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Captain Chelsea Blake tries, fails to avoid cholera

January 20, 2012 in History | No comments

I gave a talk in Milwaukee last week. It was so good! (If you were there, thanks for coming!)

As you might guess, my talks tend to deal strictly with ye olde Detroit. But at this event I wanted to make sure I was at least a little relevant to Milwaukee. My grasp on Milwaukee history is pretty tenuous (I left town before becoming insufferable), so it was tough and involved more research than I was prepared for. I think I pulled it off with a little fawning over Solomon Juneau, Milwaukee’s French-Canadian fur-trader founder (his last house still stands in Theresa, Wisconsin), and no small quantity of yammering about the years during which Wisconsin and Michigan were part of the same territory. (Milwaukee and Detroit were even tossed together in Wayne County for a few years in the 1790s.)

Luckily, I always overestimate how nerdy other people are; I can’t imagine anyone in the audience was bored by things they already knew about territorial boundaries and original Juneautown land plats of the 1820s.

At the very last minute, I had the stroke of brilliance to check the index of Early Days in Detroit for a reference to Milwaukee. I wasn’t expecting much, but I got REALLY lucky.

General Friend Palmer spends a couple of chapters reminiscing about the day when Great Lakes steamboat captains were kings, regally strolling the streets of old Detroit in nankeen trousers, beaver top-hats and silk cravats. Maybe something like this?

Oh yes.

But Captain Chelsea Blake wasn’t like this. He was rude and he loved to swear. General Palmer wrote that ”unlike most of the lake captains of those days, who were perfect gentlemen in manners and dress, he affected none of these, no courtly phrases, no ruffled shirt, no blue coat with brass buttons … his use or abuse of the king’s English was somewhat phenomenal.”

He fought in the War of 1812 at Lundy’s Lane and thereafter became a titan of Great Lakes shipping. Though he was never afraid to cuss out a superior or fight Indians, Blake was apparently terrified of dying.

”Blake … stood in mortal fear of death and from the cholera in particular. He went to Milwaukee to escape the latter, but unfortunately he did not.”

Captain Chelsea Blake died from cholera in Milwaukee in 1849.

From a flowery elegy by R. E. Roberts:

Of almost giant size and commanding presence, no son of Neptune ever united in his composition a rarer combination of the qualities which make a true seaman, a safe commander, a genuine hero. Rough as the billows whose impotent assaults on his vessel he ever laughed to scorn; with voice as hoarse as the tempest which he delighted to rule, this gallant son of the sea had withal a woman’s tenderness of heart to answer the appeals of distress. Sincere was the grief of many he had relieved, and universal regret among those who had ever sailed with him, when he fell a victim to the cholera at Milwaukee in the year 1849.

Poor Chelsea Blake!

Ho, all ye travelers West;
If ye are bound across the Lake,
And wish to take the boat that’s best,
Go on the Illinois with Blake.

A veteran, both by land and sea,
He long has braved the stormy main;
And amongst the foremost, too, was he,
In the great fight at Lundy’s Lane.

… Success attend your bonny boat,
The pride and glory of the lake;
And may ye both forever float —
The Illinois and Captain Blake.

From the Milwaukee Commercial Herald, 1843.

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Ahoy!

January 12, 2012 in History | 1 comment

Live from Milwaukee: Last night at dinner I lamented Detroit’s dearth of places to get a beer and a great piece of pie. (If you know of a good one, please share.)

Then I thought, Maybe it is OK that I no longer have a pie and beer habit. A beer habit on its own is more than enough.

This morning, though, just for old time’s sake, I had pie and a beer (New Holland Oatmeal Stout — from MICHIGAN!)

It still feels strange to be hosting an out-of-town book event, since my book is so specifically about, you know, one specific town. So I have been over-explaining myself. (“Wisconsin and Michigan! Part of the same Territory! Had some of the same Governors! Great Lakes fur trade and so on!”) When ThirdCoast Digest (I used to be their senior editor) asked me to write a short preview of my party, I turned in a 1300-word historical essay/love letter.

I’ve shared my affection for Captain Frederick Pabst before. What I forgot about — until I woke up in the middle of the night and remembered it — was that Captain Pabst, in his sea-captain days, crossed paths with another captain — Detroit shipping king and mega-millionaire industrialist Eber Brock Ward.

Captain Pabst was a real captain. In 1848, at age 12, he moved from Germany to Milwaukee. Striking out here, the family moved to Chicago, where Frederick’s mother died from cholera. Frederick Pabst had to find work. After odd jobs at hotels and restaurants, he landed (no pun intended) as a cabin boy on a Great Lakes steamer.

It was his job to collect tickets from passengers as they disembarked the ship. One day, the story goes, a passenger claiming to be a certain Captain E. B. Ward tried to leave the ship without handing over a ticket. Frederick Pabst stopped him. Captain Ward protested on the basis that he owned the ship. Pabst made him go back to his cabin and wait until his identity could be confirmed. Ward was impressed, not disgruntled. (OK, maybe he was also disgruntled. But hopefully just a little.) Pabst had composure. He showed some pluck. Some resolve.

Captain Ward knew something about that. Born in Canada in 1811, Eber Brock Ward came to Detroit with his family in 1821. The frontier port town was muddy, provincial, and had yet to recover from a devastating 1805 fire. Just a few rickety boats, mostly British-owned, plied the Great Lakes, and whenever one of them sailed into Detroit’s harbor — announcing her arrival with a booming report of the cannon — the entire town wandered to the river to watch.

You can read the whole essay here.

Detroit and Milwaukee: Meant to be!

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Be Milwaukee’s Guest

August 3, 2011 in Friends | 1 comment

Cooking! It is one of the best ways to get to know a person, or a place, or the history of a place. Or yourself. And you remember how much I love Milwaukee, right? Well, pull up a chair, unfold a napkin, crack open a good beer and meet Mary Catherine of good-graces.com. I think you are going to love her. I do! And my German/Polish/Irish/Detroiter mouth is watering.

My dear Michiganders and geese! If you squint you might be able to make me out, waving eagerly from the western shores of our shared great lake. (Don’t worry, we’re not mad it couldn’t be called Lake Wisconsin.) My name is Mary Catherine and I’m hopelessly in love with my own hometown, Milwaukee. I’m here to entertain you while our sweet leader is off writing her fancy book about her favorite town — yours! (Which I cannot wait to read!)

If I was told I could write about only one thing for the rest of my life, I’d pout for a solid three minutes, and then without reservation, join the food writers table. (Which is lucky, considering the nature of my blog.) If only there was a market for historical food writing, my life would be complete. I mean, I’m the lady who named her son for a commander in the War of 1812. My simple heart can be won with an out-of-print play-by-play of Napoleon’s lady loves. My vacations are those that revolve exclusively around what museums, battles, and lore your town can offer. In short, I probably should’ve had a career in history. (Oh, glorious careers in history … )

But I don’t. Instead, I have a tiny food blog, and a big love for history. Consequently, one of my favorite ways to while away a lazy afternoon is hunched over the kitchen table, poring over old cookbooks and marveling at the way we used to eat. So dear friends, near and far, I implore you to Be Milwaukee’s Guest!

The Junior League of Milwaukee put together Be Milwaukee’s Guest in 1959. As can be expected of 1959, gelatin desserts, shrimp toasts, aspics and luncheon dishes abound, but there’s something more to this collection as well. Books like these, the ones assembled and tested by a community, ladies’ group or church parish, are among my favorites because the culture and history behind the dishes really comes through. From the unpronounceable surnames of the contributing cooks, the quaint and practical tips and tricks, the prevalence (even in that “modern” age, 1959!) of hearty, frugal peasant fare, a community cookbook is like a tiny time capsule straight back to the kitchens of our German, Irish, and Austrian grandmothers.

So. What better way to introduce you to the humble charm and delicious cuisine of Milwaukee than with a recipe? I rifled through a number of things, deciding which best represents my homely little town. Bratwurst? Cheese? Beer? Any of these would be perfect, but all of these are perhaps a tiny bit impractical for the home cook. Because I wasn’t sure any of you would want to stick it out through sauerkraut’s three week fermentation process, I settled on something simpler.

German potato salad! Hot German potato salad! I’m only a tiny bit German, but the concentration of Irish in my blood will enthusiastically co-sign any recipe that starts with potatoes and ends with bacon. Margaret Schumaker was onto something with this very traditional German potato salad, but just for you, because I like you, I’m going to modernize it a bit (people reallllllllly liked raw eggs back then) and class it up a bit for your summer parties.

German Potato Salad

8-10 medium yukon gold potatoes
1 red onion
4-6 strips thick cut bacon
1/2 c plus 2 T apple cider vinegar
1/2 c sugar
2 T flour
1/4 t celery seed
1/2 t salt
1/4 finely chopped fresh parsley

First, take your onion. Chop it coarsely, and toss with the 2 T vinegar. Set it aside, and let marinate for about an hour, until it’s starting to go a little pink. You are (essentially) quick pickling the onion, which will cut the pungency (so that cooks can be kissed!) and add a special crunch to the salad. (Quick pickled onion is my favorite condiment this summer, and I haven’t gone a week without a jar of it in my refrigerator. Try it on toast. Or stirred into vegetables. Or over any kind of meat. It’s amazing.)

While that marinates, boil your potatoes. I boil them in their skins and then peel them. My Idahoan mom would be horrified to hear me say that. She peels them, then boils them. I think my way is easier, and I like to think it preserves the structural integrity (nerd alert) of the potato. However you do it, boil them until fork tender, let cool and slice.

Can you do three things at once? I’ll bet you can. While the potatoes boil, and the onions marinate, dice that bacon and gently brown it in a skillet. When crisp and brown, remove to paper towels with a slotted spoon. (Dear sweet vegetarians, by all means, try this with your favorite bacon substitutes. I’ll bet it’s delicious!)

Now for the dressing. In the red-hot pot you just used to brown the bacon, stir the flour into the rendered fat. When it’s smooth, add the vinegar and sugar. Cook over medium heat until it thickens; it shouldn’t take more than a minute or two. Season with salt and pepper to taste, and stir in the celery seed. Pour the hot dressing over the potatoes, onions, and bacon. Toss to combine and stir in the finely chopped parsley.

Serve it hot if you’re feeling traditional. Serve it cold if all your furniture is from Ikea. It’s delicious either way. Take it on a picnic; there isn’t any mayo to spoil in the sun/your fun. You should probably serve it with a nice beer, a brat and a side of your homemade sauerkraut. This is Milwaukee after all.

But don’t take my word for it … try it!

And come visit us one of these days, Milwaukee would love to have you.

xoxo,

Mary Catherine

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Roaring Dan

December 8, 2010 in History, Travel | No comments

Last weekend I went to Milwaukee. It’s always really good to go to Milwaukee. I recommend it.

lakefront

Saturday was also Repeal Day — the anniversary of the repeal of Prohibition in 1933. What a great holiday! Especially if you’re like me, and your idea of celebrating any holiday/festive occasion/minor triumph over daily toil is raising a glass. Because without Repeal Day, you wouldn’t be able to do that. (Legally.)

So on a snowy afternoon in the lakeside city that beer made famous, I drove down to Great Lakes Distillery to enjoy my freedom, hang out with a friend who works there and taste the world’s best absinthe.

I knew that I loved Great Lakes’ knock-out gin and their pumpkin whiskey (distilled from Lakefront‘s Pumpkin Lager), and their absinthe was electrifying. But I did not know they were making rum. And — in their tasting room — serving mai tais. Mai favorite.

roaring dans

From GLD’s website, for you spirit-lovers:

Roaring Dan’s Rum is distilled from fermented grade “A” sugar cane molasses. Before a second distillation, pure Wisconsin maple syrup is added. The rum is then aged in a combination of new charred American white oak barrels and used bourbon barrels. The hint of maple we add gives Roaring Dan’s Rum a buttery sweetness on palette entry followed by a dry finish.

This is all well and good. Here’s what’s BETTER:

SHOT STOPS A LAKE “PIRATE:” “Dan” Seavey, a weather-beaten mariner of the lakes … stole the schooner Nellie Johnson at Montague, Mich., on June 17. The Nellie Johnson was loaded with a cargo of lumber. The United States authorities were notified and the revenue cutter Tuscarora, with United States Deputy Marshal Currier on board, started in pursuit. After a chase up and down Lake Michigan, Seavey abandoned the schooner and went on board his own yacht, the Wanderer, in an endeavor to escape.

… Deputy Currier gave the order and a shot from the cutter’s forward gun went whizzing over the water past Seavey and his craft. That ended the chase.

— New York Times, June 30, 1908

And that’s the story of how “Roaring Dan” became the first, and only, Great Lakes pirate, at least in the eyes of the law.

It was a little late in the game for hijinks on the high inland seas, I think, which probably explains the character of the “last of the legends” tales that follow Roaring Dan’s name: rum-running, venison poaching, dropping pianos on his foes, hoarding skulls on his ship, beating a professional boxer at his own game on a frozen harbor in Northern Michigan, running a house of ill repute out of his Milwaukee saloon. On the waters he was known for “moon-cussing” — extinguishing and rearranging guide lights (or planting fake ones) to run ships aground so he could climb aboard and steal the haul. (Hence the “moon-cusser” cocktail on the menu at the Distillery. Make it at home: 1.5 oz of Roaring Dan’s and a dash of Angostura bitters on the rocks, topped with cream soda.)

But the capture of the Nellie Johnson and the seven-day chase that ensued sent Roaring Dan down in history (and later, into my cocktail glass). As the story goes, Roaring Dan came aboard the schooner with a few casks of rum, invited the captain and crew to join him for a drink, and pretty soon they were all passed out down below and the Nellie Johnson was his for the taking. Roaring Dan faced charges in Chicago for piracy, but the owner of the Nellie Johnson never showed up, and charges were dropped.

Hard to say what’s truth and fiction about the last bad ass Great Lakes pirate , but it’s nice to have an anti-hero rapscallion of our very own. Read more about him here.

Oh, and that nice friend I went to visit, Michael Cothroll, not only made a mean Wisconsin-style old fashioned, but designed the beautiful Roaring Dan’s label.

Roaring Dan’s Rum is distilled from fermented grade “A” sugar cane molasses. Before a second distillation, pure Wisconsin maple syrup is added. The rum is then aged in a combination of new charred American white oak barrels and used bourbon barrels. The hint of maple we add gives Roaring Dan’s Rum a buttery sweetness on palette entry followed by a dry finish. Try it straight up or in your favorite mixer. Be sure to check our cocktail database for some great rum cocktails.

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Milwaukee’s Forest Home Cemetery

May 3, 2010 in Best of THE NIGHT TRAIN, History | 2 comments

An excursion to Forest Home Cemetery in Milwaukee’s Lincoln Village had been on my mind for more than a year, since the early days of my love affair with Captain Frederick Pabst. I hadn’t realized until recently, though, that many of Milwaukee’s other famous brewers are buried there, too. The family plots of Pabst, Schlitz and Blatz form a kind of beer baron delta, where three of Milwaukee’s greatest brewing kings are locked in eternal rest as they were in mortal destiny.

Valentin Blatz was born in Bavaria in 1826. He came to Milwaukee in 1849, established his brewery in 1850, married the widow of the brewer Johann Braun in 1852 and produced Milwaukee’s first individually bottled beer in 1874.

Just across the road from the huge Blatz family mausoleum is the Schlitz family plot, featuring the brewer Joseph Schlitz’s towering cenotaph:

Joseph Schlitz immigrated to the United States from Germany in 1850. Like Val Blatz, he married another brewer’s widow and took over the brewery subsequently. The Great Chicago Fire of 1871 helped Schlitz become the Beer that Made Milwaukee Famous, as his frequent donations of beer to the city filled the void left by burned-down Chicago breweries.

Joseph Schlitz died in the shipwreck of the steamer Schiller in 1875, off the coast of England.

And now, if you will, a moment of silence for the Captain:

I like to imagine that in death, as in life, his cup overfloweth with Blue Ribbon.

Beyond the corridor of beer greats, Forest Home rests a huge number of Milwaukee magnates, city founders and street namesakes, including Byron Kilbourn, George Walker (as in Walker’s Point), the Davidsons (of Harley-Davidson fame), the Usingers, the Pfisters, Alfred Lunt, Lynn Fontanne, Socialist Mayor Frank Zeidler and seven Wisconsin governors.

Henry Clay Payne was U.S. Postmaster General under Theodore Roosevelt;

The Froemming Brothers were Milwaukee shipbuilders, and these sculptures on their family monument are gorgeous:

Everything is in bloom right now. We saw some baby geese and a lot of fat, purple flowers that really bring that whole “circle of life” concept into perspective.

Forest Home was incorporated in 1847 on a hilly, forested plot of land about 2 miles away from the city along the Janesville Plank Road. Since its first burial in 1850, the cemetery has interred more than 110,000.  It would have been nice to spend a few hours wandering the grounds (Forest Home’s website has a nice self-guided history tour), but we had other dweeby tasks to attend to, as well as several mai tais to drink.

More fun in creepy old Detroit cemeteries:

Woodlawn Cemetery
Elmwood Cemetery

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The Captain

March 25, 2010 in Best of THE NIGHT TRAIN, History | 5 comments

captain pabst

If you’re enjoying this blog, you have, in part, this man to thank. Explaining why requires a detour from Detroit for today, but I hope you’ll humor me.

This is Captain Frederick Pabst, and this Sunday will be the 174th anniversary of his birth in Saxony in 1836. When he was 12, he immigrated with his parents to the United States, first to Milwaukee, then to Chicago. Before long he was working as a waiter, then a cabin boy, on the Great Lakes. By the time he was 20, he was first mate on the steamer Traveler. He saved passengers from the burning wreck of the Niagara, today still buried underwater and covered in zebra mussels not far from Sheboygan. At 21, he became Captain, as he would be known for the rest of his life, of the steamer Huron.

I read once, and only once, in The Pabst Brewing Company: History of an American Business (as recounted here), that Captain Pabst met his future wife, Maria Best — the young heiress to Phillip Best’s beer dynasty — when he saved her from icy Lake Michigan after she accidentally fell from the gangplank of the Comet.

The story is most certainly arcane, but I think this was the crystallizing moment for me, the pinpoint-able instant where I became transfixed with the Pabsts, and more generally, with the stories of the people behind the things and places I took for granted. I had held that cold can of swill beer so many times — Established in Milwaukee, 1844 —without a whit of wonder about its namesake.  Now I can’t drink Pabst without talking about him. (Consider yourself warned.)

Maria’s helpless-princess slip from the gangplank was the hook, but the sinker was how much Milwaukee’s actual modern-day texture can be traced to the Pabsts. From the Captain’s 1904 obituary in the New York Times:

Frederick Pabst was one of the most conspicuous citizens of Milwaukee, in whose development from a village to one of the great cities of the continent he was a large factor. Among the familiar features of the city — in addition to the great brewery — there are the Pabst skyscraper office building, the Pabst Theatre, the Pabst Hotel and the pleasure resort on the lake shore.

pabst theater

Frederick Pabst, curious and energetic, built his gilded, palatial New German Opera House in 1890. It burned down almost immediately, but the Captain had it just as promptly rebuilt, this time with state-of-the-art fireproofing, including one of the country’s very first fire curtains. It also had a rudimentary air conditioning  rig composed of fans and ice. At the opera house, as well as the Pabst Mansion west of downtown, all illumination was electrical, a major technological feat at the time. And it was all built in the grand Flemish Revival style, red or cream brick and stone with gables, Gothic arches, spires and turrets. It was Deutsch Athens, the center of German society away from Germany, and it was a boom time to live in Milwaukee.

pabst buildin

When Milwaukee’s City Hall was commissioned in 1890, the architect based its design on the city’s emerging skyline, and on buildings like this one, the Pabst building, commissioned by the Captain. (The Pabst Building was demolished in 1980.) When City Hall was completed in 1895, it was the tallest building in the world.

milwaukee city hall

Captain Pabst was a city Alderman, Maria a cosmopolitan supporter of music and the theater; both of them worked philanthropically to help the poor, patronize the arts and support women in business.  As I learned more about them, I started to see them as the Fords to my Milwaukee, without the unsavory sniff of racism that complicates Detroiters’ relationship to the man that made their city.

For three years I lived in a neighborhood in clear view of the those bright red letters bridged across the former brewery. I went to indie shows at the Pabst Theater and drank PBR Tall Boys at the Captain’s splendid theater and climbed its grand Carerra marble staircase. There’s a bar on the East Side, Von Trier, where the original wrought-iron-and-antler chandelier that hung in the Captain’s foyer graces the back room, or so the bartender says.

By the time I moved back to Michigan, I think I had become accustomed to wondering what glorious, mustachioed German sea captain might be lurking behind the most prosaic object, like a tin can of budget beer, a dilapidated street with a majestic name or the most unceremonious historical marker. I think of him as this blog’s grandfather, and this weekend I will drink PBR and tell some poor bored person the dramatic story of the boy from Saxony who made Milwaukee a good place for a girl like me to live.

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Jetsetters

September 24, 2009 in Escapades | No comments

The beau and I are leaving tomorrow afternoon for a long weekend in sunny, swampy Washington D.C. – we’ll be attending the National Book Festival,

meeting Simon Schama (whom Scott and I, before we were dating, wrote a song about),

Visiting an exhibition about American maritime history,

And, since Scott lived and worked there for five years, reuniting with friends and causing a general ruckus.

Expect a full report upon our return! Until then, you can follow my tipsy Twitter updates (TO YOUR LEFT GOOD SIR) or, if you’re not picky about your media intake, avail yourself of some of these podcasts I just produced!

We’ll be making a quick turnaround after we get back to Michigan and heading west to Milwaukee to catch the last few days of the Milwaukee Film Festival, celebrating a grand return after a particularly loathsome absence in 2008.

To celebrate the inaugural event of the fabulous new Milwaukee Film, Mark Metcalf has been interviewing filmmakers for the past month, and this week I published his conversations with Milwaukee Film Executive Director Jonathan Jackson as well as Frankie Latina, director of Modus Operandi, widely considered to be Milwaukee’s best shot at a breakout indie smash since American Movie.

See you at some cultural stuff! Yeah! Books! Movies! Travels! Drinks! Friends!

I love my new life,

-amy

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