Day 83, Monday May 27, 2024 Memorial Day: Waukesha, Wisconsin to Chicago, Illinois
- Mark Carl Rom
- May 28
- 10 min read
Carnegie libraries visited: Watertown, Stoughton, and Edgerton, Wisconsin; Belvidere, St. Charles, and Maywood, Illinois
Days sober: 340
For a holiday, it was a busy day. I worked in a local hotel lobby until it was time to go to a 9.30 recovery meeting – my first meeting since last Thursday. Even going three full days without attending a meeting seemed like a long time to me, and I’m glad I went. It was an exceptionally friendly meeting, and I hung around for a long time afterwards chatting with the members.
One of the readings involved the topic of recovery as a means of doing good, rather than just avoiding evil (drinking). It is. When I was first exposed to recovery programs, I believed that a main reason that so many people left it was that it was a form of punishment; penance, for being bad. Going to meetings was like going on a diet, or vowing to go to the gym to work off the pounds. Diets are notoriously hard to maintain, especially if they are seen as forcing one to sacrifice the good stuff. Gym memberships are bought, and then forgotten, if going to the gym is something one doesn’t enjoy or really want to do.
Twelve step recovery programs, properly understood, are not like that. Going to meetings is a form of celebration: I am sober today, and the others there are sober too. Meetings are communion. I suspect those who leave treat attending as a chore they would rather skip than a gift they could enjoy.
After the meeting, I headed to Pewaukee Lake. My father spent his summers there when he was a child. I had visited his summer home once, on the trip to bury my mother’s ashes, next to her parents, at her childhood church where her father was the minister. I didn’t have the address of my Dad’s home, and there are many windy and often dead-end roads by the lake, so I couldn’t find it. Still, it was fun thinking about my father as a young man, splashing in the water.
I think that I have two memories about visiting a lake in Wisconsin, but I must be wrong, as I would have been too young to remember. The memories are of transgression and fear. In my memory, we stayed at a cabin at some lake, and the cabin had screen windows that were covered by some sort of clear shellac. I discovered to my delight that, if I pushed my finger into the shellac, it would make a nice popping sound as my finger broke through. Given that mosquitos are the honorary state bird, my folks were not amused that I was creating a vast number of mosquito freeways. The second memory is of my Dad taking me down to the lake for a ride in a rowboat. At the shore, I could see “seawoods” reaching up through the water. I thought they wanted to grab me and pull me in. I was terrified.
It was a dozen library day, even though (or maybe especially) because they were all closed for the holiday. I was hoping to find a Memorial Day parade, or even some street festival; alas, I found none. Most likely, the festivals were held on Saturday and Sunday, and today (Monday) was the day to rest and enjoy friends and family before the work week begins.
Watertown had the first Carnegie on my list today and I arrived there, with perfect timing, for a double scoop of ice cream at Mullen’s Dairy bar, a classic joint just across the street from the library. I didn’t record my choices – something pink, something khaki – and a double scoop was as big as one would want, if one had just crossed the Gobi Desert without provisions. I ate it in a small park overlooking major construction of the major road through the town. This big infrastructure project, I’m guessing funded in part by the Biden administration's infrastructure bill, would not nearly be finished early enough to bring him any electoral benefits. Indeed, the locals were probably annoyed that they weren’t able to drive down Main Street as it crossed the Rock River.
The Watertown Carnegie has an extensive history posted online, based in large part on Elmer Kiessling’s 1986 book Watertown Remembered, with referencing by Miss Claire Herrmann, Ruth Wilkowski, and Harriet and Glenn Schwoch.
Two women’s clubs, the Saturday Club and the Euterpe Club (Euterpe was the Greek muse of music) “were instrumental in arousing interest” in a library for the town.
The Saturday Club, a philanthropic society, was founded in 1885 and continues to meet today, although its Facebook picture suggests that it is not an organization with a youthful membership. An online history of the club, with records dating to 1911, shows the repeated efforts of the club to support the library. In 1911, they promoted Library Day as a fundraiser (tickets were 25 cents). On Colonial Day in 1912, the Club’s history reports that,
As the hour for the meeting drew near, ladies with powdered hair done in pompadour, puffs and curls, with quaint old-fashioned gowns and some with black patches on their faces, might have been seen wending their way toward the public library…
Many and varied were the exclamations as modern wraps were cast aside and some demure figure stepped out clad in garb handed down from Grandmother’s time.
After the meeting had been called to order by the president, Miss Elsa Baumann, the members responded to the roll call by giving some of Washington’s “Rules of Conduct.”
Little red hatchets were presented to each lady, and upon investigation a list of questions was disclosed and they were to find the answers; this created quite a little merriment. Miss Edna Chadwick read Lowell’s “Ode to Washington,” one of the most beautiful poems in the English language. Some pictures of Washington, his home at Mt. Vernon and the surrounding country were shown with the radiopticon and then tea and light refreshments were served from a prettily decorated tea table, Mrs. O. A. Skinner and Miss Jennie Needham presiding.
As the ladies dispersed to their homes they carried with them memories of a very pleasant afternoon.
On the Club’s last regular meeting of the spring in 1915,
[T]he public library was well filled by an interesting audience. The program was commemorative of ‘Bird and Arbor Day’ and consisted of a talk on ‘Our Garden at the Library’ given by Mrs. Eli Fischer, who has done so much to beautify the yard back of the library building. The latest gift to the library consists of three bird houses…
The Euterpe Club played its role by raising funds and hosting exhibits at the library.
Beginning in 1900, the women of Watertown became focused on bringing a library to the town. Mrs. Frank E. Woodard and Mrs. George C. Lewis decided to put on a benefit play, with Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Johnson directing the production of Bulwer Lytton's "The Lady of Lyon,” and Mrs. Lewis playing the leading lady. The play raised $60 and got the town’s attention.
In 1902, based on “a growing sentiment that Watertown [should] not much longer have the odious distinction of being the only city of Wisconsin with a population of 4000 or over that has no public library,” Mrs. Woodward invited 25 of the town’s leading citizens to her home to hear an address by the secretary of Wisconsin’s Free Library Commission, and a mass meeting of Watertown’s residents followed. At this meeting, the town agreed to raise $5000 for a library from door-to-door collections. The fundraising drive exceeded its expectations with Mrs. Samuel Kussel, acting as the captain of the German Sixth Ward, raising the most.
By March 2, 1903, a vacant store had been converted to a library, and Miss Maud R. MacPherson was appointed as librarian. Soon, with the one room library bursting at the seams, a new library was needed. John W. Cole had promised part of his estate to the town for the library after his son (and heir) Oscar passed on. The town decided not to wait (a good thing, as it turned out, as Oscar lived 25 more years) and so approached Carnegie.
Bertram, feeling spicy, replied “No doubt the city would accept an offer, but you do not make a very strong case.”
John W. Ott, the president of the library board, responded that “the Watertown case is as strong as any.”
Bertram, testier now, answers “The trouble is you put the matter the wrong way. You said if Mr. Carnegie should offer, etc., etc. Mr. Carnegie never makes offers. The town is the party that should make the offer of what they should be prepared to do for their part.”
Ott, humbled, pleads “[W]e beg you on behalf of the citizens…” and, finally, he outlines what Watertown could offer.
Bertram, now satisfied, reports that Carnegie would indeed provide $20,000 for the library, if the town meets the conditions required.
On June 14, 1907, Watertown celebrated the library’s dedication day. The librarians were Miss MacPherson, continuing her service, Miss G. Ackley, Miss E. M. Smith, Miss G. Lutkemeyer, and Miss V. G. Little. MacPherson resigned in 1909 and was replaced by Miss Gabriella Ackley, who had experience as a librarian at Oconomowoc, Brodhead and Oconto, and who was “considered one of the best librarians in the state,” according to the Watertown Gazette. The Saturday Club hosted a reception in Miss MacPherson’s honor and, shortly thereafter, MacPherson moved to Hoquiam, Washington to become the librarian there, as Watertown could not match the “fine salary” ($1200 per year) Hoquiam offered her. MacPherson returned as the library’s guest in 1917, when she hoisted the library’s new American flag.
Miss Ackley was proud to announce that the library had acquired a telephone in 1911, and residents were encouraged to call the library to request books, renew them, or ask questions; they were not allowed to use that library phone to make calls, however. Later that year, borrowers with contagious diseases were instructed to burn any books they had checked out, without charge. In 1912, the library added a “sanitary” drinking fountain.
Like MacPherson before her, Miss Ackley resigned to take a higher salary in a Chicago library. Her new salary was $100 each month. Her replacement, Miss Mabel Smith, was hired at $60.
Other librarians noted in the library’s history include Florence Hayes, the head librarian in 1940, at least; Elizabeth Faber, who served the library for 37 years before retiring in 1977; Mary Carol Powers, Maureen Hady, Lisa Hoyman, and Sharry Lueck and Donna Kerbel, who both retired in 2015 after more than 30 years of service. Why do I bother listing their names? On this Memorial Day, to remember their contributions to public life in America.
As I drove, I continued to listen to Lost Weekend. It is brutal and heartbreaking. In one scene, Birnham staggers out of his apartment to go to a bar or buy some more booze; it doesn’t matter which. He encounters two women coming up the stairs and tumbles down a flight in front of them. He gets up, dusts himself off, says that he’s fine, just fine…and then falls down another flight, fracturing his skull. He wakes up in an alcoholic ward, not knowing how he got there.
Oh, how I can relate. In the days before I checked into a rehab, I woke up one morning with blood on my head and pillow. I don’t remember falling. Ayse took me to a hospital to get me checked for a concussion and, the next thing I knew, I was placed in the psych ward. I didn’t realize this at the time; I thought I had just been given a room (I’m sure that on intake I had reported vague ideation of self harm, probably along the lines of “I just wish this could all go away.”) The room had no furniture except a bed with no sheets. The room had a large window facing the nurses station, and I could not turn off the lights. Only later did I realize that I had been placed in a suicide watch room (hence no sheets, no furniture, and no light switch). There was almost nothing to do to occupy the time; only a few magazines were in a little lounge area with a TV. I kept asking when I would be moved to a regular room and the nurses were always evasive. I finally realized that they were going to keep me in the psych ward, so I reported multiple times that I was not planning to harm myself and asked to be discharged.
The following day I was to fly to Cleveland to spend the weekend with my sister Cristine and brother-in-law Alan. The trip, which required two flights, was a disaster. When I got to the airport, I went right to a bar. Going to one of the two flights – I can’t remember which one, but I think it was the first one – I tripped at the bottom of the escalator and bashed my face (again!) on the floor. Medics were called and I was treated at the scene. The medics asked me if I wanted to continue my trip and I said yes. They wheeled me to the jet and placed me in first class. My second flight was delayed, and delayed again, and delayed once more. I didn’t mind. It gave me more time to drink at airport bars and, because I was finally going to arrive late at night, it meant that I would take an Uber to my sister’s home and they wouldn’t have to see me that night.
The next morning, I looked like shit and felt as bad. At that point Cristine and Alan suggested that I should go to a residential rehab, and I agreed. Alan and I spent the morning researching the options, and Alan pointed me in a good direction. I’m lucky to have family like them.
I called Bracebridge Hall – the rehab that looked the best to me, as it was located in a pastoral setting – on a Saturday morning and told them that I would not be checking in until after the (lost) weekend. They asked me whether I was going to receive detox treatment in the meantime. When I said no, the intake counselor said “Well, I’m not going to tell you to continue drinking, but quitting cold turkey can be quite dangerous.” What I heard was “You can continue drinking until you get here.” And so I did, in a maintenance way. On the pretense of going out for long walks, a couple of time a day I would stop by a nearby convenience store to buy just enough alcohol (Truly Hard Seltzers or the oddly watered-down vodka sold at convenience stores in Ohio) to keep my blood alcohol level up without getting me drunk. I did not report this fact to my hosts, and who knows if they knew. If they read this, I guess they will.
I’ve written about only one of the six Carnegies I visited today. They will certainly have their own stories, whether they were written down or not. I hope to get to them yet I feel that I must move on right now. My day ended as I sat by the fountains in Chicago's Grant Park, as patriotic anthems played on loudspeakers. Americans, of all types, milled around the fountains, in all their glory.
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