67-79.
3 Allen Upward, The New Word (London: A. C.
Fifield, 1908), p. 195.
4 Ezra Pound, “The Serious Artist,” in his Liter¬
ary Essays, ed. T. S. Eliot (New York: New York:
New Directions, 1954), p. 49.
5 Ezra Pound, The Cantos (New York: New
Directions, 1948). All further references to this
work will be cited within the text.
6 Timothy Materer, Vortex: Pound, Eliot, and
Lewis (Ithaca: Cornell Univ. Press, 1979).
7 Robert H. Ross, “Sound and Fury: Realism,
Futurism, Vorticism, Imagism, Early in the Second
Decade,” Backgrounds to Modern Literature, John
Oliver Perry (San Francisco: Chandler, 1968), pp.
39-46.
In 1909 a Milanese painter named Marinetti
published the first Futurist “Manifesto,” which,
among other things, called for a new poetic move¬
ment:
The foundations of our poetry shall be
courage, audacity and revolt.
We announce that the splendor of earth
has become enriched by a new beauty, the
beauty of Speed . . .
All beauty is based on strife. There can
be no masterpiece otherwise than aggressive
in character. Poetry must be a violent as¬
sault against unknown forces to overwhelm
them into obedience to man . . .
Pound seems to have been attracted initially to
the tenets of Marinetti for he introduced the lo¬
quacious painter to London artistic circles. In
1914, Pound wrote to Joyce that Lewis was
“starting a new Futurist, Cubist, Imagiste Quarterly
. . . mostly a painter’s magazine with me to do
the poems.” Later the Vorticists “disowned Fu¬
turism because it denied tradition, and were wary
of Cubism because it seemed indifferent to per¬
sonality.” See Kenner, The Pound Era, p. 236-8.
s Pound, “The Serious Artist,” p. 43.
9 Octavio Paz, The Bow and the Lyre, trans.
Ruth L. C. Simms (Mexico, D.F.: McGraw-Hill,
1975), p. 15.
10 Ezra Pound, Guide to Kulchur (New York:
New Directions, n.d.), p. 60.
11 Martin Heidegger, On the Way to Language,
trans. Peter D. Hertz and Joan Stambaugh, 1st. ed.
(New York: Harper & Row, 1971), p. 31.
12 Pound, Guide to Kulchur, see especially Part 1,
Section II; Part II, Section III; Part III, Section VI;
Part IV, Section VIII.
13 Pound, “The Tradition,” L.E., p. 91.
14 Transcriptions of the Greek are taken from
John Hamilton Edwards and William W. Vasse’s
Annotated Index to the Cantos of Ezra Pound:
Cantos I-LXXXIV (Berkeley: Univ. of California
Press, 1957. Kuftrioa 8s7vd literally means “dread
(or fearful) Cythera,” another name for Aphrodite.
I have taken the liberty to render the Greek as
“Aphrodite” in my text for the purpose of con¬
sistency.
15 Pound, Guide to Kulchur, p. 64.
10 Ibid., pp. 65-66.
17 Kenner, p. 53.
1S Martin Heidegger, “Holderlin and the Essence
of Poetry,” Existence and Being, intro, and analy¬
sis by Werner Brock, Gateway Edition (Chicago:
Henry Regnery, 1949), p. 279.
19 Daniel Pearlman, The Barb of Time: On the
Unity of Ezra Pound’s Cantos (New York: Oxford
Univ. Press, 1969), p. 118.
20 Ibid., pp. 11-14.
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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
21 Kenner, p. 556.
22 Heidegger, “Holderlin and the Essence of
Poetry,” p. 280-1.
23 Michel Foucault, The Order of Things: An
Archaeology of the Human Scietices (New York:
Vintage-Random House, 1973), p. 34.
24 Ibid., p. 49.
20 Martin Heidegger, Being and Time, trans. John
Macquarrie & Edward Robinson (New York:
Harper & Row, 1962).
For a full explication of this concept of
time see Division Two: Dasein and
Temporality.
2G Werner Brock, “An Account of The Four
Essays’,” Existence and Being, Martin Heidegger,
Gateway Edition (Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1949),
p. 175.
27 Foucault, p. 51.
Bibliography
Bergson, Henri. Time and Free Will: An Essay
on the Immediate Data of Consciousness.
Harper Torchbooks. The Academy Library.
New York: Harper & Brothers, 1960.
Davie, Donald. Ezra Pound: Poet as Sculptor.
New York: Oxford University Press, 1964.
Edwards, John Hamilton and William W.
Vasse. Annotated Index to the Cantos of
Ezra Pound: Cantos I-LXXXIV. Berkeley:
Univ. of California Press, 1957.
Foucault, Michel. The Order of Things: An
Archaeology of the Human Sciences. New
York: Vintage-Random House, 1973.
Harmon, William. Time in Ezra Pound’s Work.
Chapel Hill: The Univ. of North Carolina
Press, 1977.
Heidegger, Martin. Basic Writings. Ed. David
Farrell Krell. New York: Harper & Row,
1977.
- . Being and Time. Trans. John Mac¬
quarrie & Edward Robinson. New York:
Harper & Row, 1962.
- . Existence and Being. Intro, and Analy¬
sis by Werner Brock. A Gateway Edition.
Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1949.
- . On the Way to Language. Trans.
Peter D. Hertz and Joan Stambaugh. 1st. ed.
New York: Harper & Row, 1971.
Kenner, Hugh. The Pound Era. Berkeley:
Univ. of California Press, 1971.
Lewis, Wyndham. Time and Western Man.
New York: Harcourt, 1928.
Materer, Timothy. Vortex: Pound, Eliot, and
Lewis. Ithaca: Cornell Univ. Press, 1979.
Neumann, Erich. Art and the Creative Un¬
conscious. Four Essays. Trans. Ralph Man-
heim. Bollingen Series LXI. Princeton:
Princeton Univ. Press, 1971.
The Odyssey of Homer. Trans. Herbert Bates.
New York: McGraw-Hill, 1929.
Ortega y Gasset, Jose. The Dehumanization of
Art, and Other Essays on Art, Culture, and
Literature. Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press,
1968.
Paz, Octavio. The Bow and the Lyre (El arco
y la lira): The Poem. The Poetic Revelation.
Poetry and History. Trans. Ruth L. C.
Simms Mexico, D. F.: McGraw-Hill, 1975.
Pearlman, Daniel. The Barb of Time: On the
Unity of Ezra Pound’s Cantos. New York:
Oxford Univ. Press, 1969.
Pound, Ezra. The Cantos. New York: New
Directions, 1948.
- . Drafts & Fragments of Cantos CX-
CXV11.
- . Guide to Kulchur. New York: New
Directions, n. d.
- .Literary Essays. Ed. T. S. Eliot. New
York: New Directions, 1954.
- . Make It New. New Haven: Yale
Univ. Press, 1935.
- . Section: Rock-Drill: 85-95 de los
cantares. New York: New Directions, 1956.
- . Selected Poems. New York: New Di¬
rections, 1957.
Ross, Robert H. “Sound and Fury: Realism,
Futurism, Vorticism, Imagism, Early in the
Second Decade.” Background to Modern
Literature. John Oliver Perry. San Francisco:
Chandler, 1968.
Teilhard de Chardin, Pierre. The Phenomenon
of Man. Intro. Julian Huxley. Harper Colo¬
phon Books. New York: Harper & Row,
1961.
Upward, Allen. The New Word. London:
A. C. Fifield, 1908.
Wilhelm, James J. The Later Cantos of Ezra
Pound. New York: Walker, 1977.
Yeats, W. B. Essays and Introductions. New
York: Collier Books, 1968.
Yeats, W. B. A Vision. A Reissue with the
Author’s Final Revisions. New York: Collier
Books, 1956.
TO POLISH A CROWN: SHAKESPEAREAN DIALECTIC
Tom McBride
Department of English
Beloit College
It is sometimes said, by T. S. Eliot for
instance, that Shakespeare has no meaning,
no thought.1 One variation of this idea is
that Shakespeare himself never “says” any¬
thing, but only presents voices on a variety
of questions. If one traces the concept of
voices to its relationship with “votes,”2 then
one might argue that Shakespeare presents
various votes on an issue — such as nature
in King Lear — but never tells which side
won the election, or which side should have
done. Perhaps Shakespeare dramatizes the
questions but never the answers.
Certainly Shakespeare is no Plato. Shake¬
speare has no Socrates to speak for him, no
Socrates to define a system of metaphysics
from which may come a theory of ethics,
knowledge, or politics. If Plato is a meta¬
physician of nature — or if Kant is — then
Shakespeare represents with language the
nature of which Plato and Kant try to make
sense. But language — including rhyme,
meter, diction, thought, and metaphor —
constitutes only one of Shakespeare’s strong
suits. There is also psychology — the rela¬
tionship between varieties of action and the
characteristics of the soul; and there is play-
wrighting, which is what Shakespeare’s con¬
temporaries thought he did for a living.
As a playwright, Shakespeare is a play-
builder, even as an arkwright in his day built
arks. The English Renaissance (this is now a
commonplace) had a highly-developed sense
of craft. In Shakespeare’s craft the basic unit
of construction is the scene. Thus, were
Shakespeare to “say” anything — were he to
suggest an issue, raise a question, voice a
debate, even make an argument — he would
do so partly by placing scenes together in a
certain order. In this sense the affinities be¬
tween him and Plato become greater, for
both, in different ways, are dialecticians.
Shakespeare the Dialectician writes a scene
in which subjects are voiced, then follows
that scene with the same subjects voiced in
different ways, and so on. The result is a
dramatic debate. But the order in which the
topics are voiced may provide clues, to the
attentive listener, about what Shakespeare
is saying.
The example I have chosen to illustrate
these assumptions and methods is the first
act (or first three scenes) of Henry IV, part
1. I have selected a chronicle play partly
because any examination of “dialectical ar¬
gument” in a comedy or tragedy would have
much tougher going in a brief essay. The
generosity of viewpoint in Shakespearean
comedy — and mystery of viewpoint in his
tragedy — make clear dialectical argument
harder to find. But a chronicle play addresses
the issue of political power, so arguments
become naturally inherent as to how power
is acquired, used, and lost. Although this
“argument of history” is treated in different
ways by Christians and Machiavellians,3 an
argument it is: more susceptible to dialecti¬
cal clarity than are comic festivals or tragic
riddles.
In the first three scenes of the first part of
Henry IV, Shakespearean voices are heard
on four topics: theft, penance, rebellion, and
parenthood. In the first scene the topics are
presented in just that order. As to theft,
Henry Bolingbroke sits in his London throne
room, there state business to do, with a
stolen crown on his head. Of course the
crown had been stolen from a politically
inept king, and political necessity would well
argue that Richard had to go. But Henry
has gone counter to a myth of legitimacy-by¬
primogeniture. Whether such a myth be
Christian natural law or Machiavellian fraud
109
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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
is beside the main point, which is that a
stolen crown is hard to keep.
But Henry’s penance — to send a crusading
English legion to rescue from infidels those
“holy fields” (I.i.24)4 over which Christ
Himself had walked — is an attempt to meet
at once the Christian and Machiavellian
objections to his crown. Such a crusade
would signal personal penance to God, and
Machiavelli himself would approve such a
united English diversion from the fact of
Henry’s theft. It is a bright idea from a king
both politic and penitent. But Rebellion says
no. Owen Glendower has defeated the
Crown’s forces led by Mortimer; and al¬
though Henry Percy has defeated on the
king’s behalf a variety of rebellious Scots,
even Percy himself is rebellious in refusing
to turn over all his prisoners to the Crown.
Such impudence is blamed on Percy’s uncle
Worcester — which is even worse since Wor¬
cester would be a rebel of significant power
against the king.
Henry is therefore back to penance again,
but not the bright executive penance of the
planned crusade, which must now be post¬
poned. Henry’s new penance means that all
is to be endured and nothing to be done.
Such penance is related to parenthood, the
fourth topic: Henry fears he is to be pun¬
ished for his stolen crown by the rebellion of
his own son, Hal Bolingbroke, Prince of
Wales. Toward the end of the scene, when
Henry wishes that Henry Percy, not Henry
Bolingbroke, were his son, the King reflects
on all four topics at once. In his utterance
of regret mixed with wish-fulfillment this
player-king has just performed a Shakespear¬
ean synthesis of four great themes, each of
them a burden to him. In effect, he who had
robbed the firstborn fears that his own first¬
born will punish him.
But Henry is hardly to be kept down for
long. At the very end of his scene he is ever
the doer and commander, giving orders
about the next council (to be held on the
next Wednesday at Windsor) and urging
his lieutenants on to efficient action. For
Henry time is important — he will race it
hard to outrun the twin bugbears of suffer¬
ing penance and fearful rebellion. Henry
would never be caught asking the question
posed to his son in the next scene by Sir
John Falstaff: “Now, Hal, what time of day
is it, lad?” (I.ii.l)
In this scene the four topics are voiced
in a different order: rebellion, theft, parent¬
hood, and penance. Thus, the order of topics
in the second scene is in good part the re¬
verse of the first. What the first scene ap¬
proaches rather late — because Henry would
forget about rebellion for as long as possible
— the second scene starts with as a given,
because rebellion comes naturally to the
prince and his unreliable companion. And
what Henry has immediately on his mind
as cure for the rebellion he might otherwise
wish away — penance — Hal and Falstaff get
to only later in the scene; and even then
Falstaff’s vow that he will “give over” (81)
his “wicked” (81) life is but one more mo¬
ment in a kidding career. Henry is immedi¬
ately penitent; Falstaff and Hal approach it,
jokingly, rather later, as an implicit com¬
ment on the sincerity of any conventional
penance in this play.
As for parenthood, the king comes to that
topic fairly late. Henry dwells late on his son
partly because Hal too is one of those un¬
pleasant subjects better left alone. But Hal
seems to think on his father not at all — as
though he has no concern for his father’s
fears. It is only Falstaff, rather early in the
scene, who reminds Hal that it’s “here ap¬
parent” that “thou art heir apparent” (48-
49); and Falstaff’s begging point is that Hal
use his parental inheritance to good ad¬
vantage by giving thieves complete license.
What Henry would forget about his son, the
son’s new patrimony — represented by the
king of Eastcheap Tavern5 — underlines
pointedly: that the heir of a stolen crown
would not wish to discourage theft.
Finally, there is theft itself. In the first
scene, before the scene itself opens, it is the
given. In the second scene, what was unmen¬
tionable in the first is mentioned with aban¬
don. Falstaff and Hal kid early and profusely
1982]
McBride — Shakespearean Dialectic
111
about their thefts, past and future. The bulk
of the scene is given over to plans for the
robbery of the travellers at Gadshill, and to
Poins’ and the prince’s plans to rob Falstaff
and company after they have robbed the
travellers. It is as though the king’s worst
fears about realm and son have come true.
What he would avoid — various rebellion and
regretful parenthood — this second scene pre¬
sents with immediacy and abundance: a
wayward, impenitent son planning a rebel¬
lious theft of respectable pilgrims, and then
planning a further theft of the thieves them¬
selves. Could Henry see this scene with its
order of topics, he would see his own son
perform an analogy of the king’s own likely
and fearful situations: rebellious thieves
stealing from those who had earlier stolen —
in the instance of Henry IV, stolen a crown.
But in this dialectical allegory if Theft and
Rebellion are to be the king’s foes, unknown
to him Parenthood and Penance will be his
friends. Parenthood and Penance have the
last vote in this scene: when Hal confides to
listeners and readers that, when the time is
most to be redeemed, he will repent and pay
the debt consistent with his true parental
heritage. Hal will steal — but only from those
unsuspecting among his father’s foes who
think him a failure. And he will rebel — but
only against those who would rebel against
his father. Hal will put together the four
topics in a unique equation. Later in the
play he will become the full player-prince,0
and the topics will dance to the order of his
choreography. He plans to be in the play
yet outside it.
But first we must encounter those who,
on both sides of the conflict, manage only
to be trapped in the play and in history. In
retrospect it is a shrill and desperate Henry
whom we meet, along with a voluble and
unknowing Henry (Hotspur) Percy, plus a
priggish and scheming Worcester who clum¬
sily makes self-survival the occasion for con¬
spiracy against the king. Relative to Hal’s
announced gambit, confined only to us, these
(partly excepting energetic Hotspur) are a
diminished lot.
If unmentionable theft, mounting rebel¬
lion, and flawed parenthood are the subjects
of King Henry’s trepidation in the first scene,
and if the prince and Falstaff approach these
very subjects without fear in the second, then
the third scene is different still. Naturally, as
in the previous scene, it presents rebellion
first; but this time the rebellion is seemingly
directed straight to the king’s face — for the
first time. Here is not merely the sign of re¬
bellion, as were the loquacious quibbles on
thievery in the last scene. Here, to Henry’s
mind, is rebellion itself: the refusal of Hot¬
spur to give up his prisoners. Nor will a
worried regal “we” accept Hotspur’s insist¬
ence that he did so because the crown sent a
regular sissy to request the prisoners. For
Hotspur the king’s related accusation of Hot¬
spur’s brother-in-law Mortimer turns Hot¬
spur’s apparent rebellion into a real one.
Hotspur’s honor, however much rooted in
glands rather than reason, is offended. This
king is dishonorable, so he will get all the
rebellion the fighting Hotspur has to offer.
A king, because oversensitive to rebellion,
acts to provide himself even more of it.
The balance of the scene, after this ob¬
vious analogy between the small-time re¬
bellion of the Gadshill kids and the big-time
one of the London adults, may be called
“The Political Education of Henry Hotspur.”
As such, this education fleshes out the other
three themes: in order of presentation they
are theft, penance, and parenthood. Hotspur
hears for the first time that King Henry slan¬
ders Edmund Mortimer because King Rich¬
ard had declared that only Mortimer could
rightfully receive his crown. Thus Hotspur
realizes now that Henry had stolen it. Thus
also Hotspur vows to defeat Henry as pen¬
ance for his own family’s role in helping
Bolingbroke rob the crown from its rightful
owner — Hotspur’s own brother-in-law the
Earl of March.7 Finally, there is the theme
of parenthood, for Northumberland can do
little more with young Hotspur than the King
with young Hal. Henry wants Hal to reform
and act as though he is Prince of Wales.
Northumberland wants something simpler
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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
from the ranting Hotspur: he wants Hotspur
to shut up. That Hotspur has known little of
the theft by which Henry has taken the
crown, that his rebellion and penance are
rooted entirely in personal slights against
himself and his brother-in-law, and that he
can barely conquer garrulity enough to listen
to a complex plot against the king he hates —
these are signs that events are in the saddle
and will ride Hotspur. In sum, although this
is Hotspur’s scene his opposition and re¬
morse are pubescent, his knowledge of po¬
litical theft shallow, and his relations with
father and uncle both cantankerous and in¬
constant. His apparent union with them
against Henry, given the background of Hal’s
confidential soliloquy, may well be no match
for Hal’s promised union with Henry against
them all. Already Hal is one-up because of
his superior stealth. If Hotspur approaches
theft, rebellion, and penance as elements in
a first-reader political education, then Hal
seems already to have advanced knowledge
in these subjects, which he will redefine from
the roots up.
The crown has been stolen, and so it is
tarnished. Henry tries to polish it by the di¬
version of the crusade, which simultaneously
defines penance with the two great meta¬
phors of his time, one religious and one po¬
litical. In theory it is a wonderful idea to give
mischievous minds the business of fighting
infidel Turks instead of Henry or each other.
But the rebellion has gone too far, so no
crusade can polish the crown. And both
Henry’s worries at the end of the first scene,
and Hal’s comportment through most of the
second, would seem to confirm that Henry’s
firstborn (should he get the crown at all)
will only tarnish it further. Nor would the
rebels of the third scene seem to have much
promise of polishing this crown, since they
helped tarnish it, show no disposition to get
it for the apparent proper heir Mortimer,
and have as their noblest pretender only the
impetuous and inept Hotspur. That leaves in
reality, as crown-polisher-to-be, only Hal the
Prince of Wales. He would inherit a tar¬
nished crown, but he announces secretly his
plans to polish it. He will do so by giving
rebellion, theft, penance, and parenthood
fresh cordons in new places. Here, roughly,
would be his new meanings:
Rebellion: not the conventional act of
opposing a king vulnerable because of how he
acquired sovereignty, but rather a new op¬
position to the primogenitive myth itself.
The new, substitute myth would be acquired
by a new political fraud of exquisite timing:
the sudden admiration which accrues to one
“Redeeming time when men least think I
will” (I.ii.187).8
Theft : not the conventional concept of
stealing a crown from a firstborn king, but
rather a new concept: that a stolen crown
is up-for-grabs to anyone who can take it
and confer upon it a new legitimacy. Much
to the point are Hal’s robbing the robbers
at Gadshill, and his overeagerness to take
the crown from his sleeping, seemingly dead
father in Henry IV, part 2. 9
Penance: not the bright but finally tradi¬
tional idea of his father — the pious crusade
to busy abroad scheming minds — but rather
the penance of success: defeat of the “illegiti¬
mate” rebels, expansion of the realm into
France, and (for even Hal conventionally
obeys God) many almhouses at state ex¬
pense in Richard’s memory. The true peni¬
tent, then, both polishes a tarnished crown
and makes it brighter than ever. The name
of Richard may take care of beggars, but the
true salvation of men lies in the brilliantly
sovereign state.
Parenthood: not merely the conventional
fealty owed to the father-king, but also a
dual loyalty to a dual fatherhood. Hal is
finally loyal to the historic father who holds
the crown and can give it to the prince for
polishing. But the princely dialectician is
typically loyal — for a while — to an alternate
patrimony: his inheritance of the corpulent
companion who professes indifference to his¬
tory. Whether Falstaff is a seductive sophist
or a Christian parable10 is beside the real
point, which is that he stands outside Machi¬
avellian history, drinks sack while immensely
1982]
McBride — Shakespearean Dialectic
113
concerned with survival to drink more, and
ribs both sides as thieves jousting over a
dirty crown. The agile Hal needs such a
friend in part when he paradoxically leaves
him, for maximum political surprise. But
Hal needs Falstaff also to practice the jug¬
gling of opposites, and to learn, like Falstaff,
to bide his time outside history until he is
ready to join and direct it. Of course, unlike
Falstaff — who knows that “To the latter end
of a fray and the beginning of a feast/Fits
a dull fighter and a keen guest” (IV.ii.67-
68) — Hal knows contrarily that one joins
a fray only when it needs one most. But if
Falstaff times to survive, it is no accident
that his princely chum times to win. His ulti¬
mate duelling victory over Hotspur, deserted
by his own father in battle, only confirms
by ritual the political suppleness of Hal’s
dual parentage.
So the old notions of power attached to
the crown are tarnished beyond any polish¬
ing that even Prince Hal could do. This
crown can only be polished by brilliance —
by the new man of new meanings: rebellion
against the hackneyed ideas of rebellion; au¬
dacious theft of an already-stolen crown;
contrition that drives the quest for victory;
and parenthood that stands both in and out
of history.
A few plays later the crown of Henry V
becomes dazzling indeed.
Notes
1 See “Shakespeare and the Stoicism of Seneca,”
Elizabethan Essays (New York, 1964), pp. 46-47.
2 Compare D. J. Gordon’s implicit tracing of the
voices/ votes connection in “Name and Fame:
Shakespeare’s Coriolanus,” Papers Mainly Shake¬
spearean, ed. G. I. Duthie (Edinburgh, 1964),
p. 55.
3 The single best interpretation I know of the
contrast between Christianity and Machiavelli is
Isaiah Berlin’s “The Question of Machiavelli,”
New York Review of Books, XVII (4 November
1971). The same basic essay is in Berlin’s Against
the Current (New York, 1980) as “The Originality
of Machiavelli.”
4 All quotations from the play are from The
Complete Works of Shakespeare, ed. David Bev-
ington (Glenview, Illinois 1980).
5 One does not have to resort to the crudest
Freudian conceptions in order to see that Hal has
two patrimonies in this play. It would be inac¬
curate and simplistic to say that Falstaff represents
an “id-father,” and Henry a “superego-father.” For
one thing, Hal has never really given up his fealty
to King Henry. For another, Falstaff is much too
shrewd a survivalist to have quite the self-destruc¬
tive riot of the id. But Falstaff is definitely “king”
of his world — the green world of play and his¬
torical indifference — even as Henry is king of his:
the red-and-white world of political consequence.
For a fuller exposition of these two worlds see
Northrop Frye’s “The Argument of Comedy,”
English Institute Essays, 1948, ed. D. A. Robert¬
son (New York, 1949), pp. 58-73.
G For a full analysis of the Shakespearean
player-king see Eilleen Allman’s Player-King and
Adversary (Baton Rouge, 1980).
7 Indeed, a point sometimes overlooked about
Hotspur’s early professions of “honor” in attack¬
ing Henry is that much more important to Hotspur
than the historical robbery of Richard is the slight
to his brother-in-law Mortimer, which he takes as
a personal offense. Here is another example of
Hotspur’s incessant present-mi ndedness and un¬
fitness to rule. Such present-mindedness in a differ¬
ent theme — not in honor but poetry — led to the
downfall of Richard himself.
8 At the same time Hal gives a new twist, obvi¬
ously, to the Christian doctrine of “redemption.”
In this new Machiavellian context redemption is
mixed up with proper timing. An implicit theme
of The Prince is that timing is all. One must know
when, for instance, to be good and when to seem
so (chapter XV).
9 See Act IV, scene v. Of course there is a lot of
predictable human nature in this scene: Henry,
dying, is predictably upset that Hal has taken the
crown from Henry’s only-sleeping, not-yet-dead,
side. And Hal is predictably penitent when he dis¬
covers that Henry is still alive. But human terms
aside, the event also suggests the extent to which
stealing seems still associated with the crown
which once belonged to Richard.
10 For classic, representative, but diverse views
of Falstaff see Samuel Johnson’s edition of Shake¬
speare, introductory headnote to the first and sec¬
ond parts of Henry IV; and W. H. Auden’s “The
Prince’s Dog” in his Dyer’s Hand (New York,
1968). A more accessible source of Johnson’s head-
note is Johnson on Shakespeare, ed. Walter
Raleigh (London, 1908), especially p. 125.
TEXTUAL POLITICS: THE USES OF IMAGINATION IN
JOANNA RUSS’S THE FEMALE MAN
Catherine L. McClenahan
Department of English
Marquette University
It is a commonplace in SF (science fic¬
tion) today that most of the best younger
writers are women. One of the most admired
— and controversial — is Joanna Russ. In the
five novels, numerous short stories, reviews
and critical essays that she has produced
since 1959, the acuteness of Russ’s analyti¬
cal powers and the virtuosity of her technical
range have won many readers — and con¬
fused or angered others. The Female Man
(written in the Sixties but not published
until 1975) is a particularly good example
of her work and the uses of SF.
The Female Man (hereafter TFM) has
always disturbed a lot of people. In Section
Seven of the novel, Russ herself anticipates
some of their responses:
Shrill . . . vituperative ... no concern for
the future of society . . . maunderings of
an antiquated feminism . . . this shapeless
book . . . twisted, neurotic . . . some truth
buried in a largely hysterical ... of very
limited interest ... no characterization, no
plot . . . really important issues are ne¬
glected ... a not very appealing aggres¬
siveness . . . another shrill polemic which
. . . the tired tricks of the anti-novelists.
. . . (SevenTII)1
When I have taught the novel, a typical
series of reactions goes like this:
So far I don’t like reading this book; I’m
confused . . . I'm starting to enjoy it . . .
it’s venting some of my anger ... I don’t
know whether to cry or yell . . . It’s as if
Russ has been bugging scenes from my
own life . . . very motivating . . . told me I
have to do what I want; no one will do it
for me.
This set, of course, is from women. But in
either set, the first problem for readers is
the fact that TFM is hardly constructed in
conventional novel form. Form it does have,
however: a very carefully considered one.
What kind of form? One useful answer is
to say that the novel is not a work but a
“Text.” Roland Barthes, one of the first to
stress this distinction, reminds us that any
time we write (anything), we offer others
the last word, whether we will it or not. In
the particular case of literature, a writer is
concerned to multiply meanings without “fill¬
ing” or “closing” them.2 The writer, Barthes
says, uses language to shape a world “which
is emphatically signifying but never fully
signified”3: that is, we know that what we
read is meaningful, but the meaning is not
complete or certain.
But writers differ in how complete they
intend their meanings to be and in how much
of the “last word” they want readers to have.
In Barthes’ distinction, a work is an object,
a thing, whose meaning readers consume or
“get.” A text is an activity, a production, of
both work and reader together. To make
room for readers to create with authors, texts
often test conventional limits of rationality
or readability: they don’t follow our con¬
ventional expectations about plot and char¬
acterization. Instead of packaging a mean¬
ing for us to get, texts keeping deferring a
final or single meaning; they aim for multi¬
ple, even conflicting, meanings which can’t
be reduced to a single, “author’s” mean¬
ing. In short, texts play. By delaying and
shifting meanings, a text plays within a
field with potentially infinite patterns that
vary with each reader and even each
reading by one reader. Readers play the
game of text by experimenting to produce
the experience for themselves. They perform
and interpret instead of passively imitating
or consuming what they experience as they
114
1982]
McClenahan — Textual Politics
115
read. That is why Barthes claims that a text
“participates in its own way in a social
utopia ... the space in which no language
[writer’s or reader’s] has a hold over any
other, where languages circulate.”4
Texts are also what Jerome McGann
called “visionary art”: art that is a vehicle
of our perception (not an object of it). Such
art “would urge no programs and offer no
systems,” but would provide a method to
help us deliver ourselves from systems.
Whichever term we use, the point is that we
are challenged to choose between the respon¬
sibility for constructing our own “systems”
of meaning as we read or the abdication of
responsibility.5 The pleasures and perils of
texts are simply a specialized form of what
is the game of life for human beings: the
creatures who have the unique freedom to
make meanings. As Hayden White points
out, we have the ambiguous power to shape
ourselves and our worlds through our lan¬
guages — although human language has the
power both to create meaning and to frus¬
trate all our efforts to express definitive,
unambiguous meanings.6
In defining visionary art, McGann was
talking of William Blake, who had his own
vivid description of what happens in the ex¬
perience of a text. Blake’s image was the
apocalyptic moment when the fourfold “Hu¬
man Form Divine” wakes in an individual
or a culture: for, according to Blake, what
we call God is the Human Imagination. This
description of the moment when it fully
wakes also dramatizes how a text, its readers
and its infinite number of meanings interact:
And they conversed together in Visionary
Forms dramatic which bright/ Rebounded
from their Tongues in thunderous majesty,
in Visions/ In new Expanses, creating
exemplars of Memory and of Intellect/
Creating Space, Creating Time according
to the Wonders Divine/ Of Human Imagi¬
nation. . . .
( Jerusalem 98:28-31) 7
In a word, Blake’s synonym for what texts
and readers engage in is “conversation.”
In TFM, the character Jael herself uses a
Blake quotation to help explain her actions,
a quotation which again describes how texts
operate:
... as Blake says, the path of Excess leads
to the Palace of Wisdom, to that place
where all things converge, but up high,
up unbearably high, that mental success
which leads you into yourself under the
aspect of eternity. . . . (Eight:IX)s
Or, as one of the other narrators says, “You
never know what is enough until you know
what is more than enough” (Three: VI).
Russ’s work has many allusions to Blake,
which is logical enough. For although 150
years separate them, Blake and Russ shared
a common problem: how to respond directly
to a political situation with a work of art.
Blake’s Jerusalem took on the Napoleonic
wars that marked the failure of the apoca¬
lyptic hopes which so many people had of
the French Revolution. TFM takes on not
only sexual politics, but the underlying as¬
sumptions and conditions of our culture that
produce those politics.
Russ’s alternatives are not Blake’s. But,
like Blake, she aims to liberate, not enslave,
the reader’s imagination. Both believe that
to achieve that aim, art must somehow
“trouble what exists”9 in our world in order
to make us re-imagine it. If we do shape
ourselves and our worlds through our lan¬
guages, then our human problem is how to
be both free and responsible manipulators
of language. For an artist, there is an added
problem: how to induce others to be so as
well.
When an artist speaks for or from an “op¬
pressed” group (some group always is in
any culture we’ve known so far), this em¬
phasis on liberating the imaginations of both
artist and audience is hardly surprising. Russ
writes from the periphery of American cul¬
ture, as an “outsider” in a literary, economic,
social and sexual sense. From that position,
in TFM she undertakes a journey within her¬
self and throughout her universe: the inter¬
relationship is a significant part of the point.
116
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
Russ also undertakes a solution to the prob¬
lem of teaching freedom or of providing an
opportunity for the reader to exercise free¬
dom.
To do that, Russ chose to write SF, a
form which can re-envision or re-write the
novel (and its world) as Blake did with the
Bible and Milton (and their worlds). Novels,
what fans love to call “mundane fiction,”
take the world and its systems as given; they
reflect the world that is. Against that con¬
stant background, the only thing that a novel
can change or vary is the human figure we
focus on. Novels can warn you what the
world will do to you, advise you to escape
a particular social group, tell you how to
behave in order to be what the world calls
successful. But novels can’t re-imagine the
world and its systems.10
Science fiction can, and often does. It can
present a possibility of difference, a created
and not-yet-existent world or systems or in¬
stitution. That is important because our ex¬
perience of that nonexistent world in SF
like TFM provokes a dialogue, a conversa¬
tion, with the world we know.
Joanna Russ is not the first SF writer to
do a SF novel with more than one protago¬
nist, shifting points of view, or an amazing
variety of forms. She’s not the first to con¬
struct a non-linear plot or to use SF to ex¬
plore the kind of fundamental philosophical
and social issues raised in TFM. The point
is that like any writer of texts, she aims to
disturb our expectations of form, to trouble
our notions of what we and the world are,
in order to encourage us to re-envision both
what is and what could be: to liberate our
own imaginative energy.
For these reasons, TFM presents (to the
readers) and allows (for the narrators) a
journey inward to our own inner condition
in relation to the conditions of our world. As
Jael says, the text operates through excess:
it isolates, exaggerates, reconnects, plays
with certain personality components under
varying conditions. In this novel, Russ shapes
aspects of her own psyche as characters: one
characterized by narcissism, fear, hatred,
masochism, passivity and dependence (Jean-
nine); one characterized by strength, intel¬
ligence, imagination, adaptability and self-
love (Janet) ; a third, characterized by fierce
independence, cunning, power, savage wit
and anger (Jael). The fourth character,
torn among these three is Joanna.11 Joanna,
who says she is the author of the novel, iso¬
lates each of these potentialities within her¬
self and pushes them to excess by gradu¬
ally building up a picture of the kind of
world, the kind of technological and eco¬
nomic state, the kind of culture that would
be most likely to evoke each potentiality.
And she does all this to envision how all
four operate in relation to each other, inter¬
play, in Joanna and in Joanna’s/our world.
But our question is what kind of form the
novel has. Each of TFM’ s nine parts is fur¬
ther subdivided into segments, some of which
are only a sentence or phrase long. The point
of view shifts back and forth from third- to
first person narration, and among first-person
narrators. The sequence of events is not
linear: it makes sudden, disorienting leaps,
often circling back to continue or revise an
earlier segment. Some segments do have
topical connections: e.g., Part One:IX shifts
from Jeannine’s attitude toward work to the
Whileawayan one. Yet focussing on the fact
that Joanna makes herself increasingly con¬
spicuous as an author, the maker of a fiction
we’re reading, makes it possible to sort the
novel’s nine Parts into four main divisions:
(A) Parts One to Four, (B) Parts Five and
Six, (C) Parts Seven and Eight, (D) Part
Nine. After a relatively detailed look at the
first section to see how the pattern of Jo¬
anna’s inward journey emerges, the signifi¬
cance of the other three can be perceived
more quickly.
(A) A Choice of Evils: Fear and Fantasy
(Parts One to Four)
TFM opens with the character Janet Eva-
son’s introduction of herself. Born “on
Whileaway,” she obviously comes from a
planet and a culture radically different from
ours. Janet’s 187 I.Q. and her work history
1982]
McClenahan — Textual Politics
117
may not seem so alien, but her references
to Whileawayan childhood experiences like
stalking wolves, or wandering in bands to
visit the North Polar Station, are; most alien
of all are her mention of “my mother” and
“my other mother,” her “Wife,” Vittoria,
and her family of nineteen. The “tripods of
computer beacons everywhere" indicate an
advanced technology. In little more than a
page, Janet presents life on Whileaway as
freer, more varied, more interesting than it
is for most of us.
The second segment shifts to a third-per¬
son narrator (unidentified) who introduces
Jeannine Dadier; her character and world
contrast highly with Janet’s. SF readers can
quickly add up the details of this segment
to conclude that Jeannine comes from an
alternate or parallel world. The year is 1969,
but World War II has never occurred (war
with Japan is being discussed) and the U.S.
is still in the grips of the Great Depression;
this world’s 1969 technology is behind ours.
Where Janet is active, adventurous, emotion¬
ally fulfilled, Jeannine is passive and day-
dreamy, tied to a dreary part-time job at a
library and to a “lover” whose presence she
can hardly bear. The reader eventually no¬
tices that Jeannine is the only “J” who never
relates her own tale: the narrative of Jean¬
nine is always someone else’s.
In the next two segments, the third-person
narrator tells how Janet appeared in our
world; this narrative becomes Joanna’s first-
person introduction of herself, an inhabitant
of our world and time. As Janet returns to
Whileaway after her first brief appearance,
Joanna remarks that she has “just turned
into a man, me, Joanna. I mean a female
man, of course; my body and soul were
exactly the same” (One :IV). 12
Continuing with these kinds of shifts, Part
One serves to introduce these three pro¬
tagonists. to explain the device of “prob¬
ability universes” (One:VI) and to expand
on the opening views of Janet’s and Jean-
nine’s worlds. Whileaway, in the portrait
that gradually emerges, is over 900 years
ahead of us in another probability. Before
the “catastrophe” that produced the current
women-only culture, both technology and
ecological thinking had achieved the re-for¬
mation of the earth itself into two large con¬
tinents and had established colonies within
the solar system. The society which has
slowly been built up since the men disap¬
peared is small in numbers, decentralized
and agrarian, but technologically sophisti¬
cated: they’ve developed biological engi¬
neering, matter-antimatter reactors, induc¬
tion helmets that permit direct human-com¬
puter interaction, space travel and the prob¬
ability mechanics that sends Janet to Jo¬
anna’s world. Thanks to the computers, there
is a small administration, a geographical
parliament and a guilds council. The legal
system is even more minimal: one of the
reasons Janet is chosen is that as a Safety
and Peace Officer, she can be spared. (She
has that job, we’ll find, because her I.Q.
is lower than most Whileawayans’: “ ‘I am
stupid,’” she says in Seven: IV.) Only so¬
cial and personal relations are complex,
given their family and clan systems. While¬
awayans work very, very hard, we are told —
16 hours a week is typical.
Presuming some knowledge of American
history, Part One presents less detail about
Jeannine’s world; Jael will later state that
Joanna’s and Jeannine’s worlds are “almost
the same moment of time” (Eight: V). In
her 1969, there is no television, only radio;
presumably other forms of technological lag
contribute to the shortage of full-time jobs
and the low pay for existing ones. The fed¬
eral government plays a large role: we hear
of the WPA, rationing and government vs.
free market stores. The tension that results
from the profound contrast between this
world and Whileaway intensifies throughout
the novel. Running through the views of
these worlds and, later, of Joanna’s and
Jael’s, are recurrent thematic links: the
question of self-image and the “female man”
concept, as well as ideas of work and plea¬
sure, and varieties of aggressive behavior on
both personal and social levels.
Despite what we learn about probability
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Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
universes and how the Whileawayans sent
Janet off as ambassador, two puzzles emerge
about how all the protagonists move from
one probability to another. Jeannine’s ar¬
rival on Joanna’s world is presented very
ambiguously. While watching Janet on TV
in a cocktail lounge, Joanna meets Jeannine,
looking “very much out of place” (Jeannine
agrees) and comments, “I can’t imagine how
she got there, except by accident” (One:
VII). Joanna will still be insisting that she
doesn’t know how she’s gotten “stuck with
Jeannine” when all three of them are trans¬
ported to Whileaway (Five: I) — where Jean¬
nine will feel even more out of place, re¬
peatedly muttering, “I’m not here” (One:
XIV). The opening of Part Two presents
an even bigger puzzle: a new and nameless
“I” who says explicitly that she is not any of
the other three. “ ‘You’ll meet me later,’ ”
she says, and apparently disappears until
Part Eight.13 But this mysterious “blond
Halloween ghoul” with a face that scares
children asks a question that is central to
the novel:
Who am I?
I know who I am, but what’s my brand
name? (Two:I)
It seems a cryptic question, but think of
what a brand name tells us: what the
“product” is; who “makes” it and how; who
“sells” it and how; who profits from it in a
particular method of distribution and ex¬
change; what it’s for, both in terms of lit¬
eral use and in terms of the desires which
having it is supposed to fulfill (economic
status? sexual attractiveness? etc.). In short,
who uses it? How? Why?
Except, that the “it,” the “product,” here
is a woman.
Think, too, of the fact that brand names
imply some kind of capitalist economy — and
that such an economy does not exist in
Janet’s world, though it does on Joanna’s,
Jeannine’s and, we’ll discover, on the world
of Jael, the mystery voice.
The question, of course, is ultimately
Joanna’s. TFM explores how and why
women’s lives are shaped in our society;
therefore, it explores the nature of our so¬
ciety, period, for women and men. But in
this reading of the novel, we also note the
fact that Joanna’s questions erupt out of
nowhere at this point: displaced in an un¬
recognized voice, unconscious, just as her
reason for being “stuck with” Jeannine is
also unconscious.
It is right after Jael/Joanna’s question that
Joanna reminds us that she turned into a
man on Feb. 7, 1969 (Two: II). “What’s my
brand name?” is an angry question. When
Joanna finally details her transformation
into “the female man” (to a person with
full status) in Part Seven, it becomes clear
that the essential catalyst is her anger. Only
then do Jael and her world appear, and
only then do we see that Jael has in fact
been the agent who brought all three J’s
together and to Womanland.
Part Two, then, primarily concerns how
Janet, Joanna and Jeannine come together,
although some segments continue the nar¬
rative of Janet’s dealing with our military
and the police (III, V, VI, IX) and her TV
interview (VII). There are scenes of Janet
collecting Joanna and Jeannine (in a stolen
car) or picking them up at the Chinese New
Year Festival (where Jeannine’s boyfriend
Cal sees her go off with three other people).
Joanna’s narrative again uses ambiguities
that play upon her authorial role. In segment
VIII, she remarks that Janet “lived with me
for a month. J don’t mean in my house,”
mentioning Janet’s ubiquitous media pres¬
ence [to sell what?]; however, Part Three
will focus on the six months that Janet does
live with her. Joanna then adds, “With some¬
body I suspect was Miss Dadier appearing
in my bedroom late one night,” saying “ ‘I’m
lost.’ ” Jeannine disappears, but Joanna says,
“In my dream somebody [Jael?] wanted to
know where Miss Dadier was”; when she
wakes, Jeannine is on the other side of
Joanna’s mirror, “Semaphoring frantically.”
When Joanna tries to remove this presence
by turning out the light, Jeannine “remained
lit up. Dismissing the whole thing as the
1982]
McClenahan-
Textual Politics
119
world’s aberration, not mine,” Joanna goes
back to bed while Jeannine calls, “ ‘Janet?’ ”
As Jael later remarks, “people don’t recog¬
nize themselves except in mirrors, and some¬
times not even then” ( Eight :V).
If Jeannine’s world contrasts painfully
with Whileaway, so does Joanna’s; they are,
as we noted, close. Part Three (“This is the
lecture. If you don’t like it, you can skip to
the next chapter.”) divides between scenes
of life on our world, especially the notorious
party, and scenes of life on Whileaway, es¬
pecially the extended summary of While-
awayan life and character.
In segment I of Part Three, Joanna refers
to herself as author as well as character even
more blatantly. Before Janet, she admits,
all she did was:
dress for The Man
smile for The Man
talk wittily to The Man
sympathize with The Man
flatter The Man
understand The Man
defer to The Man
entertain The Man
keep The Man
live for The Man (Three: I)
However, Joanna goes on, “After I called up
Janet, out of nothing, or she called up me
(don’t read between the lines; there’s noth¬
ing there),” not only her zest for life but her
physical health improved. Ambiguous tags
like “I made that woman up” or “I imagine
her” recur frequently.
One thing Joanna imagines is what would
happen to Janet on our world if she followed
“the opera scenario that governs our lives”:
she sketches how Janet would meet a man
at a party and charts the course of the ro¬
mance, culminating in Janet’s avowal that
“I Am In Love With That Man. That Is
The Meaning Of Life.” But what really hap¬
pens in Joanna’s tale is that Janet spends six
months with her, devouring information of
all sorts and driving Joanna crazy by going
naked, dialling phones with her feet, drop¬
ping into judo crouches while dressed in ac¬
ceptable feminine style, and commenting
about sex with men: “. . . to me they are a
particularly alien species; one can make
love with a dog, yes? But not with some¬
thing so uncomfortably close to oneself”
(Three: II).
But then Joanna and Janet do go to a
party (Three : II) , Joanna obsessed but dis¬
satisfied with her appearance and physically
miserable, Janet pleased, excited and cheer¬
fully unconcerned about her “Disappearing
Lipstick.” The party is such a formally bril¬
liant capsule satire of male-female relation¬
ships in our society, and such a perfect
exemplar of the tension between how Joanna
has been trained to behave and how she’d
like to, that it’s hard to resist quoting it all,
though of course we must.
But every reader of the novel remembers
the climax. As Joanna and Janet try to leave,
their host tells them they’re not going. If we
watch the pronouns here, we see a clear little
model of Joanna as the locus of the multiple
J’s. “He took us by the wrist,” Joanna says.
“Let me go,” said Janet.
Say it loud. Somebody will come to
rescue you.
Can’t I rescue myself?
No.
Why not?
All this time he was nuzzling her ear
and / was showing my distaste by shrink¬
ing terrified into a corner, one eye on the
party. Everyone seemed amused.
“Give us a goodbye kiss,” said the host,
who might have been attractive under
other circumstances, a giant Marine, so to
speak. I pushed him away.
“What’sa matter, you some kinda
prude?” he said and enfolding us in how
powerful arms et cetera. . . . [pronoun
italics mine]
(Three:II)
“Shrinking terrified into a corner” is the hall¬
mark of Jeannine’s behavior, the passive
persona whose labels are “vanishing,”
“shrinking,” “disappearing.” What we are
seeing at this moment is Joanna’s split be¬
tween the passive, helpless self that she still
120
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
can’t escape, but hates, and the active, com¬
petent self that she can imagine and desires
to be. Joanna spends the entire party being
placating to the men who insult them and
begging Janet to be “polite.” The only mo¬
ment of anger she allows herself (the only
hint of Jael’s repressed presence) is directed
at Janet for daring to argue — and is only a
fantasy act: “(Picture me on the back of the
couch, clinging to her hair like a homuncula,
battering her on top of the head until she
doesn’t dare to open her mouth.)”
In contrast, the free citizen of Whileaway
resists the host’s aggression with a control
and competence appropriate to each stage of
provocation. When words fail to deter the
host and he invites her to make him let go,
Janet “dumps” him once. The host escalates
to obscene and violent insults. Janet is un¬
moved until he hits the one that is meaning¬
ful to a Whileawayan: “a Goddamned scared
little baby virgin.” (The key word is “baby.”)
At that point, Janet gives him “a big stinging
theatrical come-on-get-your-guard” slap.
When “the Marine” attacks in earnest, Janet
“deflects” him twice until she gets him in a
“cool and technical” hold, warning him that
he’ll break his arm if he moves. He does.
With “astonished good humor,” Janet asks,
“ ‘But why do you want to fight when you
do not know how?’” (ThreeTI). In Seg¬
ment III, Janet extends the point about “all
this uneasy aggression” that she’s encoun¬
tered here: “for the temperamental thing,
sometimes you can’t stand another person,”
the only cure is “distance.” When it comes
to physical conflict, “For sport, yes, okay,
for hatred, no. Separate them.” So is she
sorry she hurt the host? “Not me.”
At this dramatic moment, then, let me
anticipate the final shape of the novelistic
structure I’m proposing.
Joanna’s increasingly overt and frequent
references to herself as the source and ma¬
nipulator of her characters and fiction focus
our attention on her, on a women consider¬
ing her situation and her own history in
contemporary American society. The first
fact about that situation is an internal con¬
flict between what she is or has been and
what she wishes she could be; and the con¬
flict brings dissatisfaction, unease. That im¬
pels analysis, but Joanna turns to fantasy
and imagination as her methods to isolate
and model (ultimately) four characters, or
aspects of herself, and the environments
that would produce the clearest form of
each.
At this stage of her inward journey, Jo¬
anna most clearly pictures only two of these
aspects, Janet and Jeannine, and she’s caught
between them, unable to detach herself from
Jeannine or to become Janet. We could,
therefore, say that although Janet is using
her imagination — being active, creating — she
is also merely fantasizing — being relatively
passive, unable yet to fully direct and con¬
trol her creations in relation to herself or to
make them active in reality. Although they
seem fully-imagined, Janet and Jeannine re¬
main “fantasies” for three reasons. First,
Joanna can’t see why she’s stuck with Jean¬
nine, this model of the worst she could be,
whose world is so close to her own. Second,
Janet is only an alien, a temporary visitor to
our world. Even when Joanna, Janet and
Jeannine physically come together, there is
no agreement, no harmony, no connection
among them yet. Joanna can’t see, by which
I mean imagine, what possible connections
could exist. She merely pictures herself trav¬
elling with two other characters, one of
whom represents everything she’s afraid
she’ll become, and one of whom represents
everything she desires to be, could be, if
only the world were different.
Third, there is one aspect of herself that
Joanna doesn’t see yet, because her socializa¬
tion impels her to repress it. That aspect,
her justified frustration and anger, does find
outlets long before she can recognize and
portray it as Jael. The voice of anger and
frustrated desire erupts with increasing fre¬
quency in the voices of Joanna and Jeannine
from Part Four on, in comments that don’t
sound like either character or that the reader
can’t ascribe to any one character for sure.
1982]
McClenahan — Textual Politics
121
This gradual emergence of Jael’s voice
makes perfect sense, just as the later revela¬
tion that Jael is the agent who brought the
J’s together does. However hidden she is
from Joanna’s consciousness in the novel’s
early stages, it is precisely this force of frus¬
tration becoming anger that motivates Jo¬
anna’s exercise of fantasy and imagination
to begin with. Russ herself has commented
on how hard, and important, it is to get that
anger articulated. At that stage of her career,
she says, it was easy to write the scene (Part
Eight) where Jael actually kills a Manlander,
but the one where Janet breaks the host’s
arm was “very difficult”: “The taboo here, I
think, is the same one that makes ‘man-
hater’ such a dirty word. It is the abandon¬
ment of passivity, the vehement assertion
that I Come First, Not You, and all this
through the release of perfectly justified
anger.” For, Russ says, Jael, “with her claws,
her teeth, and her ferocious adrenalin highs
is . . . Anger”; and “It is Anger that medi¬
ates between Oppression and Freedom.”14
The fact that Joanna is still stuck some¬
where between fantasy and full imagination
in Part Three does not mean that her efforts
are useless; on the contrary. It’s true that by
the end of Part One, Joanna has reached a
static opposition of extremes. After the party,
Part Three turns by contrast to social life
on Whileaway. Part Four turns the contrast
again as Joanna relates Janet’s experiences
with an American family and her love affair
with Laura Rose. But pursuing these con¬
traries to their painful extremes will at last
produce the mirrors or foils, the dialogue
with what is, that allow Joanna to examine
herself and to articulate her anger at what
is. Thus in Part Five, the novel further ex¬
amines the freedom of Whileaway in Jo¬
anna’s account of her “actual” trip there with
Jeannine; in Part Six, we return to the op¬
pression of Jeannine’s world.
And then Joanna’s use of fantasy and
imagination makes her able to see and speak
her self, her world, in Part Seven: “Let me
tell you how I turned into a man.” But Jo¬
anna’s journey is not then over. Expressing
anger is a step, not a solution — but to what?
Is anger the same as aggression? How should
either be expressed?
For the answers, Joanna will return to the
methods that have brought her this far, now
with even more conscious self-involvement,
more active imagining instead of passive
fantasizing. In the remainder of Part Seven,
Joanna will return her text to Janet, finally
telling the story of how and why Janet’s duty
as Safety and Peace Officer led her to shoot
the old woman Elena Twason. But Joanna
also allows herself to imagine desiring Elena,
conceiving a desire doubly taboo on the
grounds of age and gender (IV). Part Seven
ends with the three J’s summarizing their
outlooks on life (V).
With Part Eight, Joanna has moved al¬
most completely from fantasizing to fully
imagining, creating an image that changes
herself and her world. Two of the opposites
are nearly fused: Jael and her world blend
the worst-case environment we connect with
Jeannine and the freedom and energy of
action we identify with Janet. But Jael is
another instance of “excess,” a hypothesis
that allows Janet to explore and play with —
to use, not be used by — new images of de¬
sire, including aggression.
Joanna’s imagination becomes fully active
in the here and now with the novel’s last
section. Part Nine, “The Book of Joanna,”
fuses not only all four J’s but also inner jour¬
ney with outward act. At the conclusion of
TFM, Joanna reveals a reshaping of both
aggression and sexual desire in her own be¬
havior and then relates the final meeting of
all four characters in our world. Even then,
she is not finished with her exercise in imag¬
inative discovery and creation: Jael’s last
revelation will call the whole model of Jo¬
anna’s desire, Whileaway, into question. But
her final act in her text is to make her exer¬
cise in imagination into ours. Reclaiming the
characters as her personae, Joanna formally
bids farewell to her book. Through this con¬
cluding gesture, Joanna acknowledges and
thus shapes her community — those whose
lives she has shared in person and as a
122
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
reader — and extends that community by in¬
viting her readers to share and transform
her experiences into their own. Because this
text, an act aimed at and shared with her
community, images the worst women and
men can be, it is aggressive, a challenge.
Because it images more mutually satisfying
ways we could be, and because its very form
invites us to share in its creation, the text
is also an act of unselfish desire.
With this overall pattern in mind, we can
note a few of the specific ways in which the
rest of TFM develops it, focussing especi¬
ally on details concerning the formation of
self, self-image, and desire.
The rest of Part Three, as noted above,
shifts to an extended description of how very
different it is to grow up and live on While-
away. In Part Four, the text gathers up all
these issues and again pictures how a While-
awayan deals with our handling of them
when Janet stays with the Wildings.
Laura Rose Wilding illustrates how a
female child grows up and learns to see her¬
self in our society. Among the things she
learns, by her own account, are that she’s
a victim of penis envy and can’t lead a happy
or normal life, but that being a girl is won¬
derful “because you can wear pretty clothes
and you don’t have to do anything; the men
will do it for you,” so that she can “conquer
the conqueror of Everest” instead of climb¬
ing it herself. However, men don’t want to
“make it” with aggressive girls: “Either they
try to dominate you, which is revolting, or
they turn into babies.” She couldn’t sleep
with a girl because it’s “abnormal” (Four:
XI). How could Laur not fall in love with
the woman from Whileaway? In her society,
men and women define themselves only in
the mirror of the other: women by what they
lack, men by what they have. In Janet, Laur
finds not a mere mirror of her desire to be
a “human being,” but a window onto new
possibilities of how to be.
The multiple narrator of Part Four has
far more difficulty with Janet. The voice
of Jael — who will later announce that she
is the “plague” of murder and revolt that
exterminated Whileawayan men (Nine: VII)
and repeat insistently that she’s “an old-
fashioned girl” ( Eight : IX, X, XI) — gets even
stronger as the J’s confront a new model of
desire. The “I” who describes Janet’s arrival
says, “I drifted into the attic; my spirit
seized possession of the old four-poster bed
. . . and slowly, slowly, I infected the whole
house” (Four:II); a later “I” calls herself
“the plague system” trying to keep Janet
from Laur (Four:X). When Janet and Laur
begin to act on their desire, the other three
J’s both share in and fear Janet’s feelings,
being bound by taboo. Janet breaks the
Whileawayan taboo against sex with some¬
one a generation younger, not for selfish
reasons, but because of Laur’s need. As the
narrator relates it, “Janet — I — held her, her
odor flooding my skin, cold woman, grinning
at my own desire because we are still trying
to be good,” but when Laur kisses “Miss
Evason,” the narrator’s had enough:
“Janet’s rid of me. I sprang away and hung
by one claw from the window curtain”
(Four:XIII).15 When Laur and Janet make
love, the narrator is presumably involved
with Janet until near the climax, but then
flees, “shrieking”: “There’s no excuse for
putting my fact between someone else’s
columnar thighs,” yet her desire shows in
her appreciation of “the cool smoothness
... the architectura, the heavenly technical
cunning of those limbs.”
Janet takes over in segment XVI to tell
Laur the story of how she first “fell in love”
with her wife Vittoria, an experience
Whileawayans see as a “sickness,” a painful
obsession that merely projects self onto the
whole world. “Romantic love” (not love)
is seated in the solar plexus, a “radiation
disease” that they are “mean and mocking”
about because of “the self-consequence that
comes with romantic passion,” that “para¬
site.” Unlike the “friendly” and non-posses-
sive love that sustains their marriage, Janet
says, “the operatic kind” or “that abyss
1982]
McClenahan — Textual Politics
123
opening on nothing” comes and goes; “I
run away usually.”
(B) Without Contraries, No Progression:
The World Re-Imagined and The World
Reflected (Parts Five and Six)
In Part Five, the trip to Whileaway (engi¬
neered by the unseen Jael, motivated by
Joanna’s inability to escape Jeannine) be¬
gins in Jeannine’s world as she and Joanna
meet Janet. Joanna perceives Janet as “our
only savior,” but Jeannine “did not want to
admit that Janet existed” (Five:I). A clue
to Jael’s presence is the narrator of segment
VI, who “has never visited Whileaway in my
own person” and who relates how Janet,
Jeannine and Joanna arrive there. Jeannine
can’t believe in Whileaway because she’s
sure it can be destroyed. Jeannine’s world
has taught her a simple lesson. Somebody
will always get you: invade, “infect you with
plague,” “infiltrate,” or “corrupt”; life is
“just horrors. Horrors!” (Five: VII). But
Joanna gets angrier on Whileaway, tartly
noting in the next section that Jeannine
“loves to be sat on” and basically wants to
be “relieved of personality forever” (Five:
VIII). The growing anger strengthens both
the need for and the ability to continue
imagining (travelling on) Whileaway. Along
the way, “I” notices that, unlike the worlds
where there are brand names, advertising,
and other male mirrors and representations
of women, on Whileaway, “there are no pic¬
tures made out of anybody or anything”
(Five: XI).
The trip to Whileaway is useful only if
it helps Joanna to deal with the Jeannine-
potential. Thus in Part Six, it is Jeannine
who “wakes from a dream of Whileaway,”
feeling that “everything in the world . . .
makes her cry, . . . seems to say to her,
‘You can’t.’ ” Jeannine dismisses the re¬
current dreams, defining Whileaway as “To
while away the time. That means it’s just a
pastime” that “would sound pretty silly”
if she told anyone. Where Jael asks, “What’s
my brand name?” Jeannine sees herself in
the mirror and wonders “who is to use all
this loveliness, who is to recognize it, make
it public, make it available?” Not Jeannine,
says the narrator; “Jeannine is not available
to Jeannine” (Six:I).
But the energetic J’s emerge in Jeannine,
too. “I” has two arguments with Jeannine
over what she wants. Playing devil’s advo¬
cate, “I” argues for the status quo, but two
voices give contrary answers for Jeannine.
When her brother grabs Jeannine, he finds
Janet in his grasp; " Touch me again and I’ll
knock your teeth out!” someone says (Six:
IV). During the second argument, Jeannine
looks in a mirror and jumps — “Who’s that!”
(“Was it Janet? Me?” the narrator asks.)
Momentarily “shocked right out of her sor¬
row,” Jeannine demands “with unwonted
energy” to know what her sister-in-law wants
out of life (Six: VII).
But Jeannine can’t sustain this energy;
she flees “from the unspeakableness of her
own wishes” to land “in the lap of the pos¬
sible” (marriage). Having said yes to Cal
(she dialled his number without realizing it),
Jeannine has one moment of self-love in
her family’s approval, while the narrator
stands compassionately “with my arm around
the shadow of her dead self” — and why not?
For “. . . there but for the grace of God go
I” (Six:IX).
(C) The Uses of Imagination: Liberating
Anger and Desire ( Parts Seven and Eight)
With those words, Joanna turns her at¬
tention and her text to herself (Part Seven).
To become a female man, Joanna first had
to become a woman: “someone automati¬
cally not above reproach . . . mirror and
honeypot, servant and judge” — until you’re
45 and “disgusting.” When she rebels in rage
against the suppression of all her own de¬
sires, the self-image her world gives back is:
“I’m a sick woman, a madwoman, a ball-
breaker, a man-eater,” who doesn’t “con¬
sume men gracefully,” as a seductress, but
cracks their joints “with these filthy ghoul’s
claws.” Against the mirror-image set up by
124
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
advertising, Joanna sees “my matted hair,
my filthy skin, my flat plaques of green
bloody teeth. I don’t think my body would
sell anything. O of all diseases self-hate is
the worst and I don’t mean for the one who
suffers it!” (Seven: I). Eventually, the suffer¬
ing of experiencing everything “through two
systems of value, two habits of expectation,”
drives Joanna to her one choice: “To re¬
solve contrarieties, resolve them in your own
person.” Picking up the mirror image, she
cites Plato’s statement that “we love . . .
that in which we are defective,” having
learned that we pursue “our magical Self in
the mirror of another,” but “how on earth
can one then possess it? Fucking, if you will
forgive the pun, is an anti-climax.” There is
only one way to possess what we lack, need,
want: “Become it.” Joanna concludes, then,
that “I am a man (And you are a woman.),”
demanding “Move over” — or else, “By God
and all the Saints, I’ll break your neck”
(Seven :II).
This conclusion, however, simply reverses
what is; still self-centered, it leads only to
vengeance. Again Joanna turns to Janet
and Whileaway (Seven:IV), imagining what
grounds would justify violence there (Elena
Twason apparently was executed because
her assertion that no one else exists is a de¬
nial of/attack on society and life itself) and
imagining how she’d like to break both
Whileawayan and our taboos with Elena.
This doesn’t solve the problems with
Joanna’s conclusion, so she deals with them
imaginatively in Part Eight, Jael and her
world. In Jael’s world, men and women
have literally been at war; Jael herself il¬
lustrates what kind of “female man” results
from simply reversing and extrapolating
from the problems of our world: an assassin
whose “own erection” is her unsheathing of
hidden talons and teeth, whose last effort
at diplomacy ends with her murder of a
Manlander, who keeps a computerized male
android as a sexual toy, who wants to re¬
open and win the war.
Joanna calls Jael “The Woman Who Has
No Brand Name” (Eight:II) because Jael
is something new, a woman who won’t be
used: who has the strength born of anger
and near-despair to follow the path of Ex¬
cess and find “the One Genuine Thing”
possible within the circumstances of her
world . In this gender-role reversal, Joanna
pictures a woman defining herself as men
do, by violence to others. The blood Jael
sheds is “restitution,” a “truthful reflection
in the eyes of a dying man” that makes her
existence a little more real in a world that
taught her that to be a woman at all was
already to be “guilty” (Eight :X).
In Jael’s world, human(e) love and desire
are impossible: “How can you love anyone
who is a castrated You?” she asks of men.
Yet since she still defines herself by Manland
concepts, her observation that “Real homo¬
sexuality would blow Manland to pieces” is
true of Womanland as well (Eight: VIII) .
In her world, violence — war — is the only
form of desire left. She asks the other three
J’s to act on that desire with her, to provide
bases for the war: “ ‘Do we do business?’ ”
(Eight: XV).
(D) Uniting “ Contrarieties^ : The Book of
Joanna ( Part Nine)
Jeannine (life is “just Horrors”) is all for
JaeVs use of her world, not her own: “take
the whole place over; I wish you would”
(Nine: VII); Janet disapproves; Joanna does
not answer directly.
So Jael is not The Answer for Joanna,
but her equation of “Who am I?” with
“What’s my brand name?” has helped to lay
open the fault in all the non-Whileawayan
worlds. When we take our perception of a
barrier or void between “I” and “Object”
and assume it can’t be crossed (though we
desire to), it’s “natural” to give primacy to
this isolated “I.” When we then use these
assumptions to structure all the forms of
our desire and all our social roles and insti¬
tutions, sexism, racism, nationalism, capi¬
talism, and so on are equally “natural” re¬
sults. In a system where “I” is always de¬
fined against, excluding, the other, there
can always and only be user and used, domi-
1982]
McClenahan — Textual Politics
125
nator and dominated; every “I” is a potential
commodity to every other.
Whileaway is also not The Answer, only
an alternative, the imagination of a better
life and the conditions that might allow it.
By Part Nine, however, Joanna’s imagi¬
nation has freed her to begin committing
“revolutionary” acts: breaking a man’s
thumb (IV) or “bringing my fantasies into
the real world” in her own love affair with
Laura Rose (VI), but then inviting us to
join and reshape her “revolution” with the
book itself.
What should be stressed here is that it is
questions which effect the last fusion of the
four J’s and involve Joanna and her readers
in ongoing, communal, action. Jael fuses the
other three worlds to Whileaway, the dream
of unselfish desire, by raising a fundamental
question about how it evolved. According to
Jael’s last revelation, there was no “plague”
that killed the men on Whileaway, only “I
and those like me” who gave peace to
Whileaway with “the bones of the men
we have slain” (Nine: VII). Janet, how¬
ever, refuses to believe that. In Joanna’s
and our “probable universe,” will we
make a world of unselfish desire through
slow historical progress or violent revolution?
Joanna’s text excludes neither possibility,
just as Joanna excludes none of her per¬
sonae at this moment, knowing Jeannine to
be her past, liking Jael best (“when I stop
to think about it, which is not often”), dis¬
believing in Janet but recognizing her as
“our savior from utter despair” (Nine: VII).
From start to finish, therefore, Joanna’s
“little book” has called itself into question
through both its structure and content. Her
farewell to it suggests that we will do the
same as we use her imaginative creation, so
that our action will hasten the day when it
is “quaint and old-fashioned” and “no longer
understood”: when “we will be free” (Nine:
VII). TFM’s structure as a text liberates our
imaginations without violence, offering us the
experience of a process that we might learn
to enact on a social level, too.
Notes
1 Joanna Russ, The Female Man (New York:
Bantam Books, 1975). For the convenience of
readers with other editions, Part and segment num¬
bers are substituted for page numbers and are indi¬
cated in the essay.
2 Roland Barthes, Preface to Critical Essays
(Evanston: Northwestern University Press, 1972),
p. 267.
3 Barthes, “Literature and Signification,” Ibid.,
p. 268.
4 This paragraph summarizes Barthes’ “From
Work to Text” in Image, Music, Text, trans.
Stephen Heath (New York: Hill and Wong, 1977),
pp. 155-64.
5 Jerome McGann, “The Aims of Blake’s Proph¬
ecies and The Uses of Blake Criticism” in Blake's
Sublime Allegory, ed. Stuart Curran and Anthony
A. Wittreich (Madison: University of Wisconsin
Press, 1973), pp. 8-11.
G Hayden White Topics of Discourse (Balti¬
more: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978),
p. 276.
7 William Blake, Jerusalem in The Poetry and
Prose of William Blake, ed. David V. Erdman
(New York: Doubleday and Co., 1970).
8 The quotation is from “The Proverbs of Hell,”
The Marriage of Heaven and Hell 7:3.
9 Barthes, “Literature and Signification,” p. 267.
10 See, for example, the transcription of Samuel
R. Delany’s 1977 speech, “The Word Is Not The
Thing,” in Janus IV (Summer/Autumn, 1978),
pp. 5-8.
11 “Joanna,” I wish to stress, is the fictional char¬
acter, including the fictional author, the authorial
persona who comments about herself in the novel.
The historical person is always referred to as Russ
or Joanna Russ.
12 Careful readers will have noted that Joanna’s
first account (One: IV) said that she was at a Man¬
hattan party, while here the party is in Los Ange¬
les: another playful device to remind us of author-
Joanna’s presence.
13 The paperback editions of the novel give a
clue to the presence of a fourth speaker. The first-
page blurb on all the editions I have seen is the
section of Jael’s speech in Eight :V where she
describes finding the other three J’s.
14 “Creating Positive Images of Women: A
Writer’s Perspective,” Forum on Women and
Literature, Cornell University, n.d., p. 5. I am
indebted to Dr. Beverly Friend of Oakton Com¬
munity College for a copy of this speech.
15 It is the “old-fashioned” Jael who literally
has claws.
THE SEARCH FOR EQUALITY IN WISCONSIN
Tamara Raymond
Dela field, Wisconsin
In the twilight of the struggle for woman’s
enfranchisement, Robert M. La Follette,
progressive senator from Wisconsin, sat in
California, attending his eldest son who was
recovering from a serious illness. Upon re¬
ceiving word that the Nineteenth Amend¬
ment, giving women the ballot, was up for
a vote, he dashed back to Washington. There
he was joined by his wife Belle, a feminist
and ardent suffrage worker. On June 4,
1919, with his wife looking on from the
balcony above the Senate floor, La Follette
voted for enfranchisement. Immediately af¬
ter the victory, Belle Case La Follette wired
her husband’s colleagues in the Wisconsin
legislature, urging prompt ratification of the
new federal amendment. Within days the
men in Madison responded and Wisconsin
added ratification to its list of progressive
accomplishments.1
The passage and ratification of the amend¬
ment marked the culmination of an effort
which began with the 1848 Seneca Falls
Conventions and carried American suffrag¬
ists through seventy-two years of debate and
sacrifice. In the course of the struggle, the
founding generation of Elizabeth Cady Stan¬
ton, Susan B. Anthony, Lucretia Mott and
Lucy Stone gave way to another, Carrie
Chapman Catt, Alice Stone Blackwell, Anna
Howard Shaw, Alice Paul and Jane Addams.
The original movement fractured in the
1860’s over issues of strategy, leadership
and priorities, only to be reassembled as the
National American Woman Suffrage Asso¬
ciation in 1890. 2 Even after the new or¬
ganization was formed, incipient divisions
existed among the women. On the one hand
stood the feminists who advocated equal
rights as well as the vote, while on the other
were the social reformers, women who per¬
ceived the ballot as a tool for moral better¬
ment.
Though such differences predated passage
of the suffrage amendment, it was not until
after the victory that they threatened to sun¬
der the movement. Then, in the afterglow
of their greatest success, the women split
over issues of strategy and social reform
gains. The gulf widened when the National
Woman’s Party introduced its national Equal
Rights Amendment in the 1920’s. The con¬
troversy centered around the issue of pro¬
tective labor legislation for women. Social
reform groups such as the League of Women
Voters and the National Consumers’ League
emphasized the need to safeguard such hard-
won advances as minimum wage laws, maxi¬
mum hour laws and protective legislation
for women and children. In short, they
believed women deserved special considera¬
tion because of their weaker physical state
and their roles as mothers. As May Dean
Smith, a reformer and writer, stated, “to
deny that women require care and protection
is equal to a denial of her physical mission
of motherhood.”3
The Woman’s Party, by contrast, felt that
protective legislation grouped women with
children, an admission of inferiority and
dependence. Progressive judge Ben Lindsey
stated, “What is known as special legislation
for women is in fact not for women at all,
but for children.”4 The NWP felt that pro¬
tective legislation was acceptable only if
instituted for both men and women. Gail
Laughlin, a Woman’s Party officer, explained
the Party’s position in this way;
“The so-called eight hour laws for women,
glibly called ‘protective,’ mean the shutting
of the door of opportunity to women. If
we are to have legislation concerning
hours of labor — and I believe we should
have that legislation — it should be based
along the lines of industry, not along the
lines of sex.”5
126
1982]
Raymond — The Search for Equality
127
Many feminists claimed that whenever pro¬
tective laws had been enforced, women had
lost their jobs to men. The Woman’s Party
felt that laws containing blatant discrimina¬
tions should be abolished.
The argument over the constitutionality
of protective legislation had raged through¬
out the progressive era, finally receiving ju¬
dicial resolution in the famous case of Mul¬
ler v. Oregon. In response to a challenge to
the state of Oregon’s ten-hour work day re¬
striction on women, the social reformers had
recruited Louis D. Brandeis to prepare the
brief in behalf of special legislation. Relying
primarily on European sources and statistics,
he had persuaded the Supreme Court to up¬
hold the state’s practice. He asserted that
“women are fundamentally weaker than men
in all that makes for endurance; in muscular
strength, in nervous energy and in the power
of persistant application and attention.”6 In
short, Brandeis chose a social defense of
Oregon’s statute. Yet from the standpoint
of the more radical feminists, such laws
violated the concept of gender equality;
women could not seek status comparable to
that of men while at the same time bene¬
fiting from special governmental favors. Thus
in the 1920’s only years after the suffrage
victory, the women’s movement faltered and
splintered. By the middle of the decade, it
was clear that the gulf could not be bridged
and passage of an equal rights amendment
would await the action of future generations.
It was against this backdrop of contro¬
versy and division at the national level that
the members of the Wisconsin state legisla¬
ture met to consider an equal rights law in
1921. Since the 1890’s, Wisconsin had been
the leader in progressive reform, due largely
to the political devotion of Robert M. La
Follette and his wife Belle. During the La
Follette years Wisconsin went from a back¬
ward, politically corrupt state to one which
emphasized democracy and reform. During
his several terms as governor, La Follette
broke trusts, regulated railroad companies
and big business, instituted the direct pri¬
mary and defeated the Republican party ma¬
chine. He created a progressive coalition
of his own, a machine which placed progres¬
sive men in government positions throughout
the state. Moreover, La Follette stressed the
need for cooperation between the University
of Wisconsin and the state government. The
alliance between the capitol in Madison and
the University, “the Wisconsin Idea,” re¬
sulted in thorough and lasting reform.7 With
the assistance of his family, La Follette also
created a progressive journal, La Follette’s
Magazine, which took the progressive mes¬
sage to the homes of constituents.
Wisconsin women had been involved in
the progressive movement from the begin¬
ning. Throughout the state’s history, they had
been politically active and by 1890 had won
equal property rights, the right to practice
law, and suffrage in school elections. The
first woman was appointed to the Milwaukee
school board in 1895. 8 As the Wisconsin
progressive movement matured, many
women became dedicated social reformers,
participating in labor and prison reform ef¬
forts. Later they championed city improve¬
ment programs through which they de¬
veloped playgrounds, libraries and kinder¬
gartens, as well as manual training pro¬
grams.9
Woman suffrage was, therefore, an obvi¬
ous item on the progressive agenda in Wis¬
consin. In 1912, Robert La Follette himself
directed the effort for statewide enfranchise¬
ment, while Belle traveled extensively, speak¬
ing for the cause. She even utilized the fam¬
ily’s mailing lists to send pamphlets and leaf¬
lets to potential allies.10 When the votes were
tallied, however, the issue was defeated by a
two-to-one margin.11 By 1921, having rati¬
fied the Nineteenth Amendment, they were
again ready for action, this time banding
together to move their representatives in
Madison to support equal rights for women.
The legislators, meanwhile, now regarded
the women as potential constituents and
openly courted their favor. The state Re¬
publican platform observed that women had
128
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
“come into full partnership with men in the
conduct of the affairs of government.” As a
consequence the party endorsed revision of
laws “to the end that in all matters men and
women should be upon a basis of equality.”12
On that platform John J. Blaine was elected
governor.
With Blaine’s pro-feminist administration
in power, the Wisconsin chapter of the Na¬
tional Woman’s Party felt that an equal
rights law was attainable. Mabel Raef Put¬
nam, the state chairman of the Woman’s
Party, explored the possibility by traveling
to the state capitol where she met with fem¬
inist author Zona Gale and Ada James, the
former president of the Political Equality
League of Wisconsin. Both women were
friends of the La Follette family and were
active in the progressive movement. The
three women addressed the Wisconsin Sen¬
ate Judiciary Committee concerning the
feasibility of an equal rights bill.13 A few
members of the committee expressed inter¬
est in such legislation but others voiced
violent opposition.
The women realized that a strong force of
dedicated workers would be needed to suc¬
cessfully institute such a law. Mabel Putnam
met with the members of state women’s or¬
ganizations, and found that nearly every or¬
ganization was willing to assist in the effort.
Next, Putnam called on Governor Blaine,
who indicated his support and suggested a
visit to Charles Crownhart, the Revisor of
Statutes. Crownhart was a dedicated pro¬
gressive, who had been Robert La Follette’s
campaign manager for many years. He
agreed to draw up the equal rights bill. Al¬
though at first Crownhart suggested that the
bill should provide only for choice of voting
residence and jury service, he soon realized
that an inclusive law would be more practi¬
cal. He favored a “woman’s bill of rights”
which would “remove every disability” ap¬
pearing “in the statutes. . . .”14 a proposal
the women heartily endorsed.
The Equal Rights Law was introduced in¬
to committee in May 1921. The bill stated:
“Women shall have the same rights and
privileges under the law as men in the ex¬
ercise of suffrage, freedom of contract,
choice of residence for voting purposes,
jury service, holding office, holding and
conveying property, care and custody of
children, and in all other respects. The
various courts, executive and administra¬
tive officers shall construe the statutes
where the masculine gender is used to in¬
clude the feminine gender unless such con¬
struction will deny to females the special
protection and privileges which they now
enjoy for the general welfare.’’15
The special protection clause was inserted
in the bill as a compromise between the
feminists and the reformers.
Mabel Putnam immediately wrote to
United States Senators La Follette and Ir¬
vine Lenroot encouraging them to aid in
passing the bill. She noted that; “Wisconsin
women’s organizations want Wisconsin to
be first state thus to complete the grant of
equal suffrage. We want you to urge your
friends in Senate and Assembly to work and
vote for this bill.”16 Lenroot sent back a
short letter of approval, while La Follette
responded by telegram, stating,
“You doubtless are aware of the fact that
the reactionaries are in control of the
legislature, but I have today taken this
matter up with friends at Madison, and I
am certain they will be glad to give their
co-operation.”17
With the support of the La Follette progres¬
sives, the women gained needed political al¬
lies and awaited the debate on the bill.
Assemblyman Alexander Matheson led
the opposition against equal rights, con¬
tending that the bill was a threat to the
home. In debate he declared, “This bill will
result in coarsening the fiber of woman — it
takes her out of her proper sphere.”18 Many
other reactionary members agreed with him.
Senator Claire Bird felt that an amendment
striking out “freedom of contract, choice
of residence for voting purposes” and “in
all other respects” was needed. The Senate
1982]
Raymond — The Search for Equality
129
voted and the Bird amendment was passed.
The conservative sector supported the
amendment, explaining, “Why, a woman
could establish her residence separate and
apart from that of her husband, and con¬
tinue to live away from him forever while
he would have to support her and could
never divorce her.”19 The women felt that
this amendment legalized slavery. One of
their advisors typified their viewpoint:
“It is a relic of barbarism that leads some
to believe that a husband, no matter how
great a tramp he may be, should start out
on a vague quest and call upon his wife
like a squaw to pack her papoose on her
back and follow.’’20
The women’s associations threatened to use
the La Follette tactic of reading the roll call
vote, and in that way oust any reactionary
legislator who dared to vote against equal
rights or for the Bird amendment.21 Putnam
and her legal advisors discussed the amend¬
ment with progressive members of the As¬
sembly and agreed that the omitted parts
must be restored to the bill’s text. The As¬
sembly complied by voting to discard the
Senate’s amendment.
The Wisconsin Equal Rights Law was
passed in its entirety in June, 1921 and was
signed by Governor John J. Blaine a month
later. Although the bill had met with some
opposition, careful politicking and the sup¬
port of progressive congressmen and United
States Senator Robert M. La Follette pro¬
pelled the bill through the legislature in an
amazingly short period of time. From Wash¬
ington came the joyous reaction of the Na¬
tional Woman’s Party. Wisconsin, they ob¬
served, had become “the first state in the
Union to remove women from a subject
position in the law.” It was “the only place
in the English-speaking world where women
had equal rights with men.”22
While the rift in the national woman’s
movement stifled any hope for an equal
rights amendment at the federal level, Wis¬
consin had triumphantly passed its Equal
Rights Law, the only state to accomplish
such a feat during the post-suffrage period.
Hence, it is apparent that Wisconsin’s pro¬
gressive environment was hospitable to femi¬
nist victory. Unlike the national women’s
organizations, Wisconsin’s associations,
both feminist and reform oriented, were not
hostile toward each other. Most of these
women had grown up in the progressive
movement and were acquainted through this
common experience. This fact enabled them
to compromise their differences and work
toward equality in Wisconsin. They subordi¬
nated ideological and tactical differences to
rally around a common progressive cause
and work toward gender equality. The re¬
sult was a powerful coalition of dissimilar
groups, including the Daughters of the Amer¬
ican Revolution, the Polish Housewives
League, the State Association of Catholic
Women’s Clubs, The Wisconsin League of
Woman Voters, the Young Women’s Chris¬
tian Association and the Wisconsin Con¬
sumers League, as well as the Wisconsin
Women’s Progressive Association, the Wis¬
consin Federation of Business and Profes¬
sional Women and the state chapter of the
National Woman’s Party.23 The alliance be¬
tween traditional reform and feminist or¬
ganizations was sealed when both agreed to
support the special legislation clause of the
Equal Rights Law, which promised women
the protection and privileges granted in prior
statutes. Hence, the Wisconsin law protected
special legislation for women in addition to
guaranteeing them equal rights. The women
thus avoided the divisive debate which char¬
acterized national efforts to reach agreement
on the issue of protective legislation.
While the women did most of the foot¬
work required to present the bill, male mem¬
bers of the legislature provided needed sup¬
port and state court members later upheld
the Equal Rights Law in several vital court
cases. In addition, Governor John Blaine
and the bill’s author, Charles Crownhart,
aided the women with advice and assistance.
Like the women, male advocates of the bill
130
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
were overwhelmingly progressive in politi¬
cal outlook. Too often in the past, male in¬
volvement in the women’s movement had
stifled genuine progress. In Wisconsin, on
the other hand, the male-dominated Pro¬
gressive Party had championed enfranchise¬
ment long before the Republicans or Demo¬
crats took up the cry.24
Wisconsin’s unique brand of progressiv-
ism was largely the creation of Robert and
Belle Case La Follette; the passage of the
Equal Rights Law was a mark of their po¬
litical acumen. By the time the bill was
introduced the Senator was viewed as the
champion of America’s common men and
women. Earlier in his career he had spoken
ardently for woman suffrage, in the small
towns which dotted the Chautauqua circuit.
When American suffragists marched to Capi¬
tol Hill with their petitions, La Follette had
been among the group of officials who
greeted them in the rotunda. There he wel¬
comed his daughter Fola, the carrier of Wis¬
consin’s suffrage petition.25 Later in his pre¬
sentation of the memorial to a Senate com¬
mittee, La Follette expressed his convictions
stating; “I cannot remember a time when I
was not in favor of extending the suffrage to
women. I have always believed in co-suf¬
frage,” as well as “coeducation, equality of
property rights,” and “equality of oppor¬
tunity for men and women alike.”26 True to
his convictions, La Follette had often advo¬
cated enfranchisement on the floor of the
Senate and opposed all efforts to modify
the suffrage amendment.27 He later explained
the historic passage of the Nineteenth
Amendment in a letter to his sons:
“Mamma sat in the gallery all day and
was rewarded, as were the other fighters
for suffrage and equal rights, by seeing the
Susan B. Anthony Amendment pass by 56
to 25 — after a 70 year struggle. Six votes
to spare. I started the applause on the
floor and it swept the galleries again and
again without any rebuke from the Chair,
President Cummins presiding. All felt that
it was a great victory.”28
Above all, according to the Senator, it was
a triumph for democracy.
With the vote secured, he turned his atten¬
tion to the equal rights issue, a decision
which culminated in his active endorsement
of the Wisconsin bill. When that campaign
reached its successful conclusion, La Follette
wired his congratulations to Mabel Putnam.
“I am deeply gratified to learn that the Wis¬
consin legislature has passed the bill grant¬
ing equal rights to women, for which they
have been fighting for so many years.”29 La
Follette acted from conviction, but also from
political expediency. He recognized that
women had been active in the progressive
movement long before they had gained the
ballot, particularly in the area of social re¬
form. Within his own political organization
women had played a crucial role. Hence
with enfranchisement a reality, the Senator
courted the woman’s vote, especially as he
turned his eyes toward the Presidency in
1924.
He formulated a new strategy which re¬
lied in part on capturing a substantial por¬
tion of women’s ballots. In fact, the candi¬
date continued to depend on numerous
women volunteers, many of whom were
members of the Wisconsin Women’s Pro¬
gressive Association. In addition he recruited
the support of such well-known figures as
Jane Addams, Helen Keller, Florence Kelley,
Rose Schneiderman, Zona Gale and Alice
Stone Blackwell.30 During the autumn of
1924, the campaign sponsored a series of
articles by such distinguished women in the
New Republic and the Woman Citizen, each
treating a matter of particular concern to
the nation’s women voters. The candidate’s
platform was especially attractive to the
newly enfranchised bloc. Often it reflected
the agenda established by such organizations
as the League of Woman Voters. La Follette
embraced the standards of peace, disarma¬
ment, conservation, labor, wage and benefit
improvement, child labor reform and equal
rights. Alternatively, he condemned trusts,
big business and political machines. To these
1982]
Raymond - — The Search for Equality
131
stands, the Senator added a ringing endorse¬
ment of progressive hopefuls throughout
the country, many of whom were also
pledged to support an Equal Rights Amend¬
ment to the Constitution.31
La Follette clearly valued women as an
addition to his political constituency, but he
also was responding to strong sentiment
within his own family. Both his wife Belle
and daughter Fola were zealous proponents
of feminist causes. Even the Senator’s sons
were active in behalf of women’s rights.
Once when their mother was unable to at¬
tend a suffrage parade in Washington, they
marched in her stead. Of all the children,
Fola was the most active advocate of
women’s causes. She was a frequent speaker
and marcher in suffrage campaigns and re¬
fused to abandon her maiden name when
she married George Middleton. Often Fola
and her husband worked together in the
movement. Family friends were also active
participants in the campaign for the vote and
equal rights. In a household frequently buzz¬
ing with discussion of pertinent issues and
controversies, women’s concerns received
high priority.
The La Follette machine was staffed al¬
most completely by friends and family who
shared like views and loyalties. It was dis¬
tinguished also by the number of women
who occupied key positions. Above them all
stood Belle Case La Follette. No single
woman did more to advance Wisconsin pro-
gressivism. Although raised in an era when
women were expected to be quiet and pas¬
sive, Belle’s early life on a pioneer farm
produced an independent spirit. She was
brought up under the tutelage of progres¬
sive parents, who had always sympathized
with the woman’s movement.32 At the age
of sixteen Belle Case enrolled at the Uni¬
versity of Wisconsin where she met Robert
La Follette. Belle finished near the top of
her class and at graduation she won the
Lewis Prize for the best commencement
oration.33 Belle Case and Robert La Follette
married soon after graduation. Before the
ceremony Belle aired her feminist views by
asking the minister to delete the words “to
obey” from her vows.34 In 1885, at the age
of 26, Belle Case La Follette became the
first woman to graduate from the University
of Wisconsin Law School. Although she
never practiced law, Belle aided her husband
with his law work, often writing his briefs.35
She also pursued her own endeavors.
Her first major project was woman suffrage.
Belle Case La Follette was a member of
both the National Woman’s Party and the
National American Woman Suffrage Asso¬
ciation.36 Like her husband, Belle was a
skillful speaker. She was a diligent supporter
of the Wisconsin effort to enfranchise women
in 1912, barnstorming across the state, mak¬
ing from five to seven speeches in a single
day.37 Belle also contributed to campaigns
for the ballot in Ohio, Oregon and Michi¬
gan.38 In addition she participated in marches
and parades, and wrote on the suffrage topic.
In 1913 she presented her arguments to the
Senate Committee on Woman Suffrage.
While residing in Washington, D.C. Belle
was alarmed by the appalling effects of rac¬
ism in that city, and became a supporter of
the black rights movement. Soon after, she
joined the National Association for the Ad¬
vancement of Colored People. She de¬
nounced lynching, segregation and the dis¬
enfranchisement of black voters in the
south.39 Furthermore she was one of the
few suffragists who urged black women to
join in the “traditionally” white cause of
equal suffrage. James Weldon Johnson, a
black author, wrote of her:
“Belle Case La Follette believed not only
in justice for the Negro, she believed in
the Negro. She believed in his powers, his
capabilities and in his innate gifts. She be¬
lieved in his ability to make vital contri¬
butions to our national well-being and to
our common cultural store.”40
Unlike many women reformers, Belle
Case La Follette favored equal rights with
men. Belle urged wives to free themselves
from their parasitic dependence on their
132
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
spouses, to develop their own talents and be
of service to humanity.41 She drew on her
own experiences and attempted to educate
women to their potential for good. Belle felt
that equality should come in three areas;
“political — the right to vote; economic — the
right to work; and legal equality — the re¬
moval of all discriminations against women
under the old common law.”42 She also
stressed that women should not be afraid to
step into the political arena, or compete in
other predominantly male occupations.
After the ratification of the suffrage
amendment, Belle supported the equal rights
work of the National Woman’s Party, and in
1921 attended the party convention as a
delegate of Wisconsin. She believed that the
NWP should concentrate specifically on
equal rights, leaving other organizations to
deal with the remaining reform causes.43 Al¬
ways the arbitrator, she felt that reformers
like Jane Addams and Florence Kelley did
not understand the women of the NWP, ex¬
plaining: “I have been assured by those who
are active and have strong influence among
the leaders that there is no intention of aban¬
doning the ground gained by women’s wel¬
fare work.”44 Even after the Woman’s Party
denounced labor legislation for women, Belle
never wavered from her original equal rights
stance.
The Wisconsin Equal Rights Law was
heartily endorsed by Belle Case La Follette.
When women’s reformers sought her opin¬
ion on this topic, she explained: “The Wis¬
consin law expressly provides that it shall not
be construed to deny women the special pro¬
tection and privileges which they now en¬
joy for the general welfare. In this respect it
furnishes a safe and conservative model.”45
Belle Case La Follette devoted continuous
attention and energy to the woman’s move¬
ment, participating in the campaign for suf¬
frage at the national and state levels, writing
articles in support of the ballot and cham¬
pioning the Equal Rights Law in Wisconsin.
In the view of feminist leader Alice Paul,
“Belle La Follette was the most consistant
supporter of equal rights of all the women
of her time.”46
Belle served as counselor and advisor to
her husband and two sons, Robert Jr., who
succeeded his father in the Senate, and
Philip, who served as governor of Wisconsin.
She believed that women were particularly
effective when working with male allies;
hence she used her family’s political position
to further her own special projects. Often
standing beyond the limelight, she allowed
other family members to receive acclaim for
work she had performed. Burton K.
Wheeler, the Senator’s 1924 running mate,
explained Belle’s lack of popular recognition
in this way; “She was free of personal am¬
bition and never sought political office or
social position for herself, but was con¬
tented to remain in the background.”47 Still
her influence on La Follette’s career is un¬
deniable. She affected his policy positions,
took care of his correspondence, attended
important debates and conferences, partici¬
pated in speaking tours and edited a depart¬
ment of La Follette’s Magazine .48 Although
not technically editor of the magazine until
the Senator’s death in 1925, La Follette’s
frequent absences often placed the burden
of chief editor upon his wife. La Follette
went for long periods without writing for the
journal, and Belle often signed his name to
articles which she herself had written.49 She
was also rumored to be the author of her
husband’s speeches.50 In turn, La Follette
recognized his wife’s essential contribution.
He once commented that she was “alto¬
gether the brainiest member of my family.
. . . Her grasp of the great problems, socio¬
logical and economic, is unsurpassed by any
of the strong men who have been associated
with me in my work.”51 Others were even
more open about Belle’s role in the political
partnership. When asked about her father,
Fola La Follette wrote: “To write of my
father without writing of my mother is an
impossible task. . . . Their relation has al-
1982]
Raymond — The Search for Equality
133
ways made our home and not father’s office
the center for all important conferences and
discussions.”52
The woman’s movement did not produce
many women as dedicated as Belle Case La
Follette. Zona Gale, friend and author,
commented: “Belle Case La Follette will
stand as one who, ambitious for her hus¬
band and sons, was ambitious first of all
that their ideals of social justice, which were
also her ideals, should prevail.”53 In short,
“Battling Bob” La Follette did not climb
the political ladder himself, but alongside
his partner. To a significant extent, the pro¬
gressive tradition in Wisconsin was their
joint creation. This reform climate was es¬
sential to the success of the Wisconsin Equal
Rights Law, dwarfing all other contributing
factors. Neither the remaining states nor the
federal government had created a similar
progressive machine. President of the Na¬
tional Woman’s Party, Alice Paul, herself
admitted that Wisconsin was able to pass
its Equal Rights Law due to the progressive
influence of the La Follette team.54
Eventually Alice Paul and the other mem¬
bers of the National Woman’s Party would
denounce the Wisconsin Equal Rights Law,
particularly its protective legislation clause.
Their rejection was precipitated by a 1923
ruling by the state attorney general that Wis¬
consin women could not become legislative
employees due to the law’s unique protective
provision. In fact, the statute did yield mixed
results for the women of the Badger State.
Between 1921 and 1933 the Wisconsin Su¬
preme Court used the Equal Rights Law to
protect women in six test cases. Three of
the cases involved women’s employment,
while two concerned a married woman’s
voting residence.55 All of the decisions up¬
held the statute and protected the rights of
these women. The ruling by the state attor¬
ney general was the exception in this list
of feminist achievements. In 1923 the special
protection clause was tested when a statute,
written in 1905, was brought before the
court. The law excluded women from legisla¬
tive employee positions because such em¬
ployees worked “long and unreasonable
hours.”56 The earlier statute was declared
legal, due to the protective provision of the
Equal Rights Law. For such reasons women
in Wisconsin had mixed feelings about the
bill and watched it closely. The Wisconsin
State Federation of Women’s Clubs created
a committee of women from various organi¬
zations to study the effects of the law. They
found that, “The law had worked for a
greater degree of justice and greater equality
of women with men than they had before
the passage of the law.”57 Other women felt
that the Equal Rights Law was not sufficient.
Zona Gale, for instance, regarded the law
as a single step toward total equality for
women. She wrote, “The status of women in
Wisconsin even under our Equal Rights Law
is but a stage in that long march.”58 Al¬
though the law gave Wisconsin women equal
rights with men in most cases, the special
legislation clause provided a loophole which
would be used against feminist reform.
Nevertheless, the Equal Rights Law effec¬
tively eliminated many inequalities under the
old common law and provided a valuable
precedent for future reform.
Notes
1 Belle and Fola La Follette, Robert M. La
Follette (The Macmillan Co., 1953), 891.
2 See Eleanor Flexner’s definitive Century of
Struggle, rev. ed. (Harvard Press, 1975), and Ellen
C. DuBois, Feminism and Suffrage (Cornell Uni¬
versity Press, 1978) for accounts of the early
movement.
3 “Should Women Have Equal Rights?,” The
Forum (1927), 421.
4 “A Telegram from Judge Ben B. Lindsey,”
Equal Rights (March 8, 1924), 27.
5 William L. O’Neill, Everyone Was Brave
(Quadrangle Books, Inc., 1969).
GFlexner, Century, 220-21.
7 James I. Clark, Chronicles of Wisconsin (The
State Historical Society of Wisconsin, 1955), 19.
8 David P. Thelen, The New Citizenship (Uni¬
versity of Missouri Press, 1972), 86-91.
134
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
9 Ibid., 92-98.
10 Clark, Chronicles, 11.
11 Herbert F. Margulies, The Decline of the Pro¬
gressive Movement in Wisconsin, 1890-1920 (The
State Historical Society of Wisconsin, 1968), 142.
12 Mabel Raef Putnam, The Winning of the First
Bill of Rights for American Women (Frank Put¬
nam, 1924), 23.
13 Ibid., 12.
14 Ibid., 24.
13 Zona Gale, “What Women Won in Wiscon¬
sin,” Nation (1922), 184.
18 Putnam, The Winning, 25.
17 Ibid., 37.
lsIbid., 49.
19 Ibid., 29.
20 Ibid., 30.
21 Ibid., 25.
22 Ibid., 9.
23 Stanley J. Lemons, The Woman Citizen (Uni¬
versity of Illinois Press, 1973) 187-88 and Putnam,
The Winning, 70.
24 Zona Gale, “Why I Shall Vote for La Follette
III,” New Republic (October 1, 1924), 116.
23 La Follette, Robert M. La Follette, 477 .
20 Ibid., 478.
27 Ibid., 891.
2Slbid., 963.
29 Putnam, The Winning, 67.
30 Jane Addams, “Why I Shall Vote for La
Follette I,” New Republic (September 10, 1924),
36-7; Alice Stone Blackwell, “What La Follette
Will Do and Has Done,” Woman Citizen (October
18, 1924), 15; Gale, “Why I Shall,” 115-16; “The
La Follette Record of Achievement,” Woman
Citizen (September 20, 1924), 14.
31 O’Neill, Everyone, 281.
32 Dee Ann Montgomery, “An Intellectual Pro¬
file of Belle Case La Follette: Progressive Editor,
Political Strategist and Feminist,” (Indiana Uni¬
versity Ph.D. Dissertation, 1975), 12-15.
33 Patrick J. Maney, “ Young Bob” La Follette
(University of Missouri Press, 1978), 8-9.
34 Ibid., 9.
35 Ibid., 9.
36 Montgomery, “An Intellectual,” 83.
37 Ibid., 85.
38 Ibid., 84.
39 Maney, “ Young Bob,” 9 and Montgomery,
“An Intellectual,” 112.
40 James Weldon Johnson, “Belle Case La Fol¬
lette Believed in the Negro,” The Progressive
(November 7, 1931), 9.
41 Maney, “ Young Bob,” 10.
42 Montgomery, “An Intellectual,” 51.
43 Belle Case La Follette, “National Convention
of the National Woman’s Party,” La Follette’s
Magazine (March 1921), 42-3.
44 Montgomery, “An Intellectual,” 68.
45 Ibid., 67.
iGlbid., 225.
47 Burton K. Wheeler, “A Great Mother to the
Human Family,” The Progressive (November 7,
1931), 2.
48 La Follette, Robert M. La Follette, 313-14.
49 Montgomery, “An Intellectual,” 43.
30 La Follette, Robert M. La Follette, 313-14.
31 Russell H. Austin, The Wisconsin Story (The
Journal Company, 1948), 257.
52 Montgomery, “An Intellectual,” 169.
33 Zona Gale, “Brotherhood: It Was as Simple
as That,” The Progressive (November 7, 1931), 2.
34 Montgomery, “An Intellectual,” 225.
53 Gale, “What Women Won,” 184.
38 Lemons, The Woman, 189.
37 Ibid., 188-89.
38 Gale, “What Women Won,” 185.
THE FORMATION AND PROBLEMS OF THE
FREN CH-INDI AN ALLIANCE, 1748-1758
Bradley G. Larson
Eau Claire, Wisconsin
As a result of the loss of their naval base
on Cape Breton Island during King George’s
War (1744-1748), the French in Canada
were subjected to a naval blockade by En¬
gland that deprived New France’s trading
posts of essential goods for the Indian trade.
Due partly to the influence of English
traders, the Indians in the French alliance
system rebelled in 1747, causing the alliance
to collapse.
When the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle ended
the war in 1748, New France regained her
naval base on Cape Breton Island, which
seemed to insure New France’s supply lines
in any future war. With new trade goods
arriving in Canada, order and control were
again imposed upon the interior Indian
tribes. New France’s efforts in rebuilding
their alliance were concentrated upon the
Great Lakes, Ohio Valley, and Iroquois na¬
tions. This paper will deal with the first two
Indian groups, and will explore both the
problems and the ultimate failure of the
French-Indian alliance.
The empire of New France had under¬
gone a severe strain during King George’s
War (1744-1748). England, with her naval
and economic strength, had tested the de¬
fenses of Canada almost to their limits.
These Canadian defenses depended heavily
on the support of many Indian tribes in
eastern Canada and the Great Lakes region.
It is almost impossible to estimate accu¬
rately the numerical strength of these po¬
tential French allies. However, according to
one 1736 source, 16,323 warriors were
available in the Great Lakes area alone.1
Colonel Henry Bouquet gives a total of
56,500 fighting men for all Indian nations
then known. If the fighting men of the west¬
ern and southern Indian tribes are sub¬
tracted, an estimated 35,600 warriors po¬
tentially could be gathered from Canada,
the Great Lakes area, and the Ohio Valley.2
Clearly, whether the preceding estimates
are accurate or not, whoever controlled
these Indian tribes had a considerable source
of power at his disposal. France’s involve¬
ment with the Indians had begun in the
sixteenth century, but its control of the west
was challenged after 1642 by the New York
Iroquois, supported by their Dutch and En¬
glish trading partners. In the 1690’s, French
control was temporarily re-established
through a rebuilt fort system. In 1696, King
Louis XIV, at the urging of the Jesuits,
closed all the western posts, withdrew the
garrisons, and ordered the traders out of the
lake country. As a result, traders from New
York, Pennsylvania, Virginia, and Charles¬
ton invaded the west to trade with Indians
previously allied with the French. During
Queen Anne’s War (1702-1713), British
privateers created a shortage of trade goods
in Canada, and further disadvantaged the
French. It was not until after 1716, follow¬
ing the death of Louis XIV, that the French
began to consolidate their holds on the lands
and Indians of the Great Lakes by construct¬
ing a series of forts and posts throughout the
interior regions and garrisoning them with
soldiers and traders. These posts served sev¬
eral purposes: they were visible symbols of
the French King’s right to rule and control
this part of North America; they were “rec¬
ognized agencies” for keeping peace be¬
tween tribes; they blocked English expan¬
sion into the area; they served as centers for
receiving furs; they served as a “point of
departure for expeditions seeking to un¬
cover mines . . . [and an] approach to the
Western Sea.”3
135
136
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
The post commanders were not only to
keep peace between the Indian tribes, but
they were also to convince the Indians to
join the French both in the fur trade or in
war.4 However, as the eighteenth century
progressed, this became more difficult due
to increasing numbers of English traders
entering the Ohio Valley and eastern Great
Lakes area. The English traders paid higher
prices for the Indians’ furs, did not discrimi¬
nate between “good” furs and “bad” furs,
and their trade goods were much cheaper.
English traders, in an attempt to gain more
furs spared little expense to woo the Indians
away from the French posts. The English
told the Indians that the French were not
fair traders; that they attempted to rob the
Indians by offering very little for even high
grade furs.5 Consequently the Indians be¬
came resentful and threatened to leave their
French “fathers.”
The French were well aware of the dis¬
parity in prices between the British and
themselves. As early as 1689, the Governor
of Montreal, made a table entitled “Differ¬
ences in the Indian Trade between Montreal
in Canada and Orange in New England,
1689.”6 The following are a few examples
from his table:
The Indian pay for At Orange At Montreal
8 pounds of powder One beaver Four
A gun Two beavers Five
40 pounds of lead One beaver Three
A blanket of red cloth One beaver Two
The French, however, paid more for the
furs of cats, fox, and wolves, and were com¬
petitive for mink, marten, fisher, otter, and
weasel. The Indian therefore took one type
of pelt to the English, and another to the
French. Yet, because of the strength of the
English industrial system, and the greater
distance the French had to carry goods in
order to reach their posts,7 there was little
that could be done to lower prices other than
subsidize traders with monies from the home
government.
By the 1740’s the Indian’s dependence on
European goods was very great. When King
George’s War began in 1744, the disparity
in the price of trade goods became even
more acute. In 1745, the British captured
the strategic fort and naval base of Louis-
bourg, located on Cape Breton Island at the
mouth of the St. Lawrence River.8 Louis-
bourg had served as a base for the French
warships guarding the supply routes from
France to Canada. Deprived of this base
French supply ships were prevented from
sailing up the St. Lawrence to Quebec. And
the stock of supplies in store houses was
rapidly depleted due to unusually large con¬
sumptions of goods for war purposes. From
that point onward, the French position with
the interior Indian tribes steadily declined.
Because the French were without the means
to supply the Indian’s wants and needs,9
many of the nations rebelled, or simply
turned to the English for goods.10
This situation peaked during the years
1744-1747, when many of the Great Lakes
and northern Ohio Valley tribes entered a
conspiracy to destroy the French trading
centers around the Great Lakes.11 The
Huron chief Nicholas instigated the plot.
Nicholas and his band had moved from De¬
troit in 1738 after becoming dissatisfied with
the French and their goods; he also feared
the other tribes gathered around Detroit.
The French attempted to persuade Nicholas
to move back to Detroit, but instead Nicholas
and his followers remained at Sandusky Bay
with other bands similarly dissatisfied with
the French.12
At Sandusky, English traders from Penn¬
sylvania had erected a blockhouse in 1745.
These traders persuaded Nicholas to break
with the French and destroy all the French
posts during the holidays of Pentecost.
Nicholas’ plan called for widespread destruc¬
tion and participation by a total of 17
tribes.13 Nicholas’ Hurons were to destroy
the French at Detroit; the Potawatomi were
to kill the Frenchmen at Bois Blanc Island
at the mouth of the Detroit River; the Mi-
amis were to seize Fort Miami; the Fox were
to take Green Bay, the Sioux and Sauk had
1982]
Larson — The French-lndian Alliance, 1748-1758
137
plans to destroy Michilimackinac, and the
Shawnee, Ottawa, and Chippewa were also
to assist.14 However, the conspirator’s plans
went wrong, and the French, on their guard,
thwarted the rebellion. Even though the up¬
rising failed to accomplish its goals, it suc¬
ceeded in disrupting not only the fur trade
of the Great Lakes but also the system of
alliances that the French had cultivated.
With the collapse of his efforts, Chief
Nicholas and his followers moved to the
Illinois country, where Nicholas died in
the autumn of 1748. 15 Some of the other
“rebel” Indian bands that had been at San¬
dusky joined the group of Miamis led by La
Demoiselle and immediately established an¬
other center for English traders, called
Pickawillany.16
The French blamed the English for the
collapse of their Indian alliance, claiming
that the English “have succeeded . . . well
in making them [the Indians] their devoted
Creatures.”17 Indeed, the French felt that
if something was not done quickly, the In¬
dian’s dissatisfaction would surely grow. One
Frenchman wrote gloomily, “I hope the evil
[of the English traders] will not become
greater, but I should not Be Surprised if it
did.”18 This same Frenchman felt that
The only way to remedy it [the situation
of the English encroachments] and to se¬
cure the fidelity of all the Savages, the
peaceful and Complete possession of all
the upper country, and the Entire Trade
... Is ... to deprive them [the Indians]
of all Communications with the English.
To succeed in this, and to Establish a last¬
ing peace in the whole of the upper coun¬
try, let Your Grace make England Agree
in the next treaty of peace with This
Crown, that the English shall abandon and
Give up to the King for ever the Com¬
plete possession of the fort of Chouegen
[Oswego]; that they Renounce having any
relation with the Five yrocoisses [Iroquois]
nations, . . . that they shall carry on no
Trade either directly or indirectly through¬
out the territory Around lakes hontario,
lake herrier, lake huron [lakes Ontario,
Erie and Huron], Riviere Blanche and
Belle Riviere [the Ohio Valley area]; that
all the English Traders . . . shall With¬
draw to their own country for ever With¬
out ever being allowed to Return and
carry on any Trade, or even Under any
pretext whatsoever. . . ,19
The English, of course, did not see them¬
selves as being that influential with the In¬
dians. One Englishman protested that the
French
. . . know all that affair [dealing with
the Indians] better than we do Their Min¬
isters are well inform’d which I doubt ours
are not They take much pains to be in¬
form’d & never fail to incourage such as
can give information or any way improve
their Trade & Interest & they constantly
employ men of sufficient abilities for that
purpose while we take no pains & know
little else besides what we learn from
their books.20
Another fact that the Englishmen were quick
to point out was that New France’s one sig¬
nificant source of income, the fur trade, gave
her an immense advantage in dealing with
the Indians. Not only were there trading
posts throughout the interior, but as one
Englishman complained, the French traders
“live and mary among them, in short are as
one people which last is not Comendable
[s/c] but gains their affection. . . .21
However by 1748 the French alliance
system needed more than fraternizing trad¬
ers; it had utterly collapsed. Nor did the
peace of Aix-la-Chapelle (1748) bring re¬
lief to the two warring countries, for it was
looked upon as “a temporary halt to the
general struggle, and both sides began at
once to prepare for the early reopening of
hostilities.”22 For France, this meant reor¬
ganizing and strengthening their Indian al¬
liance. This would prove to be a very great
undertaking, for the rebellion of 1747 had
not only disrupted the organization of the
fur trade, but it had also cost the French
government heavily.
138
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
The Governor-General of Canada, Comte
de la Galissoniere, accurately evaluated the
situation shortly after the rebellion. Galis¬
soniere felt that as a result of the Indian
disturbance, the fur trade had been so dis-
ruped “that far from The Posts yielding any
Revenues, they have been the cause of
considerable expenditure.”23 He doubted
“whether the proceeds of the most profitable
ten years of the posts could have paid the
expenses of the last two years.”24
La Galissoniere also realized that the loss
of Newfoundland and Acadia (by the treaty
of Aix-la-Chapelle), coupled with an aggres¬
sive English policy in the Ohio Valley,
meant any new war could easily be lost by
France if something was not done to
strengthen Canada. Consequently, orders
were issued to increase Canada’s permanent
military establishment, build new fortifica¬
tions in the Ohio and Illinois area as bar¬
riers to British expansion, insure the alliance
or neutrality of the various Indian nations,
and if possible, destroy the harmful English
trading post at Oswego.25
Yet another critical aspect for the French
was their loss of prestige among the western
tribes. Again, the French blamed the En¬
glish almost entirely. And, although the
French realized that the only way of insuring
that the Indians would remain loyal was to
keep English goods out of their hands, they
had first to restore tranquility among the
rebellious tribes. In February 1748, Galis¬
soniere received a letter from the French
Minister stating that a convoy of trade goods
should arrive shortly for distribution at De¬
troit and Michilimakinac, and that:
The goods transported there by them
[voyageurs], and also what the nations
have heard concerning the supplies the
colony has received, must have enabled
them to see what little foundation there
was for the rumors carefully spread by
the enemy regarding its alleged state of
exhaustion.26
The minister suggested that after tranquility
was brought by the trade goods, the Great
Lakes tribes might be coerced by “inflicting
signal punishment on the Sauteux [Chip¬
pewa],” whom he believed had instigated
the rebellion.27
However, Canada, was in no position to
pursue and crush the rebels. Therefore, al¬
though the French officials would have liked
to see the disobedient Indians punished, it
appeared the French would have to adapt a
policy of conciliation. Far from aiding in
the restoration of French prestige, the lack
of force shown by the French served further
to undermine their authority.
In an attempt to impress the tribes with
New France’s power, two strong detach¬
ments of troops were sent to Detroit and
Michilimakinac in 1749. 28 Also, post officers
were instructed to “inspire in them [the
Indians] proper dispositions, and break the
intrigues that the English only too often put
in practice to attach these savages to them¬
selves.”29 But, should the Indians’ disposi¬
tions be “bad or wavering,” then they must
be dealt with severely.
The general order for Detroit, June 2,
1748, read:
Should any Huron or other rebel be so
daring as to enter the fort without a pass,
through sheer bravade ‘twould be proper
to arrest him and put him to death on the
spot.30
The instruction to use force upon “bad”
Indians was seldom adhered to. It was far
more common to give the “bad” Indian a
stern lecture about the evils of the English,
and then send him on his way with a gift.
These measures still did not get to the
heart of the problem. The end of the war
had brought back trade goods, but they were
not of pre-war quality or price. Beauharnois
claimed that “the goods there [at the posts]
are at such a price as to Completely disgust
the savages.”31 Therefore, the French sought
to strengthen their fur trade through closer
regulation. This, they felt, would not only
endear them to the Indians but also secure
the French traders from the harmful En¬
glish competition.32
1982]
Larson — The French-lndian Alliance, 1748-1758
139
The French exploited their posts under
three systems: farming out, the license sys¬
tem, and exploitation by the post com¬
mander. Under the system of farms, the right
to trade at a certain post was sold to the
highest bidder. Not only was the initial cost
of obtaining the post expensive (especially
for lucrative posts such as Green Bay), but
also the farmer was required to pay a speci¬
fied amount every year to the government.
This cost, in turn, was passed on to the In¬
dians. Farmers were assured that once they
obtained a post, they would have sole trad¬
ing rights there. However, in return for this
protection, the farmer was required to pro¬
vide services and aid to the post commander.
Also, the farmer’s cargo was strictly regu¬
lated, especially in regard to the amount of
liquor he could carry.33
When a private merchant was given the
right to carry on trade at a specific post, he
was said to be licensed. The usual process
for obtaining a license was simply to apply
to the Governor-General for one. Suppos¬
edly, the Governor-General issued the li¬
censes as a form of pension to needy officers
or their families. This license then allowed
the merchant to trade without paying the
government for the right to do so. However,
this system, like the farms, was often abused
by profiteering traders and government of¬
ficials. In addition to the benefits of trading
under the license system, there were obvious
disadvantages. For one thing, the trader
was again strictly controlled as to the con¬
tent of his cargo, the number of men he
could employ, and the route he was to take
to his post. Also, the licensee was required
to carry as a part of his cargo a certain per¬
centage of goods for the king, such as gifts
that the post commandants distributed year¬
ly. The last system of exploitation, trade by
the post commander, was carried out much
like the system of farms.34
Galissoniere and his Indentant, Bigot, ar¬
gued that the lack of trade regulation during
the war years, and the resulting confusion,
had caused the trade to be exploited by the
farmers and post commanders. They felt a
return to a single license system, would
stimulate competition between traders, and
that, coupled with a return to lower prices as
a result of peace, would be attractive to the
Indians.35 Galissoniere’s replacement, Pierre-
Jacque de Taffenel, Marquis de la Jonquiere,
echoed these opinions. Because of the fear
that the Indians would “carry their trade
entirely to the English,’’ the minister felt
that the license system was one way in which
the French could once more attach the In¬
dians to themselves.36
The license system to be re-established at
the various posts was connected to yet an¬
other stipulation. The officers in charge of
the posts were given orders not to exploit
their posts by selling the most coveted trade
goods at very high prices, with the officer
collecting the rewards. The order read that
post officers should “enjoy only the allow¬
ances . . . according to their rank and to the
expense ... of the post.”37
The trade that the Great Lakes tribes had
been carrying on with the British at Oswego,
on the southeastern shore of Lake Ontario,
badly hurt New France’s fur trade economy
and the attempts at forming an alliance. In
an effort to put an end to this “illegal” trade,
La Jonquiere ordered that a post be built
between the French posts of Fort Frontenac
and Niagara. This new post, named Fort
Rouille (Toronto), would block the Indian
route from the upper country to Oswego.
La Jonquier carefully explained to the min¬
ister that Ft. Rouille would be licensed, and
that it would not be very expensive to build
or maintain since he ordered it constructed
of logs instead of stone. In addition, Fort
Rouille would be manned by only one of¬
ficer and fifteen soldiers.38
Oswego had been a thorn in the French
side since its construction in 1724. Because
it deprived the principal French trading post
of Niagara of valuable furs, the French had
always sought ways to destroy it or at least
reduce its attractiveness. However, Oswego
stood on Iroquois lands, and the French did
140
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
not wish to anger such a powerful nation.
By the 1730’s Indians from many French
areas were making the long journey to Os¬
wego to take advantage of the high fur prices
there.39 By 1749, the situation was not as
acute as formerly, but it still concerned the
French. Their attempts at rebuilding the In¬
dian alliance would suffer should the tribes
continue to trade with the English.
La Jonquiere felt he could undermine Os¬
wego’s influence by providing cheap goods
at Detroit and Niagara. Traders and mer¬
chants, he ordered, were to “sell their goods
for two or three years in the future [i.e., on
a type of credit], at the same prices as the
English. . . This, he felt, would greatly
help influence the tribes toward the French
(in April, 1748, the Ottawa, Potawatomie,
Huron, and Chippewa returned to the
French alliance).40
At the same time that the French were
trying to undercut Oswego’s power by low¬
ering prices on their goods, they also ap¬
pealed to the Iroquois. Writing to La Jon¬
quiere in May 1749, the minister stated
that
... if, on account of what may have oc¬
curred between them [Iroquois] and the
English, they could be induced to destroy
the post of Choueguen [Oswego] standing
on their lands, it would be obtaining from
them a service most useful in every re¬
spect.41
The Iroquois never destroyed Oswego. The
benefits that they and other tribes reaped
from the English there far outweighed what
the French offered in return.
The Governor-General also determined
on the rigid enforcement of orders forbid¬
ding all trade with the English. The order
was meant
... to put an end to the infringements on
the prohibitions inserted in the licenses, to
prevent the farmers and voyageurs en¬
croaching upon one another’s rights, to
stop the coureurs de bois, to forbid the
trade carried on by certain voyageurs with
the English, and finally to divert the sav¬
age nations from the said trade.42
The problem of the coureurs de bois that
La Jonquiere mentioned in the above order
had always been a serious one. These illegal
traders (men who traded without govern¬
ment authority and with complete disregard
for trade regulations) had become numerous
during the war, and despite constant orders
for their arrest, siphoned off unaccountable
quantities of furs. Taking them to the En¬
glish traders, the coureurs de bois brought
back to the Indians English goods, which
only served to whet the Indians’ appetite for
the high quality British wares.43
La Jonquiere, like many of Canada’s
Governor-Generals, wished to stop this ille¬
gal trade. Not only did La Jonquiere order
post commanders to assist in this effort, but
also the numerous and powerful Chippewa
were to be employed. If the Indians would
denounce these smugglers, they would be
assured a “good reward” if they handed
over the confiscated material. La Jonquiere
added, however, that he did not trust the
Indians to keep their promise to apprehend
such smugglers, and he instituted a watch
as a precaution.44
One of the last actions La Jonquiere took
before his death in 1752 was to send Sieur
Chevalier de Repentigny to Sault Ste. Marie
to “establish a post there at his own ex¬
pense.” This new post would lie astride yet
another Indian trade route, and La Jonquiere
believed it would inhibit the northern In¬
dians’ use of that trail in their journeys south¬
ward to the English. La Jonquiere wrote that
this new post will
. . . stop and forestall the consequences of
the messages and presents that the English
send to those nations that they may cor¬
rupt and win them completely over to
their interests, and inspire them with feel¬
ings of hatred and aversion to the
French.45
Governor-General La Jonquiere’s at¬
tempts at making the Great Lakes Indians
1982]
Larson— The French-Indian Alliance, 1748-1758
141
a strong ally of New France were generally
successful. When the French and Indian War
broke out between New France and the En¬
glish colonies in 1754, the upper country
Indians could be counted on as the most
loyal and dependable Indian force that the
French had. Like other tribes, the Great
Lakes Indians needed goods, gifts, and in¬
spiring speeches to prod them into military
action. However, one weapon that the
French held over the upper country inhabi¬
tants was the fear of resisting the French,
and hence being destroyed as the Fox had
been twenty-five years earlier.46 Even though
these northern allies traded at times with the
English, they may have been moved by the
better quality of the English goods, and not
by a wish to see the French replaced by the
British.
Another important aspect of the French
ability to maintain their ascendancy over the
tribes was their systematic way of handling
both the fur trade and the Indian nations.
Whereas the English were independent trad¬
ers competing for the Indian trade, the
French traders were, as a rule, under orders
from the government. This government, un¬
like that of the English colonies, spoke and
acted in a unified manner. And, although it
was generally the post commanders who had
the task of keeping peace among the tribes
and subjecting them to French control, it was
the Governor-General who sought to impress
them at the annual spring meetings in Mon¬
treal. It was also the Governor-General’s
duty to direct the overall Indian policy so
that it conformed not only to the desires of
the fur trade, but also to the military aims
of the government of New France.47
New France’s attitude was hardening in
relation to the growing competition from
the British traders. When La Jonquiere died
in 1752, the temporary Governor-General,
Longueil, echoed the opinion of many of
the post commanders that the whole upper
country was “menaced by a general con¬
spiracy.”48 In fact, Longueil decided to make
his position quite clear, “There is no doubt,
my Lord, but ’tis the English who are induc¬
ing the savages to destroy Fort Toronto, on
account of the essential injury it does their
trade at Choueguen.”49 This attitude was
taken wholeheartedly by the newly arriving
Governor-General Sieur de Menneville,
Ange de Quesne. A foresighted man, he im¬
mediately began reinforcing Canada’s mili¬
tary position in the Ohio Valley.
While the French had been securing the
trade and alliance of the Great Lakes tribes,
they had neglected the Ohio Valley. Al¬
though the Ohio region was less populous
than the upper country, its tribes were im¬
portant to both England and France. France
was particularly worried that England might
utilize the Ohio nations to sever communi¬
cations between Canada and Louisiana and
to isolate such major trading centers as De¬
troit. As a result of France’s negligence, En¬
glish traders were firmly established there.
The French were aware that they could not
control the Indian nations of the Ohio area
unless they also controlled the trade there.
Yet, it was not really the furs of the Ohio
Valley that drew the French. Although the
Ohio was rich in mammals, the milder cli¬
mate yielded furs of lesser quality than the
colder Great Lakes region. These furs,
racoon, fox, marten, and to a lesser extent,
beaver, were all placed below the medium
of exchange in the Ohio area — buckskin/'0
This buckskin, although not so valuable as
northern beaver, found a nearby market with
the English.51 The French saw that they
must break this trade.
Lewis Evans’ 1755 map of the Ohio Val¬
ley and Great Lakes area, entitled “A Gen¬
eral Map of the Middle British Colonies,”
amply demonstrates English penetration and
knowledge of the Ohio region. Evans il¬
lustrated all French and English trading
centers, forts, the various Indian tribes, and
the principle trade routes. It is quite appar¬
ent from that map and others that the En¬
glish were in an excellent position to take
“proper Step towards checking the Encroach¬
ments of the French by interrupting part of
LAKE ONTARIO
1 42
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
Celoron’s expedition of 1749. The principal English trading centers are underlined.
Logstown was located at the letter “s” in Duquene.
1982]
Larson — The French-lndian Alliance, 1748-1758
143
their Communication from their Lodgements
upon the great Lakes to the River Missis¬
sippi.”52
Many Indian tribes claimed domination
or rights over the Ohio Valley: the Catawba,
Cherokee, Erie, the Iroquois Confederacy,
Miamis, Mingos, Shawnees, and the Wyan-
dots. However, the only group able to exert
any degree of power was the Iroquois, which
largely dominated the northern Ohio Valley
tribes and lands.53 All of these groups, es¬
pecially the Miami, had been trading with
the English from the Carolinas since ap¬
proximately 17 15. 54 The French had planned
to drive the English traders from the Ohio
in 1744, but the wartime lack of trade goods
had lost them the support of the northern
tribes. As a result they were forced to give up
the plan.
The English, of course, denied that they
controlled the Ohio, although it was quite
apparent that they did. In 1748, a large num¬
ber of gifts, supplied by Pennsylvania and
Virginia, had been distributed at Logstown
by English traders. Mingo, Delaware, Shaw¬
nee, and Wyandot tribes had then pledged
their loyalty to the English.55 The English,
with their established trading areas, were in
a very good position to refute the French
claims to the Ohio. France, in control of the
western areas of the Ohio Valley, felt deeply
threatened, especially after the Ohio Com¬
pany was chartered in 1748.
The Ohio Company, with funds provided
by such families as the Lees, Washingtons,
and Fairfaxes, as well as London merchants,
had obtained a half million acres in the Ohio
Valley. However, before the company could
begin to realize profits from land sales, the
area had to be surveyed, forts had to be con¬
structed, and the Indians had to be solidly
pro-English.56 The company, determined
that nothing should stand in its way, also at¬
tempted to pacify the powerful Iroquois na¬
tion. Meeting again in Logstown in June
1752, the English stressed friendship because
they also desired “to protect and secure a
peaceable Possession [of the Ohio Valley]
to the Ohio Company.”57
Fearing what the British could do with
the Ohio nations, as demonstrated by the
1747 uprising, the French wished to know
the status of the Ohio area, as well as the
disposition of the tribes toward them. In
June 1749, Pierre-Joseph de Celoron de
Blainville left Canada accompanied by 15
officers, 20 French regulars, and approxi¬
mately 200 French-Canadians and Indians
under orders from La Galissoniere to claim
the lands of the Ohio for the King of France
(see map). Celoron was to warn any En¬
glish traders he might encounter that they
would henceforth not be tolerated in the
Ohio area. If necessary, he was to use force.
Celoron was also to instruct the Indians
that the government of New France intended
to take control.58
When Celoron reached the English center
at Logstown, he ordered the British flag low¬
ered and the flag of France raised in its
place. He told the English traders operating
there to leave, and he sent warnings by them
to the colonial governments. The Indians
were hostile toward Celoron, but they dared
not attack so large a force. Although Celo¬
ron attempted to impress upon the Indians
that the French were their new leaders, his
diplomacy was weakened by the fact that he
carried few trade goods for distribution. At
Pickawillany, Celoron confronted La De¬
moiselle, a pro-English leader, and secured
La Demoiselle’s promise to move his band
(largely Miamis) back to the Miami post on
the Maumee River. It was a hollow promise.
At all of the villages that Celoron visited, he
found the Indians cool or hostile toward
French overtures. In fact, Celoron shortened
his expedition to avoid a possible engage¬
ment with these unruly Indians. Although he
was under orders to drive the English traders
from the valley of the Ohio, he found he
was not sufficiently strong to accomplish this
due to the attachment of the Indians to the
English. (There were pro-French factions
144
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
within some of the tribes, but generally
speaking, they tended to be pro-British.)
Upon his return to Canada, Celoron noted
that although “a solid establishment [in the
Ohio] would be useful,” he doubted it would
be possible to obtain. He went on to state
that
All that I can say is that the tribes of
those localities are very badly disposed
toward the French and entirely devoted to
the English. I do not know by what means
they can be brought back. If force is em¬
ployed they will be notified and will take
flight. They have a great refuge among the
Testes plates from whom they are not so
very far away. If we send to them for
trade, our traders can never give our mer¬
chandise at English prices on account of
the costs that they are obliged to incur.
Besides I think it would be dangerous to
make conditions easier [he is probably
speaking of subsidizing the traders] for
those who inhabit the Beautiful River
[Ohio] than for those of the posts of De¬
troit, Miamis, and others. It would de¬
populate our ancient posts and perpetu¬
ate the tribes on the Beautiful River,
which are convenient to the English gov¬
ernments.60
La Galissoniere’s replacement. La Jon-
quiere, had been informed upon assuming
office in 1749, that of all his duties, “that
which demands the most exacting care . . .
is the government of the savages.”61 La Jon-
quiere felt that rather than build expensive
posts in the Ohio, he would try bribery and
the lavish use of gifts first.
Like most Indian nations, the Ohio tribes
wanted neither side to dominate them, but
if they had to choose, it would be the side
that supplied their wants, and that appeared
to be the most powerful. In 1749, it was
clear to the Ohio nations that the English
had the advantage.62 A large part of the
Ohio Indian’s unwillingness to join the
French alliance was the very poor quality
and selection of French trade goods in rela¬
tion to the finer, less expensive English items.
These items were goods such as the follow¬
ing: calicos, bed gowns, broad and narrow
ribbon, silk handkerchiefs, silver brooches
and hair plates, wrist bands and rings, Hol¬
land ruffled skirts, embossed flannels, gar¬
tering, bed lace, brass penknives, strouds,
duffels, and the like.63 The French failed in
their efforts to woo the Indians away from
the British through the use of trade goods.
At the time of La Jonquiere’s death in 1752,
the Ohio was still heavily British.
When Du Quesne assumed the leadership
of New France in 1752, he reasserted that
the valley of the Ohio must be held and be
made part of New France’s North American
empire. Furthermore, Du Quesne felt that
the Indians there should be able to cross the
mountains to trade with the British any time
they wished, but that no English trader
should ever establish himself on French ter¬
ritory. Considering La Jonquiere’s failure
using bribery, Du Quesne’s policy stressed
action. In June 1752, a French-Canadian of¬
ficer, Charles-Michel Langlade, led 240
Chippewa and Ottawa warriors to La De¬
moiselle’s village of Pickawillany, which had
been a growing center of English influence.
Langlade’s party plundered the village, cap¬
tured or forced out the English traders op¬
erating there, and seized an estimated
<£3,000 sterling of furs and goods. To dem¬
onstrate French brutality, Langlade and his
warriors killed and ate one of the British
traders, as well as the pro-British chief La
Demoiselle. Writing to the minister, Du
Quesne said, “. . . I hope that my action in
the Belle Riviere [Ohio area] country will
awe all the Nations.”64
Because of Pickawillany’s importance to
the Indians and the English as a trading
center, its fall was significant. Not only did
the destruction of Pickawillany remove one
of the barriers to French control over the
region, it also removed the leader that had
inspired the others to resist going over to
the French. After Pickawillany’s fall, tribes
such as the Mingo, Miami, Shawnee, and
Wyandot felt that they could not defend
themselves against the savage, French-led
1982]
Larson— The French-lndian Alliance, 1748-1758
145
Great Lakes tribes. This weakened their pro-
English stance and unwillingly impelled them
into the French alliance.
English influence in the Ohio Valley im¬
mediately began to wane, for Langlade’s at¬
tack demonstrated to the Ohio Indians that
France was able to muster a powerful force,
transport it over a considerable distance, and
destroy those who opposed French rule.
Shortly after Langlade’s venture, Du Quesne
sent Pierre-Paul de la Malque, Sieur de
Marin, to establish fortifications in the Ohio
area. Throughout the summer of 1753,
Marin drove his men hard, losing many.
However, he succeeded in establishing Fort
Presqu’ile on the southern shore of Lake
Erie, and Fort le Boeuf farther south, on the
banks of the Riviere aux Boeufs.65 Although
Marin’s expedition did not enter the Ohio
Valley proper, Du Quesne was anxious that
French posts and forts be started there. In
the spring of 1754, Du Quesne sent Pierre
Claude de Contrecoeur with 1,000 men to
pick up where Marin had left off. Reaching
the forks of the Ohio, Contrecoeur’s men
drove away a smaller English force and be¬
gan construction of what was to become
powerful Fort Du Quesne. This action on
the part of the French destroyed the remain¬
ing hold the English had on the valley of
the Ohio.66
Governor-General Du Quesne realized
that it was not enough to make a show of
strength without doing something to rein¬
force French sovereignty. If the Indians were
to back French military expeditions, French
influence would have to be much stronger
than it was. This increase in influence could
come only through French traders and voy-
ageurs. However, Du Quesne soon found
that Canadian traders were unwilling — even
fearful — to venture into the Ohio Valley be¬
cause of the closeness of the British and the
possibility of Indian hostility. Besides, it was
profitable to stay with the already established
trade at the safer posts of the upper Great
Lakes region.
To lure French traders and merchants into
the Ohio Valley, Du Quesne offered 1) that
they would be aided in every conceivable
way by the commandants at the various
posts; 2) that their trade goods would be
carried over portages without charge by
garrison troops; 3) that if the traders ran
out of goods, they would be able to obtain
them from the post storehouses at low prices.
In addition, Du Quesne also imposed restric¬
tions. The staples of the trade, powder,
lead, blankets, brandy, and firearms, had to
be offered at only slightly higher prices than
at Montreal, with the French government
subsidizing the traders for any losses they
might incur by this practice. Merchandise
other than necessities could be sold for what¬
ever the trade would bear. Du Quesne felt
that by offering staples as low as possible,
he would remove some of the reasons that
the Ohio Indians might give for resuming
trade with the English, as well as prevent¬
ing the Indians from being cheated by over-
zealous merchants. As essential as the Ohio
tribes were to the defense of New France,
Du Quesne realized that their allegiance
would be costly.67
England reacted predictably to French
actions in the Ohio region. By the summer of
1754, France was engaged in the French
and Indian War (1754-1763). New France
and her Indian allies held the advantage ini¬
tially. However, they recognized that the
Anglo-Americans, with their superior popu¬
lation and industry, would benefit from a
long war. Therefore, France’s policy was
geared toward a short, decisive, and highly
offensive war, with her Indian allies carrying
the bulk of the fighting. By the end of 1755,
France had gathered virtually every upper
country and Ohio Valley tribe into her alli¬
ance.68 About this time, as New France’s
post commanders were encouraging the In¬
dian nations to ravage the outlying English
settlements, the lesson of English naval su¬
periority taught during King George’s War
was retaught to the French.
In June 1755, a squadron of French ships
carrying soldiers and supplies to Canada was
146
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
intercepted by British Admiral Boscawen,
and although only two of the ships were
captured, it illustrated the tenuous military
position of New France. It also demonstrated
the importance of having secure lines of
supply and communication to France. Short¬
ly thereafter, 300 French vessels and ap¬
proximately 6,000 French seamen (roughly
the number required to man ten ships-of-
the-line) were seized either on the high seas
or in English ports.69 This left France a total
of 62 ships-of-the-line, with about 45 fit to
sail immediately, against England’s 130. 70
Although Du Quesne’s successor, Pierre
Francois Rigaud de Cavagnial, Marquis de
Vaudreuil, was a Canadian who knew North
American style warfare very well, it was the
French general, Montcalm, who dictated
New France’s war policy. Vaudreuil urged
that the few French regulars available (prob¬
ably close to 4,000 men) be used to guard
the central approaches to Quebec. The co¬
lonial regulars, the militia, and the Indians,
would then be free to devastate the English
frontier from Massachusetts to the Caro-
linas. Montcalm’s attitude was one of de¬
feat: that Canada was in reality already lost.
He wanted to wage war in the European
style, relying heavily on the French regulars,
and very little on the detested Canadians
and Indians. Despite Vaudreuil’s knowledge
of the Indians, Montcalm’s strategy pre¬
vailed.71
In spite of Montcalm’s attitude, Vaud¬
reuil felt it was necessary to use the Indian
alliance to the utmost while it was still pos¬
sible. One of his first objectives was the de¬
struction of Oswego. Recognizing Du Ques¬
ne’s neglect of the upper country, he be¬
lieved that if Oswego fell, New France
would finally achieve “the perfect attach¬
ment of all the Upper Country Indians.”72
Oswego continued to draw the Indian trade
regardless of the undeclared war raging in
North America. (Britain and France did
not officially declare war until May 18,
1756.)
Under the command of Montcalm, a force
of French regulars, Canadians, and Indians
succeeded in capturing Oswego in August
1756. News of its fall created enthusiasm
for the French cause among north country
nations. Believing France to be the ultimate
victor, almost eighteen hundred Indians vol¬
unteered for campaigns in the upcoming
year.73 In Ohio country the Indians did not
take the news of Oswego’s fall lightly. The
commandant of Ft. Du Quesne, writing
shortly after the fall of Oswego, remarked
that the Indians of his region “appear glad
that Chouaguen has fallen, but at the bot¬
tom of their hearts they are not satisfied.”74
This was probably because French goods
were still very expensive for the Ohio tribes,
who had long experience with the cheaper
English items. Montcalm let his defeatist
attitude show when he said that the taking
of Oswego had a worthy effect upon the
courage of Indians “belonging” to the
French (i.e., the upper Great Lakes tribes).
However, the courage “of those, who were
like the Huron of Detroit in the depths of
their hearts on the side of the English,” low¬
ered considerably when they found that
strong Oswego had fallen.75
Although Indians were essential to the
French for scouting and reporting on British
military activities, keeping the British on the
defensive, spreading fear, and keeping the
enemy guessing as to France’s true strength,
they were also a colossal, seemingly unsolv-
able problem. For one thing, few of the
Indians in the alliance kept their courage
when facing disciplined fire from the Anglo-
Americans. Likewise, they could not be de¬
pended upon to face an enemy using arti¬
llery, and virtually all major and minor En¬
glish strongpoints had artillery of some type.
When military affairs were going well for
the French, Indian support was very good.
However, when the French were faced with
an equal number of British troops, or forced
to retreat, the Indian support melted away
as the Indians simply went home.76
Another problem was the regular officers
from France. Aside from their obvious dis-
1982]
Larson — The French-Indian Alliance, 1748-1758
147
like of Canadian officers, the Frenchmen
looked upon Indians with great contempt.
Louis Antoine Bouganville, Montcalm’s
aide, claimed that Indians in the service of
France are “naked, black, red, howling,
bellowing, dancing, singing the war song,
getting drunk, yelling for ‘broth,’ that is to
say blood, drawn from 500 leagues by the
smell of human flesh.”77 Furthermore, Bou¬
ganville felt it was next to impossible to
utilize the Indians efficiently and in their
fullest military capacity.
We now have six hundred Indians, and
hold a council to send them off in detach¬
ments, but it is a long job to get them to
make up their minds. It requires authority,
brandy, equipment, food and such. The
job never ends and is very irksome. 7s
Bouganville also wrote that once the In¬
dians had finally been prodded to action, the
trouble was not ended.
At last they get started, and once they
have struck, have taken only a single scalp
or one prisoner, back they come and are
off again for their villages. Then for a
considerable time the army is without In¬
dians. Each one does well for himself, but
the operation of the war suffers, for in
the end they are a necessary evil.™
And yet Bouganville was not shortsighted
enough to completely discount the impor¬
tance of New France’s Indian alliance. When
after the defeat of Fort William Henry by
Montcalm’s forces in 1757, Montcalm was
forced to counsel with the Indian chiefs on
the warriors’ brutality toward captured pris¬
oners, Bouganville stated, “One sees by this
action of the Marquis de Montcalm to what
point one is a slave to Indians in this country.
They are a necessary evil.”80 Indeed, military
plans often had to be altered or postponed
in accordance with the availability of suf¬
ficient numbers of warriors from the alli¬
ance. Also, French officers feared insulting
the Indians lest they decide to go home.
Strategic Louisbourg on Cape Breton Is¬
land once again fell to the English in 1758.
The few supplies and men that had been
reaching Quebec via French ships dimin¬
ished.81 Any goods the French received had
to come, for the most part, from the New
England smugglers who operated with such
audacity for much of the colonial period.82
Shortly after Louisbourg fell, another French
outpost, Fort Frontenac, surrendered to the
British. The Indian nations sensed the shift¬
ing tide of battle and grew more receptive
to English peace appeals. In the autumn of
1758, the French were forced to destroy their
fort at the forks of the Ohio to prevent its
falling into the hands of an approaching
English army. This, coupled with renewed
and vigorous appeals for peace by English
officials, caused the Ohio nations to largely
abandon the French alliance of 1759. 83
The upper country Indians remained loyal
to the French longer than the Ohio Indians.
As late as the summer of 1759, Langlade
was still able to bring approximately 1,000
Indians to Montreal.84 Montcalm very early
felt that the upper country was already lost.
Writing early in 1758, Montcalm felt that
“the war, rendering merchandise dear, has
made these posts worth little or nothing.”85
Although he was here speaking about the
economic value of the posts to New France,
he implied that the terrible expenses involved
were not worth the meager return in furs
and Indian aid. Seventeen fifty-nine saw the
French defeated before Quebec, and by the
following year, the Indians of the upper
country, despite their “good dispositions”
toward the French, were “repairing to the
English” in very significant numbers. Gov¬
ernor-General Vaudreuil summed up the
French-Indian alliance, as well as the whole
Indian situation, when he wrote in June
1760, “The English . . . profit by our scarcity
of goods.”86
France’s North American position was
never as strong as that of the English colo¬
nies. Indeed, Canada not only had a small
population unable to defend itself against
the powerful English colonies, but it was
actually a financial liability to the French
148
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
Crown. As Lawrence H. Gipson points out
in his multi-volume work on colonial North
America, New France’s income was almost
totally dependent on the fur trade. As a re¬
sult, France was forced to continually sub¬
sidize her North American colony, at a great
drain on her own economy. For example, in
1749 the total expenditures for maintaining
New France amounted to 2,031,199 livres,
while the total income received from Can¬
ada was but 233,016 livres. These expenses,
due largely to the ineptitude of the indentant
Francois Bigot, and the increased efforts to
win the Indian tribes, rose dramatically dur¬
ing the 1750’s. In 1753, the expenses of New
France amounted to 3,495,675 livres, far
above the total Canada exported.87
France, then, realized that Canada was
not a profitable colony. But she also felt that
it was essential to keep Canada to prevent
further commercial and military expansion
of England. (And perhaps because of plain
stubbornness and pride.) However, to stock¬
pile arms, ammunition, and supplies and
keep a force of French regulars in Canada
would have been far too costly. French offi¬
cials saw an Indian alliance as the answer
to their financial and military problems. But
the question still arises as to why the Indian
alliance, after such strenuous efforts to form
it, was not more effective.
The two previous wars fought in eigh¬
teenth century North America, Queen
Anne’s (1702-1716) and King George’s
(1744-1748), apparently did not teach the
French government any useful lessons about
either the use of their allies or its own tenu¬
ous position. Quite true, the Indians were
very important to any engagement in North
America simply because of their numbers
and their knowledge of the land. To discount
them altogether seems foolish, but then so
does basing a whole country’s defense on
them, especially when seen in the light of
prior experience. But then, the French and
Indian War did not develop into the type of
war France anticipated. Perhaps this is the
key to understanding the French Indian
policy.
France was weak on the North American
continent. This fact was recognized both in
France and in Canada, as was the financial
drain the colonies imposed. It was far
cheaper to base the defense on Indians
rather than on conventional troops when the
war was expected to be short and fought
mainly in the wilderness, and not to escalate
past the colonies. England realized how im¬
portant the tribes were and sought to deprive
France of them. England succeeded in doing
so not by the use of land forces or trade, but
by striking at France’s navy.
A weak navy, more than the lack of
money or of high quality goods, caused the
alliance and hence New France to fall. When
it was realized in 1760 that a strong navy
was needed if Britain was ever to be de¬
feated, it was already too late. The vital
lessons of King George’s War had been ig¬
nored. Canada’s defeat was foretold as early
as June 1755, when French transports and
warships were seized by the Royal Navy.
The Indian alliance was only as strong as
the stock of French goods at the various
posts, and the display of military strength
that Canada could muster, and both of these
were tied to the success of French armies
and fleets back in Europe.
Notes
1 Extract from an enumeration by an unknown
person, October 12, 1736, in Wisconsin State His¬
torical Society, Collections of the State Historical
Society of Wisconsin, 21 vols. (Madison: State
Historical Society, 1854-1931), vol. 17: The French
Regime in Wisconsin-11, 1727-1748, edited by
Reuben G. Thwaites, pp. 245-252. Hereafter cited
as Wisconsin Collections.
2 Colonel Henry Bouquet, 1764. “Names of dif¬
ferent Indian Nations in North America, with the
Numbers of their Fighting Men. Historical Ac¬
count of the Expedition against the Ohio Indians
in 1764,” London and Philadelphia, 1766, cited in
U.S. Bureau of Indian Affairs, Information Re¬
specting the History, Condition and Prospects of
the Indian Tribes of the United States, by Henry
1982]
Larson — The French-1 ndian Alliance, 1748-1758
149
R. Schoolcraft, Ethnological Researches Respecting
The Red Man of America, 6 parts (Philadelphia:
Lippincott, Grambo and Co,., 1853; reprint ed.,
Ann Arbor, Michigan: Xerox University Micro¬
films, 1974), 3:559.
3 Lawrence H. Gipson, The British Empire Be¬
fore the American Revolution, vol. 5: Zones of
International Friction, The Great Lakes Frontier,
Canada, the West Indies, India, 1748-1754; 16
vols. (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1942), pp. 50-
51.
4 Lawrence H. Gipson, The British Empire Be¬
fore the American Revolution, vol. 4: Zones of
International Friction, North America South of the
Great Lakes Region, 1744-1754; 16 vols. (New
York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1939), p. 146.
5 Ibid., p. 147.
6 New York Colonial Documents, IX, 404-409,
quoted in Gipson, vol. 5: The Great Lakes
Frontier, p. 45.
7 Norman W. Caldwell, The French in the Mis¬
sissippi, 1740-1750, Perspectives in American His¬
tory Series, no. 2 (Urbana, Illinois: University of
Illinois Press, 1941; reprint ed., Philadelphia:
Porcupine Press, 1974), p. 51.
8 George F. G. Stanley, New France, The Last
Phase, 1744-1760 (Toronto, Canada: McClelland
and Steward Limited, 1968), p. 76.
9 Pouchot, Memoir on the Late War, II, p. 49,
as cited by Caldwell, French in the Mississippi
Valley, p. 47 n. 33, lists the following as common
trade articles at the posts: hunting guns, lead,
balls, powder, steel for striking fire, gun-flints, gun
screws, knives, hatchets, kettles, beads, men’s
shirts, cloth (red and blue) for blankets and petti¬
coats, vermillion and verdigris, tallow, blue and
green ribbon of English weaving, needles, thread,
awls, blue, white and red rateen for making moc¬
casins, woolen blankets of three points and a half,
three, two and one and a half of Leon cloth, mir¬
rors framed in wood, hats trimmed fine, and in
imitation, with variegated plumes or in red, yellow,
blue and green, hoods for men and children of
fringed rateen, galloons, real and imitation, brandy,
tobacco, razors for the head, glass in beads made
after the fashion, wampum, black wines, and
paints.
10 W. J. Eccles, The Canadian Frontier, 1534-
1760 (New York: Holt, Rinehart, and Winston,
Inc., 1969), p. 151.
11 Captain William Trent, Journal of Captain
William Trent from Logstown to Pickawillany,
A.D. 1752. Edited by Alfred T. Goodman (Cin¬
cinnati: R. Clarke and Co. for W. Dodge, 1871;
Microfiche, Library of American Civilization, LAC
16624, n.d.), p. 15.
12 Gipson, vol. 4, North America South of the
Great Lakes, p. 174.
13 Trent, Journal of William Trent, p. 15.
14 See Memoir of Raymond to the French Min¬
ister, November 2, 1747, in Wisconsin Collections,
17:474-475; and Trent, Journal of William Trent,
pp. 17-18. Trent recounted the tribes and con¬
spiracy in an extended footnote.
15 Trent, Journal of William Trent, p. 21 n.
Nicholas was pardoned for his part in the rebellion
provided he help maintain peace. However, he
soon began to invite English traders back to his
village. When the French heard of this, they
ordered punitive measures be taken; Nicholas then
decided to leave for the west.
10 Thwaites, Wisconsin Collections, p. xvii.
17 Memoir of Raymond to the French Minister,
November 2, 1747, in Wisconsin Collections, 17:
475. Although the French blamed all the English
in general, the rebellion was aided by independent
English traders and was not officially sanctioned
by the colonial governments. What aid there was
to the Indians was too little too late.
lsIbid., p. 476.
19 Ibid.
20Colden to Peter Collinson, December ?, 1743,
The Colden Papers, New York Historical Society
Collections, 1919, III, pp. 42-44, quoted in Cald¬
well, French in the Mississippi Valley, p. 51.
21 Philip Livingston to Storke and Gainsborough,
31 October, 1734, Manuscripts Miscellaneous, V.
New York State Library, as quoted in Douglas E.
Leach, Arms for Empire, A Military History of
the British Colonies in North America, 1607-1763
(New York: Macmillan Co., 1973), p. 177.
22 Caldwell, French in the Mississippi Valley,
p. 5.
23 La Galissoniere and Hocquart to the French
Minister, October 7, 1747, in Wisconsin Collec¬
tions, 17:470.
24 La Galissoniere to the French Minister, Octo¬
ber 23, 1748, in Wisconsin Collections, 17:503.
25 W. J. Eccles, France in America. The New
American Nation Series, edited by Henry S. Com-
mager and Richard B. Morris (New York: Harper
and Row Publishers, Inc., 1972), p. 179.
2,5 French minister to La Galissoniere, 12 Febru¬
ary 1748, in Wisconsin Collections, vol. 18: The
French Regime in Wisconsin, 1743-1760, The
British Regime in Wisconsin, 1760-1800. The
Mackinac Register of Marriages, 1725-1821, edited
by Reuben G. Thwaites, p. 1 1 .
27 Ibid. Chippewa bands had attacked French
boats on Lake St. Clair.
28 French minister to La Jonquiere, May 4, 1749,
in Wisconsin Collections, 18:22. This letter was
150
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
written to new Governor-General, La Jonquiere,
but it refers to Galissoniere’s requests and actions.
29 Memoir of the king, April 30, 1749, in Wis¬
consin Collections, 18:19.
3,1 New York Colonial Documents and Colonial
Records of Pennsylvania, as quoted in Trent, Jour¬
nal of William Trent, p. 22 n.
31 Beauharnois to the French minister, October
9, 1744, in Wisconsin Collections, 17:443. Al¬
though this statement is attributed to Beauharnois,
the previous Governor-General, it applies to the
situation as Galissoniere found it in 1748-1749.
32 Caldwell, French in the Mississippi Valley,
p. 63.
33 Ibid., p. 52.
34 Ibid., p. 53.
35 Bigot to the French minister, October 22,
1748, in Wisconsin Collections, 17:502.
3,5 French minister to La Jonquiere and Bigot,
May 4, 1749, in Wisconsin Collections, 18:26.
37 Ibid.
3S La Jonquiere and Bigot to the French minister,
October 9, 1749, in Wisconsin Collections, 18:34.
39 Gipson, vol. 5, International Friction, The
Great Lakes Frontier, p. 62, gives an excellent
example of the great price disparity in the period
1734 to 1748. The English offered 92 sols for any
grade beaver skin, whereas the French offered 55
sols a pound for winter grade skins.
49 La Jonquiere and Bigot to the French minister,
October 9, 1749, in Wisconsin Collections, 18:34.
41 French minister to La Jonquiere, May 4, 1749,
in Wisconsin Collections, 18:23-24.
42 La Jonquiere to the French minister, Septem¬
ber 27, 1750, in Wisconsin Collections, 18:70.
43 Caldwell, French in the Mississippi Valley,
pp. 55-56. Caldwell presents some interesting ex¬
amples of how the French sought to deal with the
coureurs de bois; deportation and use as privateers.
44 La Jonquiere to the French minister, Septem¬
ber 29, 1750, in Wisconsin Collections, 18:73.
45 La Jonquiere to the French minister, October
5, 1751, in Wisconsin Collections, 18:99.
40 From 1730-1734, the French had attempted to
destroy the Fox nation, who were an obstacle to
their fur trade. They ruthlessly pursued the Fox
far beyond what would have been necessary,
despite pleas by other tribes to stop. This made the
Indians not only fear what the French could do,
but it also made the tribes very apprehensive of
them.
47 Caldwell, French in the Mississippi Valley,
pp. 64-65.
4S Longueil to the French minister, April 25,
1752, in Wisconsin Collections, 18:116.
49 Ibid., p. 112.
39 Gipson, vol. 4, International Friction, South of
the Great Lakes, pp. 188-189.
11 Anderson, Scraps, Du Semetiere Papers, Li¬
brary Company of Philadelphia, quoted in Gipson,
International Friction, South of the Great Lakes,
pp. 188-189 n.2, gives the following table of the
value of deer skins:
A Buck is a Buck-skin
A Buck is equal to hundred grains of black wam-
52 Lords to Gooch, March 4, 1748/9, Virginia
Correspondence, 439-443, Public Records Office,
Colonial Office, 5 V. 1366, quoted in Caldwell,
French in the Mississippi Valley, p. 96 n. 44.
53 Gipson, vol. 4, International Friction, South
of the Great Lakes, pp. 153-154.
54 Trent, Journal of William Trent, p. 11.
55 Gipson, vol. 4, International Friction, South
of the Great Lakes, pp. 184-185.
59 See Eccles, The Canadian Frontier, p. 156;
and Reuben Gold Thwaites, France in America,
1497-1763 (New York: Harper and Brothers Pub¬
lishers, 1905; reprint ed., Westport, Conn.: Green¬
wood Press, 1970), pp. 152-153.
57 Instructions to the commissioners, Virginia
Magazine of History and Biography, XIII, pp. 147-
152, quoted in Gipson, vol. 4. International Fric¬
tion, South of the Great Lakes, p. 253 n. 69.
5S Journal of Celoron, 1749, in Wisconsin Col¬
lections, 18:36, 39.
59 Ibid., pp. 42-56.
60 Ibid., p. 57.
61 Memoir of the King, April 30, 1749, in Wis¬
consin Collections, 18:17.
62 Eccles, The Canadian Frontier, p. 159.
63 Ohio Company Papers, I, pp. 7, 17, cited in
Gipson, vol. 4, International Friction, South of the
Great Lakes, p. 207.
64 See Du Quesne to the French minister, Octo¬
ber 25, 1752, in Wisconsin Collections, 18:129 n.
67; and Gipson, vol. 4, International Friction
South of the Great Lakes, pp. 222-223.
65 Eccles, The Canadian Frontier, p. 162.
66 Gipson, vol. 4, International Friction, South
of the Great Lakes, pp. 307-310.
67 Eccles, The Canadian Frontier, p. 166.
6S Lawrence H. Gipson, The British Empire Be¬
fore the American Revolution, vol. 7: The Vic-
1982]
Larson— The French-lndian Alliance, 1748-1758
151
torious Years, 1758-1760; 16 vols. (New York:
Alfred A. Knopf, 1949), pp. 63-64.
69 See Alfred T. Mahan, The Influence of Sea
Power Upon History, 12th ed. (Boston: Little,
Brown and Co., 1947), pp. 284-285; and William
M. James, The Influence of Sea Power on the His¬
tory of the British People, The Les Knowles Lec¬
ture on Military History for 1947 (Cambridge:
The University Press, 1948), p. 14.
70 Mahan, Influence of Sea Power Upon History,
p. 291. Spain joined the war on France’s side in
January 1762, adding 46 ships-of-the-line. How¬
ever, to quote Mahan, A . . it may well be doubted
if its worth were equal to its numbers.”
71 Eccles, France in America, pp. 188-190. Mont¬
calm and Vaudreuil eventually became very bitter
enemies, which did not help the war effort.
72 New York Colonial Documents, X, p. 309,
quoted in Stanley, New France, The Last Phase,
p. 97.
73 New York Colonial Documents, X, p. 630;
and “Journal of Levis,” in Levis MSS., i, pp. 89-
91, cited in Thwaites, Wisconsin Collections, 18:
196 n. 49.
74 M. Dumas to M. de Makarty, August, 1756,
in Wisconsin Collections, 18:164.
75 Journal of Montcalm, November 21, 1756, in
Casgrain, Levis Manuscripts, in Wisconsin Collec¬
tions, 18:164 n. 6.
76 Stanley, New France, The Last Phase, pp. 98-
99.
77 Louis Antoine de Bouganville, Adventure in
the Wilderness: The American Journals of Louis
Antoine de Bouganville, 1756-1760, trans. and ed.
Edward P. Hamilton (Norman, OK: University of
Oklahoma Press, 1964), p. 331.
7S Ibid., p. 36.
79 Ibid., p. 60.
30 Ibid., p. 170.
^ See Mahan, Influence of Sea Power Upon His¬
tory, p. 294; and Leach, Arms for Empire, p. 419.
France did not make the mistake of neglecting
her navy after 1760. By then, however, it was too
late. By the outbreak of the American Revolution,
many historians have felt France’s rebuilt navy
equalled or surpassed Britain’s.
s2 Lawrence H. Gipson, The Coming of the
American Revolution, ed. Henry S. Commager
and Richard B. Morris, New American Nation
Series (New York: Harper and Row, 1954), p. 28.
33 Idem, vol. 7, Victorious Years, 1758-1760, pp.
278-279, 283-284.
S4 Memoir of Pouchot, May, 1759, in Wisconsin
Collections, 18:211.
S7 Extract from Montcalm’s journal, December
10, 1758, in Wisconsin Collections, 18:206.
Si! Vaudreuil to the French minister, June 24,
1760, in Wisconsin Collections, 18:217.
S7 Gipson, vol. 5, International Friction, The
Great Lakes Frontier, pp. 25-21.
RICHARD T. ELY AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE
EUROPEAN SOCIALIST AND LABOR COLLECTIONS
AT THE UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN-MADISON
Jack A. Clarke
Library School
University of W isconsin-Madison
In 1890 the University of Wisconsin was
an aspiring but undistinguished school with
a modest program of instruction and a li¬
brary of 19,000 volumes. During the next
decade a dramatic transformation of its edu¬
cational program took place, “in intellectual
as well as in material terms, in direction as
well as in organization.”1 Inevitably, this
rapid but necessarily uneven expansion was
accompanied by academic growing pains in
curriculum planning and in library develop¬
ment. It became a matter of concern to the
university administration that the natural and
physical sciences were assuming a dispro¬
portionate role in the curriculum and in the
disposition of research funds. To achieve a
more equitable balance of faculty interests,
President Thomas C. Chamberlin, though a
geologist, decided to build up the social sci¬
ences at Wisconsin by recruiting research
scholars trained at the leading universities in
the East.
Two years later, in 1892, President
Chamberlin announced the formation of a
School of Economics, Political Science, and
History which would offer practical training
in citizenship as well as advanced work in
public administration. Its instructional pro¬
gram would aspire to do “for civic life what
West Point did for the military.”2 Chamber¬
lin’s proposal evoked a quick and favorable
response from the local newspapers, from
the alumni of the university, and especially
from the faculty. Frederick Jackson Turner,
then a young history professor, warmly sup¬
ported this new school “which would allow
Wisconsin to build a graduate program in
the social sciences more prestigious than
Chicago’s. It will be the center of post¬
graduate work in the Northwest.”3
As the Director of this newly organized
school, Chamberlin appointed one of the
country’s leading economists, Professor
Richard T. Ely of Johns Hopkins University,
who had taught John R. Commons, Fred¬
erick Jackson Turner, and Woodrow Wil¬
son, among others. Ely immediately became
Wisconsin’s most distinguished faculty mem¬
ber and retained this position for 33 years
until his retirement in 1925. 4 He was in¬
duced to leave the East by an offer of $3500
a year, a substantial salary for those days,
and the unprecedented sum of $5000 for
the purchase of library materials. This sum
represented a considerable outlay of public
funds since the entire library book budget
was then $3000 annually. A decade later
another $2500 was made available to Ely
for special purchases in the social sciences.
“Without a good library,” the Board of
Visitors noted approvingly, “you cannot
possibly have a first class university.”5
Since his main interest was then in the
labor movement and in economic reform,
Professor Ely confined his purchases largely
to books in these fields. “The labor move¬
ment in its broadest sense” he wrote, “is the
effort of men to live the life of men. It is the
systematic organized struggle of the masses
to attain, primarily, more leisure and larger
economic resources. — Man shall never be¬
come truly prosperous so long as any class
of the population is materially wretched.”6
At Johns Hopkins, Ely had championed gas-
and-water socialism and strict Federal man¬
agement of the country’s mineral and forest
reserves. He had made many friends among
middle class reformers and Christian social¬
ists in the East whose financial assistance he
now sought for the acquisition of research
152
1982]
Clarke — Socialist and Labor Collections
153
materials. He was later assisted in this en¬
deavor by John R. Commons who joined his
faculty in 1904 and took over Ely’s project
of collecting documents on American labor
history.
“I am a firm believer in the principle of
state universities,” Ely informed President
Chamberlin, “but I think that private phi¬
lanthropy should cooperate within the state
in their development.”7 In 1900, a favor¬
able opportunity to stimulate private con¬
tributions occurred when an important col¬
lection of the works of Robert Owen was
offered for sale by an English bookseller.
Ely immediately wrote to a number of
prominent Wisconsinites of Scottish descent
asking them to underwrite the cost of the
works of the “Sage of New Lanark.” Rob¬
ert Owen was, of course, a Welshman, but
his most significant reforms were carried on
in Scotland, and he had become a beloved
figure there. Ely was successful in this na¬
tionalistic approach, the required sum was
soon subscribed and the collection pur¬
chased. That same year he raised $2000
from the German community in Milwaukee
for the purchase of German language books
on European economic problems. A few
years later Ely’s close friend William Dodge,
a railroad tycoon from New York City,
added $500 to the fund for the new school.
In the East, Ely had pioneered in the semi¬
nar method of graduate instruction, which
he continued at Wisconsin. Over the years
he offered seminars on such professional
topics as Economic Theory, Economic His¬
tory, and German Socialism.8 They included
research reports as well as general discus¬
sion of current literature.
While still at Johns Hopkins, Professor
Ely had written a history of French and Ger¬
man socialism and had lectured widely on
this subject. In the course of a series of
Chautaqua appearances, he met William
English Walling, a wealthy social reformer
“who was then perhaps the most provoca¬
tive mind in American socialism.”9 Walling
was a founder of the NAACP and a charter
member of the League of Industrial Democ¬
racy. Through Walling’s generosity, several
hundred books on European economic
thought were presented to the University
library in 1907. Approximately 200 of these
volumes were kept in Madison, and the du¬
plicates sold to the University of Illinois
for $1500. 10 In the following year Walling
purchased over eight hundred volumes from
the personal library of Herman Schlueter,
the veteran editor of the socialist New
Yorker Volkszeitung. Walling gave the
American titles to the Wisconsin State His¬
torical Society, and the European portion,
consisting of some 600 titles, to the Univer¬
sity library. These works were welcome ad¬
ditions to both libraries. Thanks to Mil¬
waukee’s Victor Berger, socialism enjoyed
greater public esteem in Wisconsin than it
did in most other midwestern states. It had,
in fact, become “synonymous with honest,
humane municipal government.”11
The European portion of the Schlueter
collection pertained largely to German so¬
cialism and to the First International. The
most important single item was unquestion¬
ably Friedrick A. Sorge’s manuscript report
on the Amsterdam meeting of the First In¬
ternational in 1872, which was published
much later by the University of Wisconsin
Press.
There was also a wealth of material on the
German Social-Democratic Party, including
minutes of meetings and election handbills
and posters. On the revolution of 1848 there
is a considerable body of contemporary
pamphlets, books and periodicals. Also im¬
pressive were the periodicals of later years,
particularly those published in the seventies
and eighties, which, like those of the forties,
are to be found in few American libraries.
Of the books written by important socialist
and labor leaders of Germany there was a
gratifying array. A group of socialist song
books was also in the collection. And as a
dash of spice, there were the books of about
seventy literary figures whose novels, essays,
and poetry could be characterized as socially
progressive. But one would search in vain for
154
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
materials pertaining to individual labor
unions, for seemingly Schlueter was inter¬
ested only in books that dealt with theory
and the problems of political organization.12
Walling’s donations formed the nucleus
of the European socialist collections in the
University Library. His influence and his
interest in Wisconsin did not stop there,
however. Later, in 1909, it was Walling
who sent the then nineteen year old Selig
Perlman to Madison to study under John
R. Commons.13 Perlman was to become a
distinguished member of the Wisconsin Eco¬
nomics faculty and the library collections
were to benefit greatly from his wide knowl¬
edge of the European scene. Other Wiscon¬
sin scholars whose work touched on aspects
of socialism included William Scott, Edward
A. Ross, and Frederick Ogg.
In the summer of 1913 Richard T. Ely
made a trip to Ireland in order to study a
development which he believed to be unique
in history, the transfer of ownership of a
large part of the island from one economic
class to another.14 He decided to collect
materials for the study of Irish history, its
economic problems and culture. Back in
Madison, Ely sought the help of Monsignor
Patrick B. Knox, a Catholic priest who
passed on Ely’s request for funds to several
prominent Irishmen. A generous gift was
then made by the Ancient Order of Hiberni¬
ans for the purchase of books which were
presented on March 14, 1914 at a special
ceremony in the State Historical Society
Building. Most of these materials were added
to the Historical Library at that time but
were later transferred to the University Li¬
brary when the division of fields was estab¬
lished.
Meanwhile despite Ely’s efforts the library
was not keeping abreast of other state uni¬
versities with “which Wisconsin was fond
of comparing itself.”15 By 1920 the Univer¬
sity of Wisconsin Library had only 480,000
volumes, ranking well below such com¬
parable midwestern institutions as Michigan,
Minnesota, Illinois, and Chicago. Housed
with the State Historical Society in a build¬
ing completed in 1900, its physical quarters
were already congested and “disgracefully
overcrowded.”16 Enrollments rose steadily
from seven to twelve thousand undergradu¬
ates while appropriations for books and
periodicals stagnated. Although the librar¬
ians complained constantly of the shortage
of book funds and the “painfully inade¬
quate” provisions for undergraduates, little
was done to improve this situation. Tempo¬
rary relief was secured by the establishment
of branch libraries and the removal of the
reserve collections to the basement of Bas-
com Hall, but the stacks soon became
crowded again.17 In the 1930’s the idea of a
separate undergraduate library was briefly
considered and rejected.18 It was apparent
after this rebuff that “the library was not
particularly well thought of in university
circles.”19 Consequently, building collections
of specialized materials for intensive use by
a few researchers was out of the question.
It appears that faculty members of this pe¬
riod relied heavily on their own private li¬
braries and a liberal leave policy in order
to carry on their research projects.
In September, 1937, Louis Kaplan, a re¬
cent graduate of the University of Illinois
Library School with a Ph.D. in European
history from Ohio State, was named chief of
reference at the university library. He
brought to this newly created position a
mind trained for scholarly research, and
consequently a comprehension of the needs
of scholars.20 Kaplan began his long tenure
at Wisconsin by building up a reference col¬
lection through purchases, stack transfers,
and the creation of special files. He also
formed a wide acquaintance with the faculty
who kept him appraised of their research
needs and interests. In 1949 Kaplan was
appointed Associate Director for Public
Services, assuming a heavy responsibility for
collection development. In this capacity, he
became the prototype of all the later subject
bibliographers at Wisconsin.21
Wisconsin’s socialist collections, estab-
1982]
Clarke — Socialist and Labor Collections
155
lished by Ely, presented a rare opportunity
to build on existing resources. Prices were
still relatively low for many books in this
field, and inexpensive copies of early im¬
prints frequently came on the market. Kap¬
lan gradually identified the gaps in Wiscon¬
sin’s collections and built up an extensive
want list on the back of old catalog cards.
Dealers’ prices for books purchased and for
books missed were recorded along with Kap¬
lan’s bibliographic notes on editions and
rarities. He purchased mainly periodical
runs, trade union publications, tracts, and
specialized monographs. Many of the im¬
portant works were acquired from Hugo
Streisand in Berlin and from H. P. Kraus in
New York. To supplement this historical
collection with more recent titles Kaplan
reacommended that Wisconsin assume origi¬
nal responsibility for the Farmington Plan’s
coverage of Social Reform Communism,
anarchism, Socialism, and nihilism (LC
categories HN and HX). From their special¬
ized dealers a steady flow of these publica¬
tions now began to enter the university li¬
brary. A new building, completed in 1953,
solved the storage problem for the time
being.22
Believing strongly that source materials
of this quality ought to be known and used
by the national and even the international
community of scholars, Kaplan set out to
publicize Wisconsin’s holdings of “social-
istica.” In 1953 he wrote a bibliographical
essay for College and Research Libraries on
socialist rarities, “their prices on the current
market, and (the holdings) of leading li¬
brary collections.”23 Four years later he
published a descriptive article on Wisconsin’s
collection of books, periodicals, newspapers,
and labor party reports.24 When Kaplan be¬
came Director of the University Fibraries
in the late fifties, he turned over his “want
file” of socialist titles to the newly appointed
Social Studies librarian who continued to
select heavily in this field. At Kaplan’s sug¬
gestion the Social Studies librarian located
and acquired copies, mostly on microfilm, of
most of the stenographic reports of the early
French Socialist Congresses, bringing to¬
gether at Madison the most complete sets of
these reports in North America.25 Also about
this time Kaplan, through the auspices of
Professor Perlman, acquired for the univer¬
sity the personal papers of the late William
English Walling.26
In succeeding years, Wisconsin’s socialist
collections continued to grow and prosper,
partly through a standing order with the West
German dealer Harrassowitz for “under¬
ground literature” and partly through the
selection of the library’s bibliographers.
Richard T. Ely’s modest initial investment in
socialism has doubled and tripled in value.
Today, these extensive holdings are recog¬
nized as a major international resource of
interest to scholars in many fields of study.
Notes
1 Merle Curti and Vernon Carstenson, The Uni¬
versity of Wisconsin: A History 1848-1925 . (2
vols., Madison: University of Wisconsin Press,
1 949) : I., 501.
2 Benjamin G. Rader, The Academic Mind and
Reform: The Influence of Richard T. Ely. Lexing¬
ton, Kentucky: University of Kentucky Press,
1966. p. 112.
* Ray Billington, Frederick Jackson Turner, His¬
torian, Scholar, Teacher. New York, Oxford, 1973.
p. 91.
4 “Inventory,” Richard T. Ely, Papers Wisconsin
State Historical Society.
5 Elsie A. Fansler, The University of Wisconsin
Library: A History (1848-1953) M.S. Thesis. Uni¬
versity of Wisconsin, 1 953, p. 25.
Richard T. Ely, Ground Under Our Feet: An
Autobiography. New York: Macmillan, 1938. p.
607.
7 Richard T. Ely to President Chamberlin. Janu¬
ary 1 1, 1892 in Ely Correspondence Wisconsin
State Historical Society MS., 1892, Box 8.
s On this point see Wisconsin State Historical So¬
ciety MSS 411. Ely Papers. Box 35-36. 3M/29 L-
2-H6, particularly the file on 1900-01. German
Socialism.
n Donald G. Egbert, ed. Socialism and American
Life. 2 vols., Princeton, 1952. I., 312.
]0 Richard T. Ely, “Additional Statement in the
Matter of John R. Commons, and the Work of
the American Bureau of Industrial Research, April
156
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
1, 1909,” University Archives, Presidents’ Papers.
General Subject Files (B Series) 1893-1949. Miscel¬
laneous, 1906-1923 4/0/1. Box 21.
11 Robert C. Nesbit, Wisconsin: A History. Madi¬
son: University of Wisconsin Press, 1973. p. 390.
12 Louis Kaplan, “The William English Walling
Collection (The Herman Schlueter Collection),”
U. W. Library Staff News, vol. V. (1960), no. 1,
p. 1.
13 Thomas W. Gaveth, “Some Early Labor Econ¬
omists: Richard Theodore Ely, John Rogers Com¬
mons, Jacob Harry Hollander, George Ernest Bar¬
nett, Robert Franklin Horie,” M.S. Thesis, Univer¬
sity of Wisconsin, 1954, p. 39.
14 Lloyd W. Griffin. “Library of Irish History
and Literature,” U. W. Library News. February,
1959. IV no. 2, Milwaukee Sentinel March 8, 1914.
15Curti and Carstenson. The University of Wis¬
consin. II, 308; See also George Alan Works. Col¬
lege and University Library Problems Chicago,
ALA, 1927. p. 125-26.
16 Wisconsin University. Regents Business Report
for 1918-20. p. 230. University Archives.; Clifford
L. Lord and Carl Ubbelohde. Clio’s Servant: The
State Historical Society of Wisconsin (Madison:
State Historical Society, 1967.) p. 123ff.
17 L. C. Burke, Compiler. “Some Notes on the
History of the University of Wisconsin Library —
Its Branches and Collections.” Madison: 1946.
Rare Books Room, MS. p. 1.
18 Wisconsin University. Faculty Minutes, Mon¬
day, December 7, 1936, p. 15-16. University
Archives.
19 Theodore Blegen and Keyes Metcalfe, “A Sur¬
vey of the Libraries of the State Historical Society
of Wisconsin and the University of Wisconsin,”
Summer, 1943, p. 3. Alan Bogue and Robert Tay¬
lor, eds. The University of Wisconsin: One Hun¬
dred and Twenty-Five Years. Madison: University
of Wisconsin Press, 1975, p. 75.
20 Wisconsin University. Libraries. Annual Re¬
ports 1937-1938, University Archives 22/1/1, box
1.
21 Interview with Louis Kaplan, February, 1976.
22 Gerhard B. Naeseth. “The Libraries Grow and
Expand,” A Resourceful University. The Univer¬
sity of Wisconsin-Madison In Its 1 25th Year.
Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1975.
p. 209.
23 Louis Kaplan, “Socialistica of 1800-1850:
Rarities and Leading Collections,” College and
University Libraries, October, 1953.
24 Louis Kaplan, “Sources For the Study of
European Labor and Socialism (1840-1914) at Wis¬
consin.” College and Research Libraries, March,
1957.
25 Jack A. Clarke, “French Socialist Congresses,
1876-1914,” Journal of Modern History, June,
1959.
28 Louis Kaplan to Alfred W. Peterson, Decem¬
ber 9, 1956, Manuscript Collections. Rare Book
Room.
THE INFLUENCE OF REGULATION ON
TOP LEVEL EXECUTIVE COMPENSATION
FOR LARGE CORPORATIONS
Jay Nathan
Department of Business Management
University of W isconsin-Parkside, Kenosha
Abstract
Recently, attention has been focused upon studies of individual decision
makers in the organizational setting. This study concerns the compensation of the
chief executives of large corporations as it is influenced by regulation. In contrast
to most other studies, executive compensation in this study includes gains from
stock options as well as salary and bonuses. This empirical research demonstrates
a difference in levels of executive compensation between large utilities and large
industrial corporations and suggests an explanation for this difference.
Introduction
The chief executive officer is at the apex
of the organizational structure. He is a key
decision maker affecting the firm’s behavior.
The factors that motivate him influence his
role as a decision maker. Of many such fac¬
tors, compensation is an important one.
Much of the current theoretical work places
great emphasis on internal decision pro¬
cesses and motivation and behavior of execu¬
tives. Assumptions about the effects of com¬
pensation upon these decision processes are
often critical. Recently, Harvey Leibenstein
suggested an alternative to the traditional
micro theory called micro-micro theory. He
differentiated his theory from the well known
“complex objective function” theories: those
associated with the names Tibor Scitovsky,
William J. Baumol, Robin Marris, Herbert
Simon and Oliver E. Williamson. The com¬
mon element in the property rights approach,
managerial theories and micro-micro theory
is that they all study individuals within or¬
ganizational contexts. This study concerns
the compensation of the chief executives of
large corporations as it is influenced by reg¬
ulation. Empirical studies of chief executives’
compensation are not new, however, empiri¬
cal studies of the influence of regulation on
chief executive compensation for large cor¬
porations are new. Also in this study gains
from stock options are included as part of
total compensation.
Background of the Study
The chief executive maximizes his utility
subject to the limits established by the exist¬
ing organizational structure. The rates that
a public utility is permitted to charge are
set at levels which are intended to allow the
utility to cover its costs and earn a fair rate
of return. In effect, regulation imposes a
ceiling on the profits a regulated firm can
earn.
The property rights theories offer expla¬
nations of the behavior of executives work¬
ing for firms under regulation. Because of
regulation, there is attenuation of the rights
of chief executives over the residual profits.
Thus executives will have incentives to strive
for profits above the legal limit provided
they can conceal such profits from the regu¬
lators and capture them, which to some ex¬
tent they can do. Better offices, more con¬
genial colleagues, and more relaxed business
operations with shorter hours, for example,
are means of “converting” potential profits
into “higher cost” activities. The foregoing
157
158
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
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standard deviation; n = sample size)
1982]
Nathan — Executive Compensation
159
analysis can be stated as a hypothesis: Ex¬
ecutive compensation is higher for non-regu-
lated firms than for regulated firms.
Methodology
Data were divided into large industrial
corporations and the large utilities: over 100
large industrial corporations were compared
with over 30 large utilities. This research is
cross-sectional in character and the years
chosen for the study were 1976, 1977, and
1978. Major sources of data were, Fortune,
Business Week, proxies filed with the Se¬
curity Exchange Commission and COMPU-
STAT tapes.
The method uses traditional hypothesis
testing of the null hypothesis. The basic for¬
mat is as follows:
1) Null hypothesis H0: /xi — /x2 < 0
2) Alternate hypothesis Hi: /xx — /x2 > 0
where is defined as the population mean
compensation of chief executive officers of
all the firms in the non-regulated industries
and p 2 is the population mean compensation
of chief executives of all the firms in the
regulated industries. The alternate hypothesis
states that executive compensation is higher
for non-regulated firms than for regulated
firms. The rationale for this hypothesis is
described above. Further, since corporation
assets may influence compensation, a similar
calculation was run using the mean of com¬
pensation divided by assets for each corpo¬
ration, to correct for differences in assets.
Empirical Results
In order to test for the hypothesis, the sta¬
tistical test using equations 1) and 2) above
was calculated, as shown in Tables 1 and 2.
The sample size varied somewhat from year
to year, but for the non-regulated firms n
was around 100 and for the regulated firms
n was a little over 30 each year.
From the results as shown in Table 1,
based on 1976, 1977 and 1978 data, the
null hypothesis is rejected; therefore the al¬
ternate hypothesis is accepted.
A similar test was conducted combining
the data for all 3 years of 1976, 1977, and
1978. The combined sample size of non-
regulated firms was more than 300 and for
regulated firms was nearly 100. Table 2,
Table 2. Summary Results of the Tests for Hypothesis.
(Combined data, 3-year means for 1976, 1977, and 1978)
Reject the Null Hypothesis at 5% level of significance; in other words the Alternate Hypothesis is accepted.
1 Mean executive compensation (including stock option gains) for the non-regulated firms.
2 Mean executive compensation (including stock option gains) for the regulated firms.
3 Xin is the mean of compensation -f- assets for non-regulated firms.
4 X2ki is the mean of compensation -r- assets for regulated firms.
(s = standard deviation; n = sample size)
160
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
part A is based on total compensation, which
includes salary, bonus and stock option
gains. Means of executives’ compensation
(x-Tcomp), their standard deviation ( S ) and
sample size (n) are presented. From the
results of this table, the null hypothesis is
rejected, which also means the alternate
hypothesis is accepted.
Table 2, part B contains the results of
compensation which includes salary, bonus
and stock option gains, but for each corpora¬
tion these values are deflated by the assets.
Means of executives’ compensation deflated
by assets, their standard deviation and sam¬
ple sizes are presented. From the results of
this table, once again, it is seen that the null
hypothesis is rejected.
Overall, these tests provided conclusive
evidence for accepting the alternate hypoth¬
esis developed in this paper: i.e. executive
compensation is higher for non-regulated
firms than for regulated firms.
Conclusions
This research is focused on the individual,
the chief executive officer of the large corpo¬
ration. From the empirical evidence based
on the sample, this research shows that the
executives (individuals) can be studied in
the organizational context. The theory of
property rights explains the differences in
regulated and non-regulated property organi¬
zations. Because of these differences, it is
probable that the executives of regulated
corporations compensate for lower monetary
rewards by more comfortable surroundings
shorter hours, and perquisites, which are
not budgeted as compensation and are not
taxable to the individual.
This study differs from most of the earlier
studies in the following aspects: inclusion of
the gains from stock options, the influence
of regulations on executive compensation,
the influence of corporate assets and the use
of more recent data from 1976, 1977 and
1978. It brings out the role of regulation
which may have policy implications for man¬
agement and ownership of the large corpora¬
tions.
References
Alchian, A. and H. Demsetz, “Production In¬
formation Costs, and Economic Organiza¬
tion,” American Economic Review, Decem¬
ber 1972.
Baumol, W. J., Business Behavior, Value and
Growth, Revised Edition, Harcourt Brace
and World, Inc., New York, 1967.
Coase, R. H., “The Nature of the Firm,”
Economica, November 1937.
Demsetz, H., “Toward a Theory of Property
Rights,” American Economic Review, Vol.
57, May 1967.
Leibenstein, Harvey, “A Branch of Economics
Is Missing: Micro-Micro Theory,” The Jour¬
nal of Economic Literature, Vol. XVII, June
1979.
Marris, Robin, The Economic Theory of Man¬
agerial Capitalism, The Free Press of Glen¬
coe, 1964.
Scitovsky, Tibor, “A Note on Profit Maximisa¬
tion and Its Implication,” Review of Eco¬
nomic Studies, Vol. II, 1943-44.
Simon, Herbert, “The Compensation of Execu¬
tives,” Sociometry, March 1957.
Williamson, Oliver E., The Economics of Dis¬
cretionary Behavior: Managerial Objectives
in Theory of the Firm, Prentice-Hall, Engle¬
wood Cliffs, New Jersey, 1964.
REDISTRIBUTION OF FALLOUT 137CS IN
BRUNNER CREEK WATERSHED IN WISCONSIN
Jerry C. Ritchie, J. Roger McHenry, and Gary D. Bubenzer
USDA-ARS, Beltsville, MD, and Durant, OK and
the University of Wisconsin-Madison, WI
Abstract
The distribution of fallout 137Cs was studied in Brunner Creek watershed,
Wisconsin. In noncultivated areas, the highest concentration of 137Cs was in the
upper 5 cm of the soil profile and decreased with depth; whereas in cultivated
areas, 137Cs was distributed uniformly in the upper 25 cm. Losses of about 12
percent of the input of 137Cs were occurring from the cultivated soils. The marshy
area around White Clay Lake, into which Brunner Creek drains, had 1.5 times
more 137Cs than the forested areas in the watershed. The marsh area appears to be
acting as a filter, removing both particulate matter and 137Cs moving in the runoff
water from the upland area to White Clay Lake. Sediment accumulation has
averaged 11.5 cm between 1964 and 1975 in the marsh area.
Key words: fallout, 137Cs, ecosystems, watersheds, radionuclides, runoff distribu¬
tion, White Clay Lake
Introduction
Man, in his efforts to develop nuclear
weapons and to control nuclear fission, has
released many radionuclides into the atmo¬
sphere. These radionuclides are deposited
on the earth’s surface from the atmosphere
either as dry fallout or in rainfall ( Element,
1965; Engelmann and Slinn, 1970). The
amount and type of radionuclide fallout is
monitored at several locations within the
United States (Hardy, 1975).
With its long half-life, 30 years, and an
energetic gamma ray, 0.662 mev, 137Cs is
an important radionuclide, radiologically
and biologically, and is relatively easy to
detect in environmental samples. Once in
contact with the soil, 137Cs is tightly bound
by the clay-size soil fraction and organic
matter, and its further movement by natural
chemical processes in the environment is
limited (Davis, 1963; Durrsma and Gross,
1971; Tamura, 1964). Therefore, the move¬
ment of fallout 137Cs after it reaches the soil,
is mainly associated with physical processes
such as plowing, erosion, or deposition
(Rogowski and Tamura, 1970; Ritchie, et
al, 1970, 1974).
A study was made on Brunner Creek
watershed, which drains into the southeast
side of White Clay Lake in Shawano County,
Wisconsin (Figure 1), to determine the
distribution and movement of fallout 137Cs in
the watershed.
Methods and Materials
Soil samples, including all organic matter
on the surface, were collected under the
different land uses in the Brunner Creek
watershed in 1974 and 1975. Major soil
types in the watershed are Onaway loam,
Salona loam, and Shiocton silt loam. Land
use types sampled were from a 40- to 50-
year old upland oak-maple forest that
showed no evidence of soil erosion, from
corn and alfalfa fields, from pastures, and
from a low marshy area where Brunner
Creek enters White Clay Lake. Samples of
the sediment in the delta area where Brun¬
ner Creek enters White Clay Lake were al¬
so collected. Sample sites were chosen that
161
162
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
Table 1. Average concentrations and standard error of the mean of l37Cs (nCi/m2) in soil profiles under different
land use types in Brunner Creek watershed, White Clay Lake, Wisconsin.
* ND No samples collected.
** Total and Range are based on the summarization totals for each sample site.
*** Number of samples per depth and number of sample sites per vegetation type.
1982]
Ritchie, McHenry and Bubenzer — Redistribution of 137CS
163
were representative of the major land use
types and soils in the watershed. At least
two sites, and as many as 23 sites, were sam¬
pled from each land use type. Samples were
collected by 5 -cm layers at each sample site.
Each 5 -cm layer sample was sieved through
a 12-mm screen to ensure uniform aggregate
size and dried at 105°C for 48 hours. About
3,000 g of the dried samples were put into
Marinelli beakers and stored 3 to 4 weeks
before gamma ray analyses were made using
a 1024 multichannel analyzer with 10- X
12.5-cm thallium activated sodium iodide
crystal (Ritchie and McHenry, 1973a).
Counting time of each sample was sufficient
to limit counting and machine errors to less
than 1 percent. The complex gamma ray
spectra were reduced to give 137Cs and
associated natural gamma ray-emitting radio¬
nuclide concentrations, using a least squares
routine (Schonfeld, 1966). Cesium-137 is
expressed in nanocuries per square meter
(nCi/m2) or in picocuries per gram (pCi/g).
Average and standard error of the means
of the concentration of 137Cs were calculated
for each land use type by 5 -cm layer and for
the total profile (Table 1). Concentration of
137Cs in the total profile at each sample site
was calculated by summing the concentra¬
tion of 137Cs of the 5-cm layers at the site.
A budget accounting for the distribution of
137Cs in the watershed was prepared show¬
ing the gains and losses of 137Cs from each
land use type. Cesium-137 is expressed in
millicuries (mCi) in this budget.
Results and Discussion
The concentration of 137Cs in soils varied
among land use types (Table 1). The con¬
centration of 137Cs was highest in the marsh
community where concentrations up to 256
nCi/m2 was measured. This is a deposition
area of soil particles eroded from the upland.
Concentrations of 137Cs were lowest in the
alfalfa and corn fields where erosion had
occurred, removing some soil and its asso¬
ciated 137Cs.
The highest concentration of 137Cs by
weight was 7.7 pCi/g measured in a sample
from the upper 5 cm in the marsh. A num¬
ber of samples had concentrations of 137Cs
below detection limits of 0.05 pCi/g. These
samples were considered to have zero con¬
centration of 137Cs in the analysis. These
samples were always at the lower depths of
the profile.
The vertical distribution of 137Cs in the
soil profiles under the upland oak-maple for¬
est exhibited a pattern similar to that found
in other studies (Gersper, 1970; Ritchie,
et al, 1972), with concentrations of 137C's
highest in the upper 5 cm; however, a greater
depth of penetration of 137Cs was found in
these oak-maple soils. Still, 75 percent of the
137Cs in the forest soil profile was in the
upper 10 cm. The total amount of 137Cs in
the forest profiles agreed with the concen¬
tration of fallout radionuclides measured at
Green Bay, Wisconsin (Hardy, 1975). The
concentration of 137Cs per unit area under
the oak-maple forest is used in this study as
an indication of the total input of 137Cs fall¬
out deposited on the watershed.
The vertical distribution of 137Cs in
the soils under the pasture showed the same
pattern as under the forest cover. This ver¬
tical distribution pattern would indicate that
the pastures have been stable for many years.
These pastures showed no visible signs of
overgrazing or soil erosion. However, their
slightly lower concentration of 137Cs was
probably caused by erosion and grazing loss.
The vertical distribution of 137Cs in the
soil profiles under the corn and alfalfa dif¬
fered from that under the oak-maple forest
and the pasture. In these cultivated soils,
137Cs was uniformly distributed within the
upper 25 cm of the soil profile. This layer
represents the plow layer mechanically mixed
by tillage operations. Other studies (Cline
and Rickard, 1972; Ritchie and McHenry,
1973b) on the distribution of 137Cs in culti¬
vated and disturbed soils have shown similar
vertical distributions.
164
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
The total amount of 137Cs (nCi/m2) in
the soil under the corn and alfalfa was less
than that measured under the forest sites,
indicating that 137Cs is being lost from these
areas. Studies have shown that the loss of
137Cs for an area in a watershed can be re¬
lated to the amount of erosion (Ritchie,
et al, 1974). Some 137Cs has moved from
these cultivated fields and some has been
redistributed within the fields as shown in
other studies (McHenry, et al., 1978; Mit¬
chell, etal, 1980).
Some of the 137Cs moved from the original
deposition site and was deposited within the
marshy area surrounding White Clay Lake.
The marsh averaged 1.5 times more 137Cs
than the oak-maple forest and 1.6 times
more than the pasture. This indicated that
the marsh was filtering soil particles and
137Cs from the water passing through and
was acting as a sink or trap for some of the
137Cs moving from the cultivated areas with¬
in the watershed.
The depth of maximum concentration of
137Cs in a sediment deposition profile can be
related to the 137Cs deposited in 1964 when
the amount of atmospheric radioactive fall¬
out was maximum (Ritchie, et al., 1973c;
Pennington, 1974; Robbins and Edgington,
1975; Ritchie, et al., 1975; McHenry, et al,
1978). Using this concept and studying the
individual marsh site profiles, the amount of
sediment accumulation in the marsh since
1964 has ranged from 2.5 to 22.5 cm in the
seven marsh sample sites. The average depo¬
sition was 11.5 cm from 1964 to 1975, indi¬
cating that the marsh was an active filter for
trapping the erosional particles as well as
the attached 137Cs lost from upland.
Highest concentration of 137Cs was always
in the upper 5 cm of the sediment profile
samples collected from the delta of Brunner
Creek in White Clay Lake, which indicates
little deposition of recently eroded soil in this
area of White Clay Lake. This also indi¬
cates that the marsh area was acting as an
effective filter, removing some of the par¬
ticulate matter and 137Cs from the water
moving in Brunner Creek before it entered
White Clay Lake. Other nonpoint source
pollutants attached to soil particles may have
similar movement patterns.
A budget calculated to summarize the dis¬
tribution and movement of 137Cs in the water¬
shed (Table 2) showed that 91 percent of
the input fallout 137Cs remained within the
watershed. Only 10 percent of the 137Cs in¬
put had moved from the area where it was
originally deposited. The calculated loss of
137Cs per unit area was greatest for the culti¬
vated land.
The 137Cs movement was assumed to have
been associated with the finer soil and or¬
ganic particles contained in runoff water
from the watershed. Some of the 137Cs move¬
ment could have been in solution, but this
amount would have been small (Tamura,
1964). Seven percent of the 137Cs that
Table 2. Watershed budget for l37Cs calculated for Brunner Creek watershed.
* Atmospheric input of l37Cs.
** Measured l37Cs concentrated under each land use type times area of each type.
*** Weighted total based on area in each cover type.
1982]
Ritchie, McHenry and Bubenzer — Redistribution of 137CS
165
moved from the watershed was deposited in
the marshy area around the lake.
Fifty-eight mCi of 137Cs was not accounted
for in the 137Cs budget. There are at least
three possible explanations. Some of this
137Cs could be accounted for in the milk that
was produced by the cows feeding on forage
and grain grown in the watershed. Milk is
the only product that is removed in major
amounts from the watershed. It is estimated,
based on 137Cs concentration in Chicago
milk (Hardy, 1975), that less than lmCi of
137Cs was removed from the watershed in
the milk. Some 137Cs may have also been
removed by the selling of the older cows;
however, this would also be a very small
amount of 137Cs.
Some of the 137Cs probably moved
through the marsh into White Clay Lake
and was deposited in the deeper part of the
lake or moved through the lake and down¬
stream. Our data indicated that very little,
if any, of this material was deposited in the
delta area of Brunner Creek in White Clay
Lake. Additional sampling would be neces¬
sary to determine deposition in the deeper
part of the lake. This pattern of deposition
was expected since any particles moving out
of the marsh would be small, light-weight
soil or organic particles that would not be
readily deposited, but could be deposited in
deeper parts of the lake or would remain
suspended and pass through the system. It is
difficult to estimate how much 137Cs would
move from the watershed and pass through
the lake attached to fine soil and organic
particles.
Most of the unaccounted for 58 mCi of
137Cs probably remains in the watershed in
locations that were not sampled or could be
accounted for by sampling errors and varia¬
tions. Statistical analyses indicated little sig¬
nificant difference between the 137Cs concen¬
trations in the different land use types. Areas
not sampled would include forests located in
lowland areas near the stream channel that
would act as a buffer to the stream removing
some of the radioactive material before it
entered the stream. Cesium-137, in addition
to being deposited in the marsh, is probably
also deposited in these riparian vegetation
areas and in the grass areas of the edge of
the fields. Two samples, taken from fence
rows at the edge of cultivated fields, had an
average 137Cs concentration of 156 nCi/m2.
Also, a small pond on Brunner Creek, which
was not sampled, would have also trapped
some of the sediment and 137Cs. These areas
could be deposition sites for much of the
unaccounted for 58 mCi of 137Cs.
This study showed that some of the 137Cs
has been redistributed in the Brunner Creek
watershed. However, most 137Cs remained
near the site of the deposition from fallout.
The marsh has acted as a filter to remove
some particulates and 137Cs from the runoff
water before it entered White Clay Lake.
Most of the 137Cs which did move seems to
be related to the erosion process within the
watershed.
Acknowledgment
This paper is a contribution of the Agri¬
cultural Research Service Headquarters Staff
and the Sedimentation Laboratory, Southern
Region, Delta States Area, of the U.S. De¬
partment of Agriculture, in cooperation with
the College of Agriculture and Life Sciences,
University of Wisconsin at Madison, Wiscon¬
sin, and the U.S. Energy Research and De¬
velopment Administration (now the Depart¬
ment of Energy) (Contract #49-7[3029]).
Jonathan May assisted in the laboratory
preparation of the samples, and Robert Wil¬
son performed in the computer reduction
of the data. Julia Scaggs and Ruth Embrey
assisted in the preparation of the manuscript.
Literature Cited
Cline, J. F., and W. H. Rickard. 1972. Radio¬
active strontium and cesium in cultivated
and abandoned field plots. Health Physics
23:317-324.
Davis, J. J. 1963. Cesium and its relationship
to potassium in ecology. In Radioecology
(edited by) V. Schultz and A. W. Element,
166
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[VoL 70
Jr., pp. 539-556. (New York, USA, Rein¬
hold).
Durrsma, E. K., and M. C. Gross. 1971. Ma¬
rine sediment and radioactivities. In Na¬
tional Academy of Science, Radioactivity in
Marine Environment, pp. 147-160. National
Academy of Sciences, Washington, D.C.,
USA.
Engelmann, R. J., and W. G. N. Slinn. 1970.
Precipitation scavenging (1970). U.S. Atomic
Energy Commission Report CONF-70061,
USA. 499 pp.
Gersper, P. L. 1970. Effect of American beech
trees on the gamma radioactivity of soils.
Soil Science Society of America Proc. 34:
318-323.
Hardy, E. P., Jr. 1975. Health and Safety
Laboratory Environmental Quarterly, June
1, 1975 through September 1, 1975. Health
and Safety Lab. Report HASL-297 and Ap¬
pendix, USA.
Klement, A. W., Jr. (editor). 1965. Radioac¬
tive fallout from nuclear weapons. U.S.
Atomic Energy Commission Report CONF-
765, USA. 953 pp.
McHenry, J. R., J. C. Ritchie, and G. D.
Bubenzer. 1978. Redistribution of cesium-
137 due to erosional processes in a Wiscon¬
sin watershed. In Environmental Chemistry
and Cycling Processes, (edited by) D. C.
Adriano and I. L. Brisbin, Jr. U.S. Dept, of
Energy, Washington, D.C., USA. Publ.
CONF-760429. pp. 495-503.
Mitchell, J. K., G. D. Bubenzer, J. R. Mc¬
Henry, and J. C. Ritchie. 1980. Soil loss
estimations from fallout cesium-137 mea¬
surements. In Assessment of Erosion (edited
by) M. deBoodt and D. Grabriel, J. Wiley &
Sons, New York. pp. 393-401.
Pennington, W. 1974. Seston and sediment
formation in five district lakes. Journal of
Ecology 62:215-251.
Ritchie, J. C., P. H. Hawks, and J. R. Mc¬
Henry. 1975. Deposition rates in valleys de¬
termined using fallout Cs-137. Geological
Society of America Bui. 86:1128-1130.
Ritchie, J. C., and J. R. McHenry. 1973a.
Determination of fallout Cs-137 and natural
gamma-ray emitting radionuclides in sedi¬
ments. International Journal of Applied Ra¬
diation and Isotopes 24:575-578.
Ritchie, J. C., and J. R. McHenry. 1973b.
Vertical distribution of fallout Cs-137 in
cultivated soils. Radiation Data and Reports
12:727-728.
Ritchie, J. C., J. R. McHenry, and A. C. Gill.
1972. The distribution of Cs-137 in the litter
and upper 10 centimeters of soil under dif¬
ferent cover types in northern Mississippi.
Health Physics 22:197.
Ritchie, J. C., J. R. McHenry, and A. C. Gill.
1973c. Dating recent reservoir sediment.
Limnology and Oceanography 18:254-263.
Ritchie, J. C., J. R. McHenry, A. C. Gill, and
P. H. Hawks. 1970. The use of fallout
cesium- 137 as a tracer of sediment move¬
ment and deposition. Proc. Mississippi Water
Resources Conf. 1970. pp. 149-163.
Ritchie, J. C., J. A. Spraberry, and J. R. Mc¬
Henry. 1974. Estimating soil erosion from
the redistribution of fallout Cs-137. Soil Sci¬
ence Society of America Proc. 38:137-139.
Robbins, J. A., and D. N. Edgington. 1975.
Determination of recent sedimentation rates
in Lake Michigan using Pb-210 and Cs-137.
Geochemica et Cosmochima Acta 39:285-
300.
Rogowski, A. S., and T. Tamura. 1970. Ero¬
sional behavior of cesium-137. Health Phys¬
ics 18:467-477.
Schonfeld, E. 1966. Alpha-M — An improved
computer program for determining radio¬
isotopes by least squares resolution of the
gamma ray spectra. Oak Ridge National
Laboratory, Oak Ridge, Tennessee, USA.
ORNL-3975.
Tamura, T. 1964. Selective sorption reaction of
cesium with mineral soil. Nuclear Safety 5:
262-268.
WISCONSIN’S GREATEST HEAT WAVE
Jack R. Villmow
Department of Geography
Northern Illinois University 1
A bstract
Record making cold and very snowy winters in recent years have over¬
shadowed memory of the intense and extended heat waves during the Dust Bowl
Years, 1930-1936. Many temperature records established in 1934 and 1936 still
stand unequalled; during one period lasting eight days in July, 1936, almost the
entire state experienced afternoon readings of 100°F or higher. On July 13, 1936
Wisconsin’s highest official reading, 114°, was recorded at Wisconsin Dells, and
the entire state averaged 106° for the maximum value.
Introduction
The middle of a severe winter in Wiscon¬
sin is apt to conjure up two visions — one
expensive and the other requiring patience
alone. The expensive vision is Hawaii, Flor¬
ida, or Southern California; the vision re¬
quiring patience is the conviction that in six
months a considerably longer day (ca. 15
hours) and a noon sun much higher above
the south horizon (ca. 70°) will guarantee
that below zero temperatures and snowfall
are virtually impossible.
Recent winters have been extraordinary:
1976-7, 1977-8, and 1978-9 each made
records in terms of average monthly tem¬
peratures, the number of below zero days,
the number of consecutive days without an
above freezing reading, total snowfall, or
combinations thereof. As recently as Janu¬
ary, 1982, temperatures averaged nearly two
standard deviations below normal in most
parts of the state, and Milwaukee first
equaled (— 25°F) and then established a
new all-time minimum temperature ( — 26°).
Winters in recent decades have not been
much more pleasant: representing two dif¬
ferent winters, January 1963 and December
1963 each had an extraordinary number of
1 This paper was written while on leave, Jan. 1-
May 15, 1982, as Visiting Honorary Fellow, Dept,
of Geography, UW-Madison.
below zero days, and on January 30, 1951
Madison established its coldest-ever reading,
-37°.
Wisconsin has an invigorating quality of
marked seasonality; summers generally av¬
erage 50° warmer than winters in sharp con¬
trast to Hawaii, Florida, and Southern Cali¬
fornia where the difference is closer to 5°,
25°, and 15° respectively. Extremes in sum¬
mer in Wisconsin are likely to have even
more disastrous impact on the economy than
in winter as the Dust Bowl Years demon¬
strate.
Dust Bowl Years and Heat
Digging through the record books one
must go back nearly half a century to the
early 1930’s to find temperatures as spec¬
tacularly above normal as winters recently
have been below normal. The Dust Bowl
Years 1930-1936 were remarkable for the
number of heat records established. Wiscon¬
sin’s two largest cities, for example, one
along the moderating shoreline of Lake
Michigan and the other well inland, estab¬
lished many daily record maximum tem¬
peratures from April through September
1930-1936; most of these records still stand
unsurpassed by ensuing summers (Table 1).
It is clear that two months contributed the
largest number of heat records, June and
July. Of the 75 records established in these
167
168
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
Table 1. Daily Heat Records Established 1930-
1936 and Still Standing.
States, 1936.
two cities during the period considered, 15
were in the month of July, 1936.
That month is worth examining more
closely because of eight consecutive days
from the 7th through the 14th; these days
are likely to live in climatological infamy.
The average daily maximum temperature in
Wisconsin during that period, based upon
data from 39-40 official climatological sta¬
tions, was 103°, and each day during the
period averaged at least 101° (Table 2).
Most outstanding was July 13, 1936. On
this date Wisconsin’s highest official reading,
114°, occurred at Wisconsin Dells; 36 of 39
official climatological stations reported 100°
or higher, and the state wide average high
was 106°. Distribution of the afternoon
maximum temperatures on July 13 is shown
on Figure 1; added to the data for the 39
reporting official climatological stations is
data for 20 cooperative stations from the ar¬
chives in the State Climatologist’s Office. It
is interesting to note that only immediately
adjacent to Lake Michigan were maximum
reading below 100°: Kewaunee 92°, She¬
boygan 98°, Milwaukee 95°, and Racine
99°.
On the next day when slightly cooler air
started to move into northern Wisconsin,
Madison climaxed its heat wave with an all-
time high 107° and the Milwaukee Airport
-—now General Mitchell Field and the official
weather station only since 1940 — recorded
106°. The official reading from Milwaukee
on that day was taken at the Federal Build¬
ing on East Wisconsin Avenue very near the
lake: 98°.
Earlier in the heat wave on July 8 nearly
as many official climatological stations re¬
corded 100° or higher, but a larger area
scattered in the north and central parts of
the state, was short of the century mark
than was the case on July 13. Big St. Ger¬
main, Brule Island, Marshfield, Medford,
and P. K. Reservoir were in this “cooler”
category (96°-98°); however, on that day
the entire Lake Michigan shoreline was hot:
Kewaunee 104°, Sheboygan 103°, Milwau¬
kee 101°, Racine 100°.
Data for the average maximum and mini¬
mum temperatures during the July 7-14 pe¬
riod are mapped on Figure 2. Only 5 sta¬
tions did not average maxima of at least
100°: Superior 94°, Antigo 99°, Leona 97°,
Kewaunee 97°; and Milwaukee 99°. Highest
was a sizzling 108° at Eau Claire.
Examination of the “average low” read¬
ings demonstrates that minimum tempera¬
tures were also high during the heat wave;
in some cases the average low temperature
exceeded the normal daily mean tempera¬
ture expected at that time of year: Antigo,
Green Bay, Manitowoc, River Falls, She¬
boygan, and Milwaukee are examples.
In addition to the 114° reading at Wis¬
consin Dells, which still stands as Wiscon¬
sin’s hottest official reading, Madison and
Milwaukee established unsurpassed records
during this period (Table 3).
Significance of the 1930’s in terms of
frequency of drought years is demonstrated
1982]
Villmow — Wisconsin's Greatest Heat Wave
169
Fig. 1. Maximum Temperatures, July 13, 1936. Official and cooperative stations.
170
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
Fig. 2. Average Maximum/Minimum Temperatures, July 7-14, 1936.
Official and cooperative stations.
1982]
Villmow — Wisconsin's Greatest Heat Wave
171
Table 3. All-Time Record Highs for the Cal¬
endar Day.
Date Madison Milwaukee
July 7, 1936 . . . 102° 98°
8 . 100° 101°
9 . . . 98° 101°
10 . — 100°
11 . 100° 100*
12 . 104° —
13 . 106° 95°
14 . . . 107° 98°
* The only time Milwaukee has ever had 4 con¬
secutive 100° readings.
Source: Unpublished data, National Weather
Service, Madison and Milwaukee.
in a climatology/vegetation analysis (Bor-
chert, 1950); between the advent of record
keeping and 1950 nine years were classified
as major drought years: 1889, 1890, 1906,
1910, 1917, 1930, 1931, 1934, and 1936.
That four of the nine were in the Dust Bowl
Years, and more particularly, that the grand
finale of drought and heat should occur in
the last named year is no coincidence. Bor-
chert clearly demonstrated the close relation¬
ship of major drought years with maximum
positive departure of temperature. An up¬
dated study suggests that drought is prob¬
ably more common in Wisconsin than the
prosperous agriculture and colorful vege¬
tation might lead the casual observer to be¬
lieve (Mitchell, 1979).
Immediately prior to the period exam¬
ined in this analysis, two separate high
pressure systems moved from north of Lake
Superior southeastward toward Georgia and
then recurved westward to a position over
Tennessee; there they reinforced the western
arm of the Bermuda High to provide a
steady source of very warm and extremely
dry weather for the Middle West. This sub¬
tropical high was centered farther west than
normal insuring the tropical continental air
from the Great American Desert rather than
tropical maritime air from the Gulf of Mex¬
ico would dominate the interior lowland
(Monthly Weather Review, 1936).
Uniqueness of This Period/Conclusions
There have been other very hot spells of
weather in Wisconsin, but none as long nor
as intense as the July 7-14, 1936 period,
although individual days have approached
the character of these eight days in 1936.
On June 1, 1934, for example, 24 out of the
42 official reporting stations registered 100°
or higher; and on July 23, 1934, 28 of the
41 official reporting stations recorded 100°
or higher. Reference to the standard for de¬
fining meteorological events, the prestigious
Glossary of Meteorology, discloses that a
heat wave is “a period of abnormally and
uncomfortably hot and unusually humid
weather. To be a ‘heat wave’ such a period
should last at least one day, but convention¬
ally it lasts from several days to several
weeks ... a spell of three or more days on
each of which the maximum shade tempera¬
ture reaches or exceeds 90°F.” There is no
doubt that early July, 1936 saw Wisconsin’s
greatest heat wave.
Acknowledgment
The cooperative spirit of the State Clima¬
tologist’s Office, and its Director, Val L.
Mitchell, in particular, is deeply appreciated.
Citizens are encouraged to direct inquiries
or visit their office; a wealth of data is avail¬
able about all parts of this state.
Literature Cited
John Borchert, “The Climate of the North
American Grassland,” Annals, Association
of American Geographers, Volume XL,
March 1950, No. 1, pp. 1-39.
Climatological Data for the United States by
Sections. Volume XXII. 1936. Part 3.
July-September. U.S. Department of Agri¬
culture. Weather Bureau, p. 28.
Glossary of Meteorology edited by Ralph E.
Huschke. American Meteorological Society.
1959. p. 25.
Val L. Mitchell, “Drought in Wisconsin,”
Transactions of the Wisconsin Academy,
Volume 67, 1979, pp. 130-134.
Monthly Weather Review, Volume 64, 1936,
LXIV-63, U.S. Department of Agriculture,
Weather Bureau.
WISCONSIN’S COLDEST FIVE WEEKS
Jack R. Villmow
Department of Geography
Northern Illinois University 1
A bstract
The problem of the calendar month as a time standard to measure winter
weather is addressed. Although January 1912 was Wisconsin’s coldest calendar
month on record, — 2.5 °F, the period January 19-February 22, 1936 averaged
— 3.5° statewide. Average daily minimum temperatures in the state were below
zero during this 35 day period, dropping to —25° on seven days, and reached a
bottom value of —29.1° on February 16. Distribution and timing of Zero Days
are briefly analyzed; finally, the surface Arctic air mass outbreaks are correlated
with the several periods of most intense cold.
Introduction
Three winters in the late 1970s will long
be reference points for the citizens of Wis¬
consin in terms of severe cold, prolonged
periods with temperatures below freezing,
and depth of snow. However, none of the
calendar months during those Arctic-like
winters equalled the month of January 1912
when the state wide average temperature
was —2.5°; in fact there was no 31 day
period of time during the winters of the late
1970s equivalent to the average tempera¬
ture of January 1912, but there was a longer
period of time, during the winter of 1935-
1936, when statewide temperatures were
even lower than they had been in 1912. Since
the 1936 cold wave occupied parts of two
months, no single month had the statistical
credit for the coldest-ever calendar month.
‘There was a period of severe cold, wind,
and snow lasting from about January 18 to
February 22 (1936). The temperature aver¬
age for this period was the lowest on record
for so long a period” ( Climatological Data,
1936).
Comparison of January 1912 with the
'This paper was written while on leave Jan. 1-
May 15, 1982, as Visiting Honorary Fellow, Dept,
of Geography, UW-Madison. Prof. Villmow died
following surgery for brain tumor in September,
1982.
cold wave of January-February 1936 reveals
the following: the entire state averaged
— 2.5° in January 1912, and —3.5° for the
thirty-five consecutive days straddling two
calendar months in 1936. Superior in the
far north averaged —6.0° 1912, and — 12.9°
in 1936 (Unpublished Climatological Data);
Milwaukee averaged 5.6° in 1912, and only
2.5° in 1936; and Madison had 1.2° in 1912
and —2.5° in 1936.
The analysis which follows defines the
duration of the cold wave as that period of
time during which the daily minimum tem¬
perature of the entire state averaged below
zero — starting January 19 and terminating
with February 22, 1936. (Table 1.)
The Cold Wave Analyzed
Analysis of this data (Figure 1) reveals
that within this time frame of thirty-five days
there were distinct sub-periods: general
deterioration of minimum temperatures from
the 19th of January through the 24th, with
the 5 days from the 22nd through the 26th
averaging a frigid —25.1°; brief milder
period followed, climaxing with —5.0° on
the 29th; progressively colder temperatures
developed after the 29th through February
2nd when the average again fell below
— 20°; a brief two day milder period was
followed abruptly by intense cold, when,
172
1982]
V illnow — Wisconsin ’s Coldest Five Weeks
173
Table 1 . Average Daily Minimum Temperature
in Wisconsin, January 19-February 22, 1936
Source: Climatological Date for the United States by
Sections, Wisconsin. 1936.
from the 5th through the 7th, the average
minimum was —22.9°; alternating periods
of cold and milder weather occurred during
the 8th through the 14th, followed by the
longest period of intense cold from February
15 through the 22nd; —20.6° was the aver¬
age state minimum during these eight days,
and the coldest night of the entire 35 days
saw an average of —29.1° on February 16th.
If the distribution of average minimum
temperatures throughout the state is exam¬
ined, a range of 20° is noted (Figure 2).
The 20° range is represented at its end points
by Grantsburg ( — 25°), Burnett County and
P.K. Reservoir (—25°), Sawyer County,
both in northwestern Wisconsin on the one
hand, and Milwaukee —5°), Milwaukee
County and Racine ( — 5°), Racine County
on the other. Note that even as far south
as Hillsboro, Vernon County, the average
minimum temperature for 35 consecutive
days was — 20° ! The state wide average of
— 15.6° essentially divides the area down
the middle between a western portion with
values below —15° and an eastern portion
with values above — 15°.
The number of Zero Days, i.e., days on
which the maximum temperature did not
exceed 0°, is also mapped as the denomina¬
tor on Figure 1. This term was extensively
used by David Ludlum in his classic History
of American Weather (Ludlum, 1966,
1968).
Zero Days are more erratically distributed
than the average minimum temperature. The
absolute range here is 12, from a maximum
of 15 at Downing, Dunn County to a mini¬
mum of 3 at Racine, Racine County. How¬
ever, Burnett, Dodge County in the southeast
had 1 1 , but Solon Springs, Douglas County
in the northwest had only 6. In compiling
the data it was noted that the Zero Days
(35 days)
Time range: January 19-February 22, 1936
Temperature range: 0° F to -30° F
Fig. 1. Average Daily Minimum by Calendar Days.
174
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
Fig. 2. Average Minimum Temperature January 19-February 22, 1936/Number of “Zero
Days” ( Maximum did not Exceed Zero)
1982]
Villnow— Wisconsin’s Coldest Five Weeks
175
Table 2. Zero Days
Number of Official Stations Reporting Maximum
Temperatures Zero or Below: Total Stations — 40
Source: Climatological Date for the United States by
Sections, Wisconsin. 1936.
generally occurred in sequence during three
periods: (a) January 22-26, (b) February
5-6, and (c) February 15-18; in fact, nearly
90% of the state wide total were on these
eleven days (Table 2). As an extreme ex¬
ample of prolonged frigidity, Downing, Dunn
County had nearly seven consecutive 24-hour
periods without an above zero reading!
Weather map analysis makes clear why
the cold was so persistent and so intense
( Monthly Weather Review) . In January four
massive Arctic air masses plunged southeast¬
ward from northwestern Canada toward the
Middle West.
I — The first began in the Yukon Territory
on the 14th of January. This high was cen¬
tered over Minnesota/North Dakota on the
18th with central pressure of 30.56", and on
the 19th it was just north of Lake Superior
at 30.40", thereby initiating the cold spell
to Wisconsin.
II — A second massive Arctic air mass
moved more rapidly southeastward, lying
along the western edge of Hudson Bay on
the 22nd with central pressure of 30.54"
and two days later was centered over Indiana
maintaining a central pressure of 30.40" —
this was the start of five consecutive days
which averaged below —20° minimum over
the state.
III — On the 24th and 25th a third high
pressure area over northwestern Canada,
central pressure 30.80", moved rapidly south
to North Dakota on the 26th, and to Iowa
on the 27th where its central pressure was
still 30.78", and on to southern Illinois the
next day remaining strong at 30.58".
IV — The last of the Arctic air masses of
January moved out of Montana on the 27th
with pressures of 30.78", southward to Ne¬
braska the next day and then on to Texas
on the 30th.
February saw a larger number of Arctic
air mass outbreaks than January, but it
should be recalled that only thirteen days of
the cold wave were in January, and twenty-
two were in February.
I — On the first of the month a high over
South Dakota with central pressure of
30.46" moved southeast to a position over
Iowa, then on to Wisconsin on the 2nd as
temperatures plummeted to a state wide
average of —20°.
II — On the 2nd, another Arctic air mass
over northwestern Canada moved south to a
position just north of Lake Superior where
its pressure was a modest 30.32". Wisconsin
was therefore in a position between two
frigid air masses early in February as tem¬
peratures over the state averaged —25° on
the 5th and 6th.
III — On the 10th of the month another
northwest Canada air mass moved south
toward Montana, thence east to Hudson
Bay by the 12th as temperatures dipped to
-12.5°.
IV, V — In rapid succession, two massive
Arctic thrusts now followed — one over
North Dakota on the 15th with central pres¬
sure of 30.50" moved east to Wisconsin,
176
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences , Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
and the second over Montana on the 17th,
with pressures equal to III in January,
30.80", moved southeast maintaining its
vigor as it moved toward Wisconsin. This
combination plunged temperatures to the
coldest of the entire period —29.1° on the
16th followed closely by four more days
averaging about —20°.
VI — Finally, an Arctic high over Iowa on
the 21st moved toward Michigan with cen¬
tral pressures of 30.42" providing the last
frigid day to the state before surface and,
undoubtedly, upper air patterns, changed
abruptly, ending Wisconsin’s most severe
cold wave.
Conclusions
January and February 1936 were very
cold months in Wisconsin: temperatures av¬
eraged from 2° to 7° below normal over the
state in January, and 11° to 15° below nor¬
mal in February. For most of the state Feb¬
ruary 1936 was the coldest February in his¬
tory, but not as cold as January 1912. In
fact February 1936 averaged 2.8° statewide,
5.3° warmer than January 1912. When cal¬
endar month limits are ignored a period
longer than a calendar month from January
19 through February 22, 1936 is discovered
to be Wisconsin’s coldest period.
Literature Cited
Climatological Data for the United States by
Sections. Wisconsin. Volume XXIII. 1936.
Part 1. U.S. Department of Agriculture.
Weather Bureau, p. 49.
David M. Ludlum, The History of American
Weather: Early American Winters 1 1604-
1820, American Meteorological Society, Bos¬
ton, 1966, 285 pp.; Early American Winters
11 1821-1870, American Meteorological So¬
ciety, Boston, 1968, 257 pp.
Monthly Weather Review, Volume 64, 1936,
U.S. Department of Agriculture, Weather
Bureau, LXIV-2, LXIV-12.
Unpublished Climatological Data, Cooperative
Weather Stations (Superior), State Climatolo¬
gist’s Office, Madison, Wisconsin.
ACADEMIA AND THE SEARCH FOR PEACE
Peter Dorner
International Studies and Programs
University of Wisconsin-Madison
History provides examples of how different academic communities responded, or failed
to respond, to the grave problems and tensions in other times. Some aggravated, in¬
tentionally or not, the conflicts in their society. Others withdraw and left society to its
fate. Still others helped in the search for solutions. America’s research universities, with
their tradition of involvement with society, have overwhelmingly followed this last
pattern (Saxon 1981).
With respect to many problems, Saxon’s
points are well taken. However, America’s
great research universities have seemed hesi¬
tant in undertaking work directly related to
the search for a just and stable peace. Only
recently have many faculty become con¬
cerned with research in the area of interna¬
tional conflict and its resolution by non¬
violent means. There has been a trend to¬
ward professionalization of the peace move¬
ment. Several quarterly journals are now
devoted to the field: the Journal of Conflict
Resolution developed at the Center for Con¬
flict Resolution at the University of Michi¬
gan, and the Journal of Peace Research from
the International Peace Research Institute
in Oslo. Some significant work on the prob¬
lem of nuclear weapons proliferation has
been done at Harvard’s Center for Science
and International Affairs (established in the
mid-1970s). That Center publishes the In¬
ternational Security journal.
But the efforts are still fragmentary given
the magnitude and the urgency of the task.
“In an era when decisions taken by leaders
of the Soviet Union or the United States can
literally mean the death of hundreds of mil¬
lions of Russians, Americans, and Europeans
as well as additional deaths from secondary
effects throughout the Northern Hemisphere,
nuclear war is the problem with which we
must cope successfully if we are to address
any other” (John F. Kennedy School of
Government Bulletin). We have courses in
military science, why not in peace science?
There is no question that the issues are of
the most critical importance; the very sur¬
vival of human civilization may be at stake.
So why has “peace research” not become
more prominent in the agendas of America’s
great research universities? Several possible
reasons are worth considering.
First, researchable questions are not easily
formulated and the issues cut across tradi¬
tional university disciplines and departments.
However, many policy-oriented research in¬
stitutes on university campuses already bring
together professionals from a number of
disciplines to cooperate in the study of ma¬
jor issues in public policy. The ability of the
University of Wisconsin-Madison to organize
its diverse resources for the study of public
questions is well demonstrated by existing
Centers and Institutes such as the Industrial
Relations Research Institute, the Institute for
Research on Poverty, the Institute for En¬
vironmental Studies, the Land Tenure Cen¬
ter, and others. The Wisconsin Seminar on
Natural Resource Policies in Relation to
Economic Development and International
Cooperation held at Madison in 1977-78 is
one good example of special short-term pro¬
grams that draw on staff from many tradi¬
tional departments. Participants included
faculty and students from economics, engi¬
neering, agriculture, geophysics, and law, as
well as professionals in complimentary fields
from several Arab nations (Dorner and El-
Shafie, 1980).
Second, there is perhaps still too little
177
178
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
recognition that we live in a world of grow¬
ing interdependence among nations. Indi¬
vidual nations have worked out internal pro¬
cedures (imperfect to be sure) for handling
the interdependencies among peoples and
groups within their jurisdictions. Although
we now take it for granted, the idea of a
“nation” with a “national government” was
a major institutional innovation of an earlier
time. Those rules for fostering mutually
beneficial arrangements in national life took
a long time to develop, and they continue to
change and evolve. Today the nations of the
world are groping for procedures by which
the self-interested calculations of individual
countries will take the interests of other
countries into account. They are, in other
words, searching for a set of mutually agree¬
able rules for institutionalizing the growing
interdependence among nations. This is no
simple quest, and it is one in which univer¬
sities must play a major role.
Some of the insights developed by Wis¬
consin’s great institutional economist John
R. Commons may be relevant (Commons,
1957). Although Commons was concerned
with institutions internal to a nation state,
some of the procedural suggestions can be
carried over to issues at the international
level. Commons defined “institutions” as col¬
lective action in restraint, liberation, and ex¬
pansion of individual action. This is what
the world must seek in developing new in¬
stitutions and new international procedures
based on cooperation rather than confronta¬
tion among nations. Such new institutional
arrangements will restrain and curtail certain
acts of individual nations, but these very
restraints, if all are subject to them , will
serve to liberate and expand the opportuni¬
ties of all nations.
We will return to interdependence later,
but a third possible reason universities have
not taken leadership in “peace research”
may be the opinion expressed by some that
war is part of human nature and that noth¬
ing much can be done about it: “We’ve al¬
ways had wars and,” some say, “we always
will.” However, just because wars have al¬
ways existed is no reason to believe that they
must continue to be fought. At least some
military confrontations have clearly ex¬
hausted their potential for settling differences
between nations. That potential has been
destroyed by nuclear weapons.
We must distinguish between human con¬
flict and the violent resolution of conflict.
The first may indeed be inevitable, but it
does not follow that the second is so. Non¬
violent ways to settle conflicts are put into
practice every day and every where. Is it
unreasonable to assume that future conflicts
between nations cannot be resolved by means
other than war? I have to believe that it is
not unreasonable. We cannot escape the
burden of nuclear armaments, and universi¬
ties have a special responsibility in lifting
that burden. Most scholars recognize that it
is impossible to separate domestic issues
from global issues of resource scarcities,
trade and monetary instabilities, proliferating
weapons of war, and the unrelieved poverty
of a quarter of the world’s people. Problems
of food production and distribution, environ¬
mental protection, energy supplies, and a
reasonable chance for all people to lead a
decent life simply cannot be confined within
national boundaries. But it is precisely with
respect to these kinds of issues that new rules
governing international relations must be
developed in order to reduce the scope of
conflicts and to settle them by non-violent
methods.
A fourth reason why universities have not
embraced the concept of “peace research”
may be the many meanings associated with
the word “peace.” Boulding (1978) puts the
case well:
On the positive side, peace signifies a condi¬
tion of good management, orderly resolution
of conflict, harmony associated with mature
relationships, gentleness, and love. On the
negative side, it is conceived as the absence
of something — the absence of turmoil, ten¬
sion, conflict, and war.
A negative evaluation of peace is reflected
in certain connotations of words like pacify,
1982]
Dorner — The Search for Peace
179
pacification, and appeasement. ... On an
even more negative set of values, peace is
rated with death . . . the peace of mind that
is a withdrawal from reality, the peace of
catatonic trance have much in common with
the peace of death. It is not surprising that
we are suspicious of these negative forms of
peace. The human race has often put a high
value on struggle, strife, turmoil, excitement.
We identify vigor with stress, with triumph.
Our sports ritualize the value of striving in
what I have called a ritual dialectic, in which
winning is valued for its own sake. Perhaps
the greatest enemy of peace is the perception
that it is dull.
I would add that the term “peace” was given
a doctrinal coloration by the manipulative
use of the term by various Soviet-oriented
movements, especially at the height of the
cold war era.
The fifth and perhaps most important
reason why more scholars have not com¬
mitted themselves to peace research may
well be a fear of being identified with the
self-righteous moral posturing so frequently
characteristic of “protest” movements. There
is a major role for many of these movements.
Dismaying as their rhetoric may be to re¬
searchers, marches and protests do force
issues to the attention of both government
and the general public. I suspect that no
movement of this kind can get off the ground
without leaders willing to dramatize a legiti¬
mate point of concern. While this is not to
say that every popular movement is in the
public interest, these movements can serve
an important function. At the same time, this
role is not necessarily suited to scholars who
must retain a sense of proportion, see the
issues in all their complexities, and provide
a fair-minded perspective not only for them¬
selves but for the public at large.
The problems with “peace research” pro¬
vide some legitimate ground for concern: the
questions are broad, researchable issues hard
to formulate, empirical evidence difficult to
assemble, and measurement and quantifica¬
tion often beyond reach. There is a natural,
and perhaps inevitable, tendency to get lost
on the abstract sea of high purpose when the
imagination is freed from the stabilizing in¬
fluence of empirical evidence developed by
well-focused inquiries. No one is immune to
this tendency. The intricate political nature
of many of the issues (often global in scope)
and the impossibility of understanding in
any fundamental sense the social, economic,
cultural, and political conditions guiding
other people’s and other nations’ lives sug¬
gest a course of caution and humility. But
they most emphatically do not suggest a
course of academic withdrawal — of choosing
not to engage in research on the basic ques¬
tions of peace and disarmament and conflict
management.
As long as we think solely in terms of win¬
ning fights instead of managing conflict, our
agenda can only lead to catastrophe. . . . We
do not necessarily have to do away with
fights altogether, but they must be highly
limited and hedged with taboo. We do not
have to pretend that hostility or even con¬
flicts do not exist, but we must turn enemies
into opponents. . . . (Boulding, 1981).
An acquiescent academic community has
too long allowed the word “peace” largely
to be appropriated by the far left and the
Utopians for their own purposes. This neglect
has too often raised suspicions that “peace
movements” — and by extension “peace re¬
search” — may be ploys of “enemies” who
want to weaken Western resolve and pro¬
mote unilateral disarmament in the name
of “peace.” The community of research
scholars must reverse this neglect. A topic
so important must not be stricken from re¬
search agendas simply because some who
espouse peace have naive or hypocritical
motives. A commitment to research does not
involve prejudgments about the best ways
to avoid or reduce conflicts and prevent wars.
It is not a commitment to appeasement.
These issues demand serious and unbiased
scholarly investigation, because:
We can expect little from a ‘peace’ move¬
ment that challenges only American military
programs and presents itself as an attack
upon, rather than an expression of, Ameri-
180
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
can society. . . . Similarly we cannot expect
much from those who cry the horror of
nuclear war, but offer no feasible proposals
for progress toward the legal and political
processes that can replace it, or even a sensi¬
ble perspective on what policies are most
likely to prevent it. . . . Nor can we expect
answers from those ‘realists5 who seek to
apply traditional military and policy ap¬
proaches to a radically changed world en¬
vironment (Pickus, 1981).
Powerful nations were once fairly unre¬
strained in acting to achieve what they saw
as their own interests. The weak had to de¬
pend on the goodwill and the self-imposed
forbearance of the powerful; they had to
rely on the strong to refrain voluntarily from
using their power to its limit. For the weak,
freedom of action was a privilege granted
them by the more powerful. A half-century
ago, transnational corporations, too, were
more or less able to do what they wished
“. . . introducing ‘gunboat diplomacy’ and
‘market forces’ and setting royalties. It took
challenges — expropriations and other prod¬
ucts of evolving ‘national unity,’ ‘strong gov¬
ernment,’ and ‘local experience and exper¬
tise’ — before multinational operations be¬
came a matter of negotiation” (Kanel,
1978).
None of these expressions of power on
the international scene have disappeared. In
the past 30 years, however, there have been
substantial changes in the exercise of such
power. The nations of the world have be¬
come increasingly interdependent, and even
the most powerful actors are often restrained
in their acts and find it necessary to include
in their calculation of self-interest the inter¬
ests of other actors. No nation is immune
to the adverse consequences of its own acts,
and too narrow a view of self-interest in to¬
day’s interdependent world can prove dis¬
astrous.
The problem, of course, is not with power
per se. Any system needs power to drive it
— physical, economic, political, and moral
power. A more peaceful world will not arise
from good intentions alone. The problem
with power is to prevent its abuses without
destroying its necessary functions, and this
is the role of new institutional rules and pro¬
cedures. When these new rules are applied to
all, they must serve not only to restrain but
also to liberate and make more secure the
rights and opportunities of the weak as well
as the strong.
The obstacles to achieving new rules and
procedures are, however, very great. The
international system is not simply a larger
version of the national one. There are no
common and universally accepted procedures
for defining the public interest for the world
at large. There is no hierarchical structure of
power and no sovereign authority at the
world level. Authority at the international
level is horizontal — distributed among
equally sovereign (although not equally
powerful) nations. Perhaps current relations
among the world’s sovereign states are at a
point not unlike the pre-nation “estate stage”
of 14th century England: “Contesting inter¬
est groups had no clear powerful sovereign
center. The ‘estate stage’ exhibits contrac¬
tual, not constitutional relations and ‘peace’
by exercise of forbearance” (Parsons, 1978).
This non-hierarchical authority structure
is unable to sustain agreements that might
govern the behavior of nations in our in¬
creasingly interdependent world. Are na¬
tions ready to accept a “clear powerful
sovereign center” at the international level?
Not likely. True, there are more and more
international agencies within the United Na¬
tions system. Those international bodies
serve important functions — they can influ¬
ence the global agenda, internationalize sub¬
jects formerly considered purely domestic
matters, and provide a forum for debating
alternative approaches. But so far, nations
have been unwilling to invest these agencies
with much policy-making or enforcement
authority. The international system lacks the
highly developed legal institutions of our
familiar national systems (Bilder, 1980, p.
386).
Nevertheless, there are a variety of ways
for working out bilateral and multilateral
1982]
Dorner — The Search for Peace
181
agreements. The lack of an international
police force doesn’t mean that nations will
deliberately break their commitments; many
international agreements are strictly honored
by nations out of self interest. Disputes be¬
tween neighboring nations are not uncom¬
mon, yet for the most part borders are re¬
spected and common resources are shared by
mutual agreements that meet the interests
of all parties. A recent climate of hostility
may have dimmed the public luster of agree¬
ments between the United States and the
Soviet Union; the terms of Salt I have ex¬
pired and those of Salt II have never come
into effect; yet:
Except for the dismantling provisions, both
Governments are respecting these terms.
Even nonbinding norms can establish a
modus vivendi. As with an unmarried couple
sharing an apartment, it may be easier for
both countries to live together than to enter
into major commitments (Fisher, 1981).
Some Research Suggestions in Search
of a More Peaceful World
The current system is not without hope.
Many incentives can be written into interna¬
tional agreements to encourage (if not as¬
sure) compliance. But scholarly research
must help define alternatives and prospects.
And there is no single discipline that covers
all facets of these complicated problems.
The study of peace and conflict resolution
cannot be abstracted from other aspects of
world affairs including economics, history,
culture, development, psychology, and com¬
munications, as well as politics. All disci¬
plines across the spectrum of sciences and
humanities can and must contribute. What
follows is a brief outline of several broad
research categories.
1. Research focused directly on peaceful
means of conflict resolution. In 1975
Galtung presented a typology of peace re¬
search with an emphasis on what ap¬
peared (at that time) to be important gaps
in knowledge. These gaps range from
disarmament processes in history and the
structure of disarmament negotiations to
nonmilitary defense, the international im¬
plications of increasing scientific capabil¬
ity, and the role of positive sanctions in
the international system (see also Weston
et. al 1978).
2. Research focused on international law
and international mediation. University
lawyers and labor economists have devel¬
oped research and practical experience on
mediating and settling disputes between
management and labor. The application
of these skills to the critical issues of in¬
ternational peace and disarmament (and
especially nuclear arms reductions by the
two super powers) is not nearly so well
developed. There are good beginnings, yet
much remains to be done (see Fisher
1978 and 1981; Bilder 1980 and 1981;
Schachter 1976 and 1977).
3. Research focused on new international
economic problems and relations. Interna¬
tional monetary instabilities are directly
related to the arms race. A Wall Street
analyst contends that:
The U.S. banking establishment is con¬
cerned over the U.S. policy of deliber¬
ate confrontation with the Soviet
Union. The escalation of the armaments
race threatens to create worldwide
chaos. . . . The economies of Russia
and the U.S. are being ruined by the
costs of the arms race. Surplus capital
created for reinvestment is being eaten
up by the demands of the arms race
(Steel, 1981).
Military spending does not “cure” eco¬
nomic ills; in fact it worsens them both
nationally and internationally. Greater
military spending, inflation, and cutbacks
in social programs all produce inequities,
reduce living standards for large parts of
the population, and tend to “heighten
hostilities at home” (Kopkind, 1981, p.
227).
Discouragement at the 1980 annual meet¬
ing of the American Economics Associa¬
tion was read by one analyst as an inter¬
national issue:
A growing number of leaders of the
economics profession feel that their
discipline in its present condition is of
little use in solving the greatest danger
182
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts and Letters
[Vol. 70
that now threatens humanity: the
breakdown of the economic and social
order on which the lives of more than
four billion people depend (Silk, 1980).
4. Research focused on international aspects
of environmental problems. The environ¬
ment is a system that binds nations and
peoples together in interdependent rela¬
tionships made more binding because of
technological developments in production,
transport, and communication. Air pollu¬
tion, degradation of international waters,
weather modification, deforestation and
desertification are global problems that
can be attacked only by international ne¬
gotiation, agreement, and action. There
has been research in all these areas, but
few attempts have been made to relate re¬
search results to the political process in
international affairs.
5. Research focused on international issues
of developing, pricing, conserving, and
trading natural resources, including en¬
ergy resources. Natural resources are in¬
vested with an inherent public interest be¬
cause they are finite in quantity or re¬
quire major public investments to main¬
tain their renewability or quality. Differ¬
ences in evaluation between buyers and
sellers of resource commodities and the
frequent divergence between national and
international benefits and costs of re¬
source use or exploitation give rise to dis¬
putes that have sometimes led to war.
Again, research on these questions is
common, but it should be specifically de¬
signed to provide insight into interna¬
tional negotiations on the issues so fre¬
quently threatening to world peace (Dor-
ner and El-Shafie 1980, p. 26).
6. Research focused on the problems and the
suffering of the 12 million refugees in the
world (an estimate by the U.N. High
Commissioner for Refugees). These are
people who have fled their homes because
of wars and conflicts, or the violation or
threatened violation of fundamental hu¬
man rights. Of the emergency food aid
channeled through the UN/FAO World
Food Programme in 1981, almost 75 per¬
cent went to support people in need as a
result of man-made disasters — refugees,
displaced persons and others affected by
civil disturbances. Many of these people
became refugees because of the rivalry
and competition between the two super
powers in the Third World. Thus research
must be directed at this rivalry. Research
must provide new alternatives for negotia¬
tions and agreements that will reduce the
fears, the insecurity and the neurosis
which each of these powers now seems to
feel and project.
7. Research focused on the non-military as¬
pects of our national security: continued
efforts better to understand other cultures
and social systems (to be shared widely
with the general population through edu¬
cational programs). Cyrus Vance may
well be right in suggesting that U.S. se¬
curity depends more on helping Third
World nations out of their poverty and
despair than on billions spent on new
weapons systems. This approach too re¬
quires continuing research to help shape
U.S. policies so that such assistance can
contribute to national security by pro¬
moting a just and stable peace and
thereby greater stability in the world.
This brief list is certainly not an exhaus¬
tive account of the research (and classroom
teaching) that deserve more attention from
university scholars and students in the search
for a less dangerous and a more peaceful
world. We must rethink our research efforts
in light of the evolving and increasing inter¬
dependence and interconnectedness of na¬
tions. The key issues of equity in interna¬
tional trade and other relations among the
world’s nations and peoples may not be de¬
finable outside the actual process of negotia¬
tion, but equity must very definitely be ad¬
dressed.
These are not tasks for scholars of a
single university nor for scholars of a single
country. But I am interested in seeing that
the University of Wisconsin-Madison under¬
take a major research effort on some of these
issues. It is most fitting for this great uni¬
versity to make that effort to extend the Wis¬
consin Idea of public service to the global
community.
1982]
Dorner — The Search for Peace
183
The 1981 report of a Commission ap¬
pointed by former President Carter has
called for the establishment of a National
Peace Academy. That report has gone to the
President and the Congress. Legislation to
establish a United States Academy of Peace
and Conflict Resolution has been introduced
in the House with 69 co-sponsors. A similar
bill introduced in the Senate has 50 co-spon¬
sors. The idea may or may not bear fruit
under current budget constraints, but it
shows that at least some policy makers are
seeking help from academia on these pressing
issues.
Many universities, including Wisconsin,
have been accused by their students of in¬
volvement in the “war system.” Whether or
not those charges are valid, we do owe it to
our students to develop the courses and the
research work that will meet the vital con¬
cerns of arms control, interdependence, and
a more peaceful world.
Literature Cited
Bilder, Richard B. 1980. “International Law
and Natural Resource Policies” in Dorner
and El-Shafie eds. Resources and Develop¬
ment: Natural Resource Policies and Eco¬
nomic Development in an Interdependent
World. Madison: The University of Wiscon¬
sin Press.
- , 1981. Managing The Risks of Inter¬
national Agreement. Madison: The Univer¬
sity of Wisconsin Press.
Boulding, Kenneth E. 1978. Stable Peace.
Austin: University of Texas Press.
- , 1981. “Survival at Gunpoint,” Tech¬
nology Review, August/ September, p. 6.
Commons, John R. 1957. Legal Foundations
of Capitalism. Madison: University of Wis¬
consin Press; originally published in 1924 by
the MacMillan Company.
Dorner, Peter and El-Shafie, Mahmoud A.
1980. Resources and Development: Natural
Resource Policies and Economic Develop¬
ment in an Interdependent World. Madison:
The University of Wisconsin Press.
Fisher, Roger (with the help of William Ury).
1978. International Mediation: A Working
Guide. New York: International Peace
Academy.
Fisher, Roger. 1981. Three articles in the New
York Times dated September 24, 25, and 26.
Galtung, Johan. 1975. Peace: Research Edu¬
cation Action Essays in Peace Research
Volume I. Copenhagen: Christian Ejlers.
John F. Kennedy School of Government. Win¬
ter 1982. Bulletin. Harvard University, pp. 4-
21.
Kanel, Don. 1978. “Power and Property as
Issues in Institutional Economics and Eco¬
nomic Development.” In Proceedings of the
Wisconsin Seminar on Natural Resource
Policies in Relation to Economic Develop¬
ment and International Cooperation, Vol. 2.
Madison: Institute for Environmental
Studies, University of Wisconsin.
Kopkind, Andrew. 1981. “Maddening, Not
Madness” in The Nation March 7, pp. 227
and 280. [review of Ruth Leger Sivard.
World Military and Social Expenditures
1980. World Priorities: Leesburg, Virginia].
Parsons, Kenneth H. 1978. “Public Policy on
Natural Resources, Economic Development,
and International Cooperation.” In Proceed¬
ings of the Wisconsin Seminar on Natural
Resource Policies in Relation to Economic
Development and International Cooperation,
Vol. 2. Madison: Institute for Environ¬
mental Studies, University of Wisconsin.
Pickus, Robert. 1981. “Introduction” to Ameri¬
can and World Affairs Directory, Berkeley,
California, World Without War Council of
Northern California.
Saxon, David S. 1981. “A Role for Univer¬
sities in Ending the Arms Race.” Chronicle
of Higher Education, July 6.
Schachter, Oscar. 1976. “The Evolving Law of
International Development,” Columbia Jour¬
nal of Transnational Law 15:1-16.
- . 1977. Sharing the World's Resources.
New York: Columbia University Press.
Steel, Johannes. 1981. “Arms Race Promises
Economic Chaos,” The Capital Times, Sep¬
tember 24, Madison, Wisconsin, p. 13.
Silk, Leonard. 1980. New York Times, Sep¬
tember 24, p. D-2.
Weston, Burns H., Sherle R. Schwenninger and
Diane E. Shamis, eds. 1978. Peace and
World Order Studies: A Curriculum Guide.
New York: Institute for World Order.
ADDRESSES OF AUTHORS: Transactions Wisconsin Academy, 1982
Barnes, William J.
Department of Biology
University of Wis.-Eau Claire
Eau Claire, WI 54701
Brenzo, Richard
3507 Louisiana St.
Houston, TX 77002
Brito, Silvester J.
Department of English
University of Wyoming
Laramie, WY 82071
Bubenzer, Gary D.
Dept, of Agr. & LSC. Engr.
University of Wis. -Madison
Madison, WI 53706
Clarke, Jack A.
Library School
University of Wis. -Madison
Madison, WI 53706
DeStefano, Stephen
Department of Wildlife Ecology
University of Wis. -Madison
Madison, WI 53706
Dorner, Peter
Dean, International Studies
and Programs
University of Wis. -Madison
Madison, WI 53706
Earl, Father Robert, C.SS.R.
Holy Redeemer College
Waterford, WI 53185
Estill, Carrie
Dictionary of American
Regional English
6125 Helen C. White Hall
University of Wis. -Madison
Madison, WI 53706
Johnson, Wendel J.
Department of Biology
University of Wisconsin —
Marinette Co. Center
Marinette, WI 54143
Larson, Bradley G.
330 Vi Broadway St.
Eau Claire, WI 54701
Larson, John L.
Chippewa Falls, WI
Liegel, Konrad
International Crane Foundation
City View Road
Baraboo, WI 53913
McBride, Tom
Department of English
Beloit College
Beloit, WI 53511
McClenahan, Catherine L.
Department of English
Marquette University
Milwaukee, WI 53233
McHenry, J. Roger
USDA-ARS
Durant, OK
Nathan, Jay
Department of Business Mgt.
University of Wis.-Parkside
Kenosha, WI 53141
Raymond, Tamara L.
N 11 W 31716 Pine Ridge Circle
Delafield, WI 53018
Ribbens, Dennis
Library
Lawrence University, Box 599
Appleton, WI 54912
Ritchie, Jerry C.
National Research Program,
Aerospace Technology
USDA, Beltsville, MD 20705
Rusch, Donald H.
Department of Wildlife Ecology
226 Russell Labs
University of Wis. -Madison
Madison, WI 53706
Strohmeyer, David L.
Department of Biology
University of Wis. -Oshkosh
Oshkosh, WI 54904
Threinen, C. W.
Chief, Waterways Investigations
Department of Natural
Resources
P.O. Box 7921
Madison, WI 53707
Vander Zouwen, William J.
Department of Wildlife Ecology
226 Russell Labs
University of Wis. -Madison
Madison, WI 53706
Vogl, Sonia
Route 1 , Box 64
Oregon, IL 61061
Villmow, Jack (Deceased)
Department of Geography
Northern Illinois University
DeKalb, IL 601 15
Williams, Elizabeth
Department of English
University of Wis. -Milwaukee
P.O. Box 413
Milwaukee, WI 53201
Wisconsin Academy of Sciences, Arts & Letters —
Steenbock Center 1922 University Avenue
Madison, Wisconsin 53 705
Telephone 608 263-1692
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