Sheboygan Tales of the Tragic and Bizarre

by William Wangemann

  Published by The History Press

  Charleston, SC 29403

  www.historypress.net

  Copyright © 2010 by William F. Wangemann

  All rights reserved

  Front cover: Painting of ship by William F. Wangemann.

  First published 2010

  e-book edition 2012

  ISBN 978.1.61423.421.0

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Wangemann, William.

  Sheboygan tales of the tragic and bizarre / William Wangemann.

  p. cm.

  print edition ISBN 978-1-60949-035-5

  1. Sheboygan County (Wis.)--History--Anecdotes. 2. Sheboygan County (Wis.)--History, Local--Anecdotes. 3. Tragedy--Social aspects--Wisconsin--Sheboygan County--History--Anecdotes. 4. Death--Wisconsin--Sheboygan County--History--Anecdotes. 5. Curiosities and wonders--Wisconsin--Sheboygan County--Anecdotes. 6. Sheboygan County (Wis.)--Biography--Anecdotes. I. Title.

  F587.S5W36 2010

  977.5’69--dc22

  2010032878

  Notice: The information in this book is true and complete to the best of our knowledge. It is offered without guarantee on the part of the author or The History Press. The author and The History Press disclaim all liability in connection with the use of this book.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without prior written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  To Joy—without her, this book would not have been possible

  CONTENTS

  Preface

  Chapter 1. Tragic Tales

  A Flaming End to a Voyage of Dreams

  Death in an Icy River

  The Pastor Is In

  Chapter 2. Tales of Murder

  The Last Patrol

  A Shooting at the Casino

  The Death of a Naturalist

  Murder in a “Soft Drink Parlor”

  A Visit to the Neighbors

  Chapter 3. Tales of Mystery

  What Ever Happened to Ray?

  A Christmas Gift of Poison

  The Open Gate

  Chapter 4. Tales of Strange Happenings

  The Great Indian Scare

  The Ship Without a Captain

  Flight 2501 Is Missing

  Chapter 5. True Bits of Local History

  Some of Them Funny, Some of Them Sad, but All of Them True

  About the Author

  PREFACE

  To clarify things, I’m neither a professional writer nor a professional historian. Two facts that had a direct effect on the stories told in this book are: I have lived on the shores of Lake Michigan all my life, and for twenty-eight years I was a professional police officer. Most of the information relating to the stories comes from local newspapers, old court records, some from personal experiences and others from interviews with old-timers. A good number of the photographs came from my own collection and the files of the Sheboygan County Historic Research Center. I’d like to pay a special tribute to Ed Sofa, a highly talented artist, for the wonderful pen-and-ink drawings in this book. Ed, who I considered a friend, passed away much too young. A very special thanks to Beth and Cathy for all their invaluable help in assembling the pictures for this book.

  CHAPTER 1

  TRAGIC TALES

  A FLAMING END TO A VOYAGE OF DREAMS

  The litany of disasters on the Great Lakes goes back to prehistoric times when ancient man first used the waters of the turbulent inland seas for travel. In Indian lore, it’s recorded that on several occasions disasters struck without warning to these early lake sailors. On a date lost in time, nearly the entire male population of one tribe was wiped out during a lake voyage. The lost tribe set out in canoes from the tip of Door County bound for Washington Island, a mere five miles away, to attack a tribe they were at war with. A sudden gale that the Great Lakes are so well known for struck without warning. When the storm subsided, the entire male population of the attacking tribesmen was lost. The strait between the tip of Door County and Washington Island was then known by French fur trappers as La Porte de Morts, or the Door of Death, from which Door County got its name.

  When the Dutch immigrants at last reached the Great Lakes, they were awed and stunned by the sheer size of the freshwater giants that lay before them. The Great Lakes are truly one of the great wonders of the world. With America’s longest shoreline, at over 10,000 miles, and containing 5,412 cubic miles of water, these vast inland oceans were difficult for the newcomers to comprehend.

  Standing on the shore of any one of Great Lakes during a warm July afternoon and looking out across its placid blue waters, one could easily be led to believe that the lakes pose no threat. It is the Great Lakes’ history itself that is mute testimony to the fact that these gentle giants can turn into raging demons with no warning. But weather is not the only threat encountered by any who dare challenge these freshwater behemoths. In the winter there is ice, and in all months thick blankets of fog, with its ever-present threat of collision, still take their toll. In the time of the Phoenix, as well as today, the most dreaded calamity that can befall a vessel is fire.

  A sketch of the steamer Phoenix from an old advertising poster. Courtesy Sheboygan County Historic Research Center.

  In the year 1847, waves of turmoil swept across Holland as a religious reform movement gained momentum. Those who embraced this new form of their staid old religion were looked down upon and shunned. Ticket agents for shipping companies traveled the length and breadth of Holland capitalizing on the unrest by extolling the great promise offered to those who had the courage to immigrate to America. The agents, who worked on commission, told enticing tales of vast areas of fertile land selling for as little as $1.25 per acre. They talked of plentiful rainfall, short, warm winters and an endless supply of cheap lumber obtained from immeasurable forests. The ticket hawkers painted a picture of the new territories, in what was to become Wisconsin, as a virtual land of milk and honey.

  The story of the Phoenix is one of hopes held high for a new life of freedom in a new world. All too tragically, these dreams came to a fiery end. For over three hundred immigrants after a 3,700-mile journey and just 7 heartbreaking miles short of their destination, their dreams ended. It is also the story of bravery above and beyond human endurance and the savage law of self-preservation, not altogether unlike the sinking of the Titanic.

  On November 21, 1847, at about 2:00 a.m. just a few miles north of Sheboygan, one of the most dreadful and poignant disasters in the history of the Great Lakes occurred. The propeller steamer Phoenix carried a complement of over 350 persons, including passengers and crew. When it suddenly burst into flames, fewer than 50 people survived. Most of those lost were Dutch immigrants who had sailed on August 26, 1847, from Rotterdam, Holland, on board an oceangoing sailing ship. After an uncomfortable crossing of sixty-one days, the immigrants at last arrived in New York on October 26, 1847.

  The water-weary travelers were anxious to get their feet back on dry land, but this was not to be. As their ship slowly entered the crowded harbor, it dropped its anchor far from any pier where the immigrants might disembark. The puzzled passengers were informed that first a doctor would come on board to certify that they carried no communicable diseases. Furthermore, personal information had to be gathered from each newcomer by immigration officials. Disappointed, the weary people sat down to wait. All around them, ships lay at anchor; the harbor was a virtual forest of masts. At last, after a wait of several hours, a small sloop was seen putting out from shore and began heading for their ship. Soon
the sloop drew alongside the immigrants’ ship, and several very official-looking men boarded. As promised, one of the men was a doctor and the other was an immigration official. After quickly examining the passengers, the doctor declared the ship was disease free and cleared them to land—but only after the immigration representative gathered the pertinent information needed to allow foreigners to enter the United States.

  Before he left the ship, the customs agent, through an interpreter, warned the people not to go ashore unless absolutely necessary. The agent went on to explain that the waterfront was plagued with numerous vicious gangs looking for immigrants to rob. Knowing that many of them carried large sums of cash to fund their new lives in America, the cruel predators found the immigrants to be easy prey. The customs agent further stated that if they were accosted by these evil bandits and they even slightly resisted, the thieves would not hesitate to kill them.

  After learning that most of the travelers were headed to the Wisconsin territories and planned to take a riverboat up the Hudson River to Albany and then on the Erie Canal to the Great Lakes, the official strongly suggested they take a small sailing boat to where the riverboat was docked. After a quick conference among the Dutchmen, it was decided that a trip by water to the riverboat was the most prudent.

  The boat then moved to a pier, where a few of the passengers disembarked. Not long after the immigration agent left, a representative of the Netherland Society for the Protection of Emigrants from Holland came aboard to assist the Dutch people. Arrangements were made to transfer to the riverboat for the trip up the Hudson River to Albany. The agent also arranged the fare for their passage on the canalboats of the Erie Canal.

  Once on board the side-wheel steamer, the immigrants found that their daylong trip to Albany was quite pleasant. They arrived at Albany, and upon boarding the canalboats, the Hollanders discovered that pleasant was not a word that could be used to describe this portion of their trip. The canalboats (the Hollanders needed three of them) were overcrowded and dirty. The fare of one and a half cents per mile included food, if you could call it that. The quality was poor, and food was badly cooked. Sleeping accommodations were only slightly better. The interior of the boat where the sleeping quarters were located consisted of one long room with crude bunks built along the sides. As there were not nearly enough bunks for everyone, many had to sleep on the floor. It became quite clear from early on that the trip on the Erie Canal was going to be no picnic. After one very long week, the travelers at last reached Buffalo, New York, where they were to board a lake steamer that was to take them on the final leg of their seemingly endless trip.

  Buffalo then, as it is now, was the gateway to the Great Lakes. When the Dutchmen arrived in Buffalo, they found the city jammed with immigrants from practically every European nation. It was said that if you stood on a street corner on the waterfront long enough, you could hear every European language spoken. Many of the newcomers were still wearing clothing representative of their native countries. With bewildered looks on their faces and clutching bundles of their belongings, they plainly stood out from the local population. But much to the relief of the immigrants, unlike in New York, there was no thievery or danger to those waiting to board boats.

  Before leaving New York, the Dutch immigrants were given the name and address of a Dutch-speaking pastor in Buffalo who it was said would help them book passage on a lake steamer. The pastor was located, and he booked passage on the same steamer for the entire group, which numbered some 250 persons. The immigrants were delighted to learn that the boat they were booked on was the three-year-old, modern steamboat, the Phoenix. It would not be long before their delight would turn to horror.

  It was getting late in November, and a great rush was on to get the boats in the harbor underway before winter came upon them and turned the lakes into an impenetrable mass of ice. Most captains refused to sail after November 1, as the gales of November were notorious and deeply feared by lake mariners. They knew only too well that more boats were lost to storms in November than any other month. In fact, insurance companies refused to insure boats after November 1. The lure of making one more run, even without insurance, and the profit that could be made in the lucrative business of transporting immigrants was too much to resist for some boat owners. So it was with Pease and Allen Shipping Company, the owners of one of the finest boats on the Great Lakes, the three-year-old propeller steamer Phoenix. The owners of the Phoenix took great pride, and rightfully so, in their new boat, which was on the cutting edge of the technology of the day. Only three years before, the very first propeller-driven steamboat, the Vandalia, had appeared on the Great Lakes. Prior to this, all steamboats on the lakes had been driven by bulky side-mounted paddle wheels. The fragile paddle wheels, while being efficient, were very prone to damage in storms, collisions and docking accidents. The Phoenix was a very special propeller (as they were called), for it sported a completely revolutionary twin propeller system. The twin propellers were driven by one shaft that ran to a gearbox, and then two shafts exited the gear box and drove both propellers. The propellers looked nothing like a modern-day propeller. This wonder of engineering looked like a barrel with a band of metal fastened to its exterior in the fashion of a corkscrew. The twin propellers were then connected to the two drive shafts that propelled the boat. This wonder of marine technology was invented by none other than John Erickson. It may be remembered that in later years, John Erickson designed and built an ironclad war ship for the Union navy during the Civil War, named the Monitor.

  A scale model of the Phoenix with its sail raised. Model built by Captain Rocky Groh; photo by the author.

  At last, the last bit of cargo was loaded and the final passenger had boarded. The date was November 11, 1847, and it was time for the Phoenix to cast off for its last run of the season. It was, in fact, its last run for any season. Its cargo of hardware, chains, coffee and molasses had been stowed safely away. The passengers, numbering about 350, of which 70 were American citizens, had all boarded and stowed their bags and baggage. The first-class passengers were assigned cabins that occupied the forward part of the boat, while the immigrants were consigned to the after portions of the vessel. The first-class passengers settled into what, for the day, were considered spacious quarters. The immigrants, carrying their ponderous bundles and bags of belongings, found themselves crowded into one long room that was to be their home for the next ten days. In the very center of the boat could be found the engine room with its large hissing and clanking steam engine and the roaring boiler that generated the steam needed to propel the boat. To say that to place a red-hot boiler in an all-wooden boat painted with flammable oil paints and varnishes is inviting disaster would today be a gross understatement of the potential for a flaming holocaust.

  The Phoenix flag depicting the immortal phoenix bird. Courtesy Captain Groh.

  The Phoenix, at 140 feet, 6 inches long with a breadth of 22 feet, 7 inches, was considered a large boat for the day. Its rolled iron smokestack towered over 26 feet above its deck. Toward the forward part of the boat, it had a tall mast that was capable of carrying sail, if the steam engines should fail. All early steamboats still carried mast and sail in those days. Even though the changeover from sail to steam was rapidly taking place, there was a certain amount of distrust of the clanking, hissing beasts that drove their boats forward. Most captains still wanted the tried and true sail available—just in case.

  As for safety equipment, the Phoenix was equipped with the finest state-of-the-art, high-pressure, steam-driven water pumps and the very best linen fire hoses available. This modern firefighting equipment had already been put to the test. During its maiden voyage, a small fire was detected in the boiler room. Coincidentally, the list of passengers for what was to be a festive occasion included most of the members of the Buffalo Fire Department, who, when the fire was discovered, quickly sprang into action and, utilizing the new firefighting equipment, put out the fire.

  Sailors in those days w
ere a superstitious lot and considered a fire during a boat’s trial run a very dark omen of things to come. They could not have imagined how right they were. Tragically, the lifeboats were woefully inadequate, a fact that in just a few days would become all too clear. The lifeboats, each of which could hold thirty or forty persons at the most, were slung from davits near the center of the boat. Some have said that the boat carried three lifeboats, with the third one slung from davits at the stern of the boat, but early drawings of the Phoenix do not indicate this. Even though photography had already been invented, it was still in its infancy, and no known photo of the Phoenix exists.

  The Pease and Allen Shipping Company, owners of the Phoenix, had exercised great care in the selection of a captain for their new boat. After much thought, they selected Captain G.B. Sweet to be placed in command. Along with First Officer Mr. Watts, the company felt they had two of the best and most experienced sailors on the Great Lakes.

  The boat was ready, the cold winds of mid-November were blowing and it was time to get underway. Captain Sweet was very familiar with the evil temperament of the Great Lakes and was anxious to complete his round-trip voyage to Chicago and back, a trip that took nearly three weeks. The boiler room signaled that they were carrying a full head of steam; dockhands were ordered to cast off all lines. The order was given to the engine room for slow astern, and the Phoenix backed away from the dock. When clear of the dock, the engines were reversed and began to move the ill-fated boat forward. As the Phoenix picked up speed, it headed out into Lake Erie, and it, its passengers and crew sailed into history.

  The only two lifeboats on the Phoenix. Courtesy Captain Groh.

  As the Phoenix sailed out into the turbulent lake, some of the passengers lined the rail and watched the distant shoreline splashed with late autumn colors of red, gold and every shade of brown disappear. Overhead, long Vs of geese noisily winged their way south. Soon the last trace of the shoreline dipped below the horizon. They were now surrounded by what seemed to be a boiling caldron of surging blue waves, each one bigger than the last. The immigrants on the storm-lashed deck soon scurried for cover.