Madison, Wisconsin

         The state of Wisconsin has a sentimental attachment for me, mainly because I wouldn’t exist if it didn’t. My grandfather, the late Tom Lodahl, was born in 1931 in his grandparent’s house, a hand-built log dwelling in Prairie Farm, Wisconsin. Tom wasn’t expected for 3 more weeks, and his parents had no baby clothes with them, so they dressed him in a doll’s clothes. He grew up about thirty miles from his birthplace in Rice Lake, Wisconsin, where his mother worked for the school district, which was quite unusual for the 1930s. It was the Great Depression, and the family survived on her salary of $100 a month. He graduated from Rice Lake High School in 1949 and enlisted in the army the following September. Tom was put in charge of evaluating draftees’ experience and skills for placement, and it was this duty that ignited his interest in social science. He was eligible for the GI Bill, and after two years of service, Tom went to the University of Wisconsin-Madison. There he met my grandmother, the late Janice Beyer, whom he married the September of her junior year.

It was a wonderful opportunity for me to be able to visit the city in which my grandparents met. Since they both passed away several years ago, I felt honored to be able to walk the streets of the city in which their beginning as a couple took place. After all, if they had never met, I would not be here to tell you all of this, let alone embark on this journey.

The morning after arriving in Wisconsin, I went for breakfast to Monty’s Blue Plate Diner. It was an unusual-looking building, mostly white with blue trim, and the one-way parking lot wrapped around three sides of it, with barely enough room to back out of the spots. When I walked in, I was happy to discover a classic diner interior, a familiar sight that the Jersey-girl in me will always adore. I drank my coffee cheerfully as I watched the people at the tables around me. To my left was a senior couple, talking quietly to each other about the plans for the rest of their day. In front of the window in the corner was a group of four, three of them adults and the other a young boy no older than five. His parents and grandmother were discussing something boring and grownup, but he was busy peering out the window at the cars and trucks driving down the street. Next to them, a woman sat alone, passing the time until her food arrived by reading a book. I could not spot the title, but she seemed so consumed by the story that had someone sat in the chair across from her, she wouldn’t have noticed. Just on the other side of her, an elderly pair of women animatedly discussed the recent flooding in Colorado, pausing for only a moment between exclamations to take a bite of their food.

            After leaving the diner, I drove toward downtown to begin my day’s work. As I entered one of the streets that runs diagonally across the city, I was greeted with an unobstructed view of the enormous dome of the Capitol. It soared far above the rest of the city, overseeing the day’s proceedings. I found parking only a few blocks away, and walked down the street toward the square. I planned on visiting the museum first, which was just across the street from the Capitol. It was a small, nondescript building, with a banner, reading, “Wisconsin Historical Museum” hanging from the outside. The museum is small and runs entirely on donations. The first floor was dedicated to different maps of the state of Wisconsin created throughout history that documented different things. I went upstairs to the second floor, where the majority of the open exhibits were; most of the third floor was undergoing renovation for a new display. I learned about the native people of the region, as well as the industries that grew Wisconsin’s economy and helped shape it into the state that it is today.

            Until about the 1830s, Wisconsin’s economy revolved around the fur trade. Europeans, most of them French explorers, would trade practically anything to the Native Americans for fur, including tools, weapons, and alcohol. By the early 19th century, many of the furry mammals with valuable pelts became over-hunted and almost extinct, so the fur trade moved further west along with the expansion of settled territory.

            The inhabitants of Wisconsin paid little attention to either the American Revolution, or the War of 1812. The Europeans in the region were mainly French-Canadian, and along with the natives they cared little about the squabbles between the English and the Americans. After the War of 1812, the Americans erected military forts in certain areas of Wisconsin. In response to a high demand for lead needed for ammunition, the federal government granted leases for mining in the southwestern part of the state.

As the 1800s progressed, miners from other regions began flooding into the area, churning out 13 million pounds of lead per year. The economic boom prompted the US government to push the rest of the native people out of the area, leaving their lands open to white settlement. Soon, miners from the south along with businessman from New York and New England began to occupy the land that was emptied in the wake of the Native American’s removal. From 1820 to 1836 the population skyrocketed from 1,444 inhabitants to over 10,000 souls. Passing this landmark made Wisconsin eligible for its own territorial government. With the building of roads and canals along with other public improvements over the next ten years, Wisconsin experienced yet another boom in population, from 11,683 in 1836 to 155,277 in 1846.

In 1846, delegates gathered at a convention to draft a constitution for the rapidly growing territory.  At first, they wrote a constitution that was very progressive for its time, allowing married women to own land and leaving the issue of African American sovereignty up to the populous. The white male citizens of Wisconsin were not quite ready for that, and so they sent the delegates back to the drawing board. The delegates returned a year later with a constitution that did not mention women’s rights or that of African Americans, and the voters accepted it in March of 1848. That May, Wisconsin became the 30th state.

After learning about the history of the state of Wisconsin, I returned to the first floor of the museum, where I began to peruse the gift shop for souvenirs. I came upon a plain black bumper sticker that proclaimed in large, white letters, “Uff da.” It is a phrase of Norwegian origin used to express sensory overload, exhaustion, or the receipt of bad news, similar to the Yiddish phrase, “Oy vey.” My grandfather was 100% Norwegian, though he was born in America, and he was known for saying, “Uff da,” whenever rising from a chair or other resting place. I was thrilled to have discovered the sticker, and as I purchased it, a warm, reminiscent feeling welled up in my chest.

I crossed the street to the Capitol and stood for a moment in all of its glory. The unique aspect of the Wisconsin Capitol’s appearance is its shape. The building has four, equal armed wings that point the way to each of the four diagonal streets of the city. Although each wing has a grand entrance with several columns, it is hard to tell which is the front.

The current Capitol building is the fourth of Wisconsin Capitols. The first Capitol was for the territorial government in modern day Leslie, Wisconsin. The second is where the current Capitol stands, but its structural inadequacies and fire hazards soon became apparent, and legislature quickly signed off on the construction of a new building. The third Capitol was very grand and widely adored with an enormous dome similar to that of the United States Capitol building. In February of1904, only a few weeks after the legislature voted to cancel the fire insurance on the building, a gas jet ignited a newly varnished ceiling, setting the Capitol ablaze. Because it was the dead of winter, the lakes on either side of the city were frozen, and firefighters struggled futilely to quell the flames for 18 long hours. More firefighters from Milwaukee hurriedly boarded the only train that facilitated transportation between the two cities, but by the time they arrived, their equipment had frozen as well. Students from the University rushed courageously in and out of the building, saving whatever items them could, but soon, they could not reenter. Hundreds of people watched helplessly as their Capitol burned to ruin. The damage was estimated between $800,000 and $1,000,000, but luckily no lives were lost in the inferno.

I entered the current Capitol, which was completed in 1917 at a cost of $7,200,000. I proceeded to the tours and information desk, where a young man informed me that the next tour began in half an hour, but I was welcome to go up to the observation deck in the meantime. Thrilled at the opportunity, I hurried to the elevator and ascended to the highest floor. After climbing several stairs, I reached a landed where an older gentleman was sitting, presumably to oversee visitors such as myself who wished to go up. He pointed me up a precarious spiral staircase, which I climbed with some trepidation. I reached the summit and opened the narrow door to the most spectacular view I had witnessed thus far in my journey. The city was sprawled out before me, the waters of the lakes on either side glimmering in the afternoon sun. I snapped several pictures from every perspective, capturing many of the statues that stood above the doors inside.

After a few minutes, I realized that I was about to miss the beginning of the tour. As quickly as I had come, I rushed back down to the ground floor, where a young woman began the tour. I was the only person in the group so we chatted at some length about my trip and the differences among the state Capitols. She showed me to the Supreme Court chamber and a few other noteworthy rooms, including the ornately decorated Governor's Reception Room. We went into the gallery of the Senate for just a moment, as the senators were in session. The proceedings were dry and somewhat monotonous, but it was interesting to see the process first hand. Next was the House Chamber, where I heard the amazing story of Old Abe.

Old Abe was a female bald eagle captured by Native American Ahgamahwegezhig, or “Chief Sky.” In 1861, she was traded to Daniel McCann in exchange for a bushel of corn, and McCann sold her for $2.50 to a company of volunteers from Eau Claire and Chippewa counties led by John C. Perkins. They were called the Eau Claire Badgers. Perkins named Old Abe after President Abraham Lincoln. The Badgers went to war and became the 8th Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry Regiment with Old Abe loyally as their mascot. Different people were in charge of Old Abe during the Civil War, and many accounts of her actions in battle seem to be exaggerated. During the Siege of Vicksburg, a southern girl witnessed the 8th Wisconsin Regiment approaching with Old Abe, and famously exclaimed, “Oh, see that Yankee Buzzard!” This enraged the men, who verbally responded so passionately that she withdrew back into her house. This was the insulting name that the Confederate troops knew Old Abe by, and there were numerous attempts to capture or kill her, but none were ever successful. Old Abe was an icon of the Union army, and a beloved mascot of Wisconsin. She returned from battle, greeted with love and honor, and lived in the Capitol until the end of her days. After her death, she was stuffed and displayed in the Capitol. Unfortunately, her preserved form was destroyed in the Capitol fire of 1904, but years later, another eagle that had died and been stuffed was donated to honor her contribution to the state of Wisconsin, and to the United States of America. That eagle now stands resolutely above the Speaker of House, presiding over the members as the true Old Abe once did over the 8th Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry Regiment.

Hearing about Old Abe prompted a warm pride that consumed me as I left the Capitol. I felt extremely sentimental about Madison, the rest of Wisconsin, and the contribution the State has given to the rest of the nation. From my grandparents to Old Abe, Wisconsin has had its place in enriching the great melting pot we all call home. The next morning, I packed up my belongings, filled up my gas tank, and set out for the state my father grew up in, Iowa.