Sheboygan Tales of the Tragic and Bizarre

by William Wangemann

  House struggled against the strong urge to close his eyes and float into delirium. Then he heard a sound; it was the steady splashing of oars dipping in and out of the water. He tried to clear his befuddled mind. Was it real or just a hallucination? Then suddenly it occurred to him: it’s a boat; a rescue boat! From some deep untapped resource of energy, he was able to weakly call out and wave. The boats from shore had returned at last! But wait…it couldn’t be the boats from shore; it was coming from the wrong direction for that. The young woman on the settee saw the boat as well; in her excitement, with rescue at hand, she lost her grip. She disappeared beneath the dark water without a sound. Within a few moments, the boat from the schooner Liberty pulled into view. House was not sure if it was real. The next thing he felt were the strong rough hands of sailors pulling him aboard the boat; the hands were real.

  In just a few more moments, the steamer Delaware rushed into view. A boiling white bow wave indicated that it was speeding along under full steam. En route to the disaster scene, the crew ran excitedly about the rapidly moving steamer, gathering blankets and warm clothing and readying bunks for the expected flood of survivors. The cook aboard the Delaware soon had a large pot of hot coffee ready. As they drew closer to the Phoenix, the crew of the Delaware anxiously lined the rails as the steamer slowed. At the sight of the burnt-out derelict, the crew was shocked speechless. The full reality of the situation then struck them. There would be no rescue. The Delaware was passing through a watery graveyard. Many of the tough old sailors, with tears in their eyes, took off their hats and stood silently staring at the killing waters. Slowly, the Delaware circled the Phoenix in search of survivors, as did the boat from the Liberty. Then a sailor in the Liberty’s boat saw a movement under the stern of the burnt-out hulk. It was Donohue, the ship’s clerk; the boat quickly moved in and pulled the half-frozen man from his refuge. On the Delaware, they spotted some floating timbers and heard a weak cry for help; there was a man in the water. With the utmost speed, a boat was lowered and the man was tenderly lifted into the boat. Later, the nearly frozen man was identified as a Mr. Long of Milwaukee. After an extensive search of the area, Captain Tuttle ordered them to stop looking. Three survivors were all that was left of the three hundred or more souls left to fend for themselves on the burning ship. About forty-five people had made it ashore in the two lifeboats. No reason was ever given for the boats not returning to the Phoenix. The Irish O’Conner family was one of the few families that survived the Phoenix disaster intact.

  A stout towing cable was made fast to the Phoenix, and it was then taken under tow by the Delaware. The small steamer struggled to tow the dead weight of the blackened hulk. The fire had opened the seams of the Phoenix, and it was taking on water and getting heavier by the minute. After what seemed an eternity, the pier at Sheboygan hove into sight. The dawn of a new day was just breaking. Suddenly, the forepart of the structure on the Phoenix collapsed in a cloud of ash. The purser’s safe was seen to tumble into the lake. As the Delaware slowly approached the Sheboygan pier, it looked as though the entire city had quietly lined the shore and crowded onto the pier.

  The Phoenix, in a near sinking condition, was riding low, drawing much more water than the Delaware. The Phoenix was about to claim one more victim. Suddenly, the wreck grounded and stopped. Before the startled crew of the towing vessel could slack off the tow cable, it pulled tight and then parted with a bang like a cannon shot. The end of the cable attached to the Delaware whipsawed wickedly across the pier. People scattered; a few fell into the frigid lake. A seven-year-old boy standing on the pier stood stock still, rooted in fear. The slashing cable struck him savagely in the face, knocking him unconscious. At first it appeared he was dead; he was not. The badly injured lad was carried to a doctor’s home for treatment. He recovered and lived to a ripe old age, but he forever bore the scars of that terrible night as the last victim of the Phoenix. The derelict ship then settled to the bottom. The Phoenix and the remains of some of the immigrants had at last arrived in Sheboygan.

  The sun rose, announcing the arrival of a new day. The pristine waters of Lake Michigan sparkled under its golden rays. The cold pure waters of the lake gave no hint of the horror that had taken place on its surface fewer than twenty hours before. In Sheboygan, as soon as it was learned that the survivors of the Phoenix disaster were on the beach north of the city, a rescue party was organized. However, here the story of the Phoenix varies. Some accounts state that the survivors walked to Sheboygan; others say that wagons from Sheboygan found them huddled around a campfire. Whatever is the correct account, it is known that the survivors at last made it to Sheboygan and into the arms of family and friends.

  Later that day, the schooner Liberty sailed to Milwaukee with news of the terrible tragedy. A recently installed telegraph line ran into the city, and when the news of the loss of the Phoenix was learned, it was flashed across the telegraph lines to every major city in the United States. Relief efforts and fundraising to help the survivors poured in. It took over three months for the news to reach Holland, and when it did a national day of morning was called. All across Holland, church bells pealed and memorial services were held.

  The day after the loss of the Phoenix, the survivors of the crew were alarmed to hear dark mutterings that the disaster was due to a drunken crew. The crew men quickly booked passage on the Delaware, which was heading back to Buffalo. The next day, it sailed north. As the Delaware passed through the area where the Phoenix had burned, the lake was littered with floating bodies. Everyone expected Captain Tuttle to stop and recover the dead; he inexplicably made no such attempt and sailed on, much to the consternation of his crew and passengers. This decision was to haunt Captain Tuttle the rest of his days.

  Captain Sweet, still suffering from his fall, was taken into the home of a local doctor, where he lived for almost a year. The doctor stated that Captain Sweet suffered severe melancholia. After he left the doctor’s home, Captain Sweet returned to Buffalo, but he never commanded another ship.

  As for the Phoenix, that winter it was covered with ice and torn in half, with the bow section ending up on the beach. The owners, Pease and Allen, had the engines removed once the ice melted the following spring and then abandoned the hulk. As the lakefront changed and was filled in, the remains of the once proud ship were covered and today most likely lie beneath the parking lot across from the YMCA.

  All that remains of the Phoenix today is this water-stained Bible brought ashore by a survivor. Courtesy Sheboygan County Historic Research Center.

  All that remains of the Phoenix is a large water-stained Bible that was carried ashore and is preserved at the Sheboygan Historical Research Center in Sheboygan Falls. Today, no ship on the Great Lakes carries the name Phoenix, as it is considered a voodoo name. Five ships had carried that name, and all sunk or were burned.

  The Phoenix disaster is still a mystery to this day. Its cause will never be known for sure. Was it an overheated boiler? Or the inattention of a drunken crew, as suggested by some? Or was it just a simple clogging of the feed-water intake that supplied water to the boilers? The answers to these questions are lost to time.

  Over the years, several attempts have been made to locate the site of the burning Phoenix in hopes of finding gold lost by the immigrants, but to no avail. Like the sites of so many other shipwrecks, Lake Michigan holds its secrets well.

  A footnote to this story is that on November 12, 1855, the steamer Delaware, which came to the rescue of the Phoenix, was also lost near Sheboygan. It sprang a leak during a gale and went down with the loss of eleven persons.

  DEATH IN AN ICY RIVER

  The headline of the February 9, 1911 Sheboygan Daily Press cried in huge black type: “SHOCKING ACCIDENT.”

  On that frosty morning at about 8:40 a.m., well-known Sheboygan Captain William Groh was at the helm of his sturdy tug the Peter Reiss. The tug, which was now approaching the bridge that spanned the Sheboygan River at Eighth Street, gave several sharp
blasts on its steam whistle, a signal to open the bridge. The Eighth Street Bridge in place at that time was a swing bridge; in other words, it was pivoted on its center, which was mounted on a heavy stone abutment in the center of the river. When opened, the whole bridge would swing so that it was parallel to the riverbank, allowing ships to pass on either side. There were usually two men on duty at the bridge. The bridge operator sat in a small control cab high atop the bridge, and an assistant, prior to the bridge opening, would string chains across the street to indicate that the bridge was open. The chains were not intended to physically stop vehicles from plunging through the open bridge but merely acted as a warning. On hearing the signal from the tug to open the bridge, the safety chains were put in place, and the bridge with a low growl began to grind slowly open.

  The Peter Reiss and its crew on that late winter morning had been hired to break free a steamer that was still held in the grip of the frozen river. As the tug smashed its way through the ice toward the bridge, it came to a complete stop until the bridge was open. As the tug lay patiently waiting to pass the bridge, Captain Groh, in the wheelhouse atop the tug, cast a casual glance to his right up toward Eighth Street. The street at this location is a steady down grade for almost five blocks. As Captain Groh watched, he noticed a trolley car coming down the hill, at a speed he later estimated to be twenty miles per hour, directly toward the now completely open bridge. As Captain Groh continued to watch the trolley, he expected it to slow and then come to a complete stop—but it did not!

  George Thieme, age thirty-seven, married with three children, had been a motorman with the Sheboygan Light and Power Company for just over six years. On this fateful day, he and a conductor, identified only as Mr. Weber, were assigned to the operation of car #54, which was headed south to the Lakeview Hotel that was located on a bluff overlooking Lake Michigan at the east end of Wilson Avenue.

  At 8:45 a.m. on that cold morning of February 9, 1911, car #54 left the terminal of the trolley company, then located in the present-day 500 block of South Eighth Street. On board were seven persons: five passengers, the motorman Thieme and the conductor, Mr. Weber. As Thieme took over the car, he was informed that they were behind schedule and that he had only ten minutes to get to the end of the run, which was the Lake View Hotel. Furthermore, he had just an additional ten minutes to return to the terminal, a fact that would haunt the company during later inquiries. The passengers had no inkling of the horror that lay ahead, just moments away. Seated in the rear of the car were fifty-three-year-old Anna Mather, a schoolteacher from Sheboygan Falls, and twenty-year-old Tannie Van Ouwerkerk, a music teacher also from Sheboygan Falls. Toward the front of the trolley sat fourteen-year-old Olga Willimite, of Sheboygan. Just behind the motorman sat P.W. Etzold, a traveling salesman from Milwaukee. In the rear of the car, near where the two older ladies were seated, Joseph Mosich of Sheboygan had chosen a seat.

  Car #54 turned left out of the terminal and headed south down the Eighth Street hill toward its fate. As the trolley approached the Eighth Street Bridge, motorman Thieme saw the chains drawn across the roadway ahead. Seeing the barrier, Thieme realized that the bridge was open and began to apply the brakes to the trolley car. To his horror, the brakes had no effect. In desperation, the motorman activated the sanders, which are devices that drop sand under the wheels of the trolley to give the wheels extra traction on the rails. Sanders were used only in extreme emergencies, because the abrasive action of the sand ground flat spots on the wheels, necessitating their costly replacement. For some reason, the sanders did not work, and the out-of-control trolley careened toward the yawning gap in the roadway caused by the open bridge. There was but one alternative left to the desperate motorman: throw the motors into reverse in an attempt to halt the car. Knowing that serious damage could be done by this action, he threw the motors into full reverse. But car #54 continued on toward the icy river.

  At that point, Thieme yelled, “I can’t hold her, everybody jump!” The two male passengers did not hesitate and jumped from the car, which now had begun to slow down. The three women sat frozen to their seats in terror. Again the motorman yelled, “Jump, jump,” but the women did not move. Thieme felt the car begin to tip as it reached the end of the track. He said later that he had no idea how he left the car, but suddenly he found himself in the icy water clinging to a cake of ice. The conductor had also jumped and had landed in the river, but he was clinging desperately to pilings along the riverbank.

  Witnesses later said that as the car hurtled into the opening, it turned slowly upside down before it struck the water. The trucks (wheels) separated from the trolley in midair. With a huge splash, car #54 sank into the river. As the trolley car settled, it righted itself, due to the weight of the motors and other running gear in the bottom of the car. Car #54 now lay on the bottom of the Sheboygan River in nine feet of water, with three passengers still on board and a small portion of its roof visible above water.

  This unbelievable scenario took place directly in front of the stunned crew of the tug Peter Reiss. For just a moment, Captain Groh was frozen into inaction by the disaster taking place in front of him. But Captain Groh, a man of action, recovered his senses quickly. The first thing he saw was motorman Thieme floundering in the water.

  The tug immediately moved forward and picked up the half-frozen motorman, who gasped as they pulled him aboard, “Three ladies are still in the car.” Thieme, already suffering the effects of the bone-chilling water, was shivering uncontrollably. Having been informed that passengers were still aboard the trolley, Captain Groh quickly maneuvered the Peter Reiss alongside the nearly submerged car. Grabbing a fire axe, he sprang onto the roof of car #54, closely followed by another crewman who also carried an axe. The two men began frantically chopping a hole in the roof of the trolley in hopes that someone inside might still be alive. As they were about to break through the roof, Captain Groh warned the other man to take caution, as there was a possibility they could injure passengers who might still be alive. As they gingerly broke through the roof, they found that the car was filled to the top with icy water, precluding the possibility of finding anyone inside alive. Captain Groh called for a boat hook from the tug. The boat hook is a long pole with a hook at its end and is frequently used to retrieve objects from the water.

  Slowly, car #54 is lifted from the river. Courtesy Sheboygan County Historic Research Center.

  With the boat hook, Groh began to probe inside the water-filled car. He soon snagged the inert body of Anna Mather and, with the aid of bystanders (by this time there were hundreds), pulled her from the wreck and passed her up to helping hands on the shore. Next, the body of Tannie Van Ouwerkerk was recovered, and last of all fourteen-year-old Olga Willimite was removed from car #54.

  By any standard, motorman Thieme should have been considered a hero. The gallant operator stayed with the car and tried to stop the runaway vehicle with every resource at his command, until he nearly lost his own life in the ice-choked river.

  The tug Peter Reiss stands by while a crane lifts car #54 out of the Sheboygan River. Courtesy Sheboygan County Historic Research Center.

  Curious crowds gather as rescue operations continue. Courtesy Sheboygan County Historic Research Center.

  The recovery of the sunken trolley was still underway when ugly rumors began to circulate. It was rumored that Thieme was drunk; another said that he jumped out of the car two blocks from the drawbridge, and others said he was traveling downhill at a tremendous speed. All the rumors had one thing in common: they were false.

  Investigators noted that on the morning of September 9, Sheboygan was covered with a heavy layer of frost, making even walking a hazard. With this information in mind, it is logical to assume that the trolley tracks were covered with frost, making it nearly impossible to stop. Furthermore, they also found several sections of track had sand spread on them, indicating that the sanders were working. As for the rumors of all the witnesses interviewed, not one could recall any action a
t the scene by Thieme that would indicate he was drunk. It was very clear that he had not jumped out two blocks away, as he was rescued from the river by Captain Groh. Captain Groh also said that when the car went into the river it had slowed to the speed “of a man walking.” In testimony given later, Groh said, “If the car would have had ten more feet, it would have stopped.”

  On February 16, 1911, just nine days after the tragic trolley car accident, Sheboygan Police Chief August Sheck arrested motorman George Thieme on three counts of fourth-degree manslaughter. He then appeared in court and was bound over to circuit court, and bail was set at $800, which was paid for by the company.

  On February 11, a coroner’s inquest was called. The district attorney served over fifty subpoenas on witnesses who were to testify in the upcoming hearing. The hearing was convened on February 13, and dozens of witnesses testified, among them Captain Groh and George Thieme, who were grilled by the district attorney at great length. On February 15, the coroner’s jury found Thieme guilty of three counts of fourth-degree manslaughter and sent the case on to circuit court.

  The trial began in Sheboygan’s old courthouse on April 15, with a standing-room-only crowd of spectators. Thieme again testified at great length, explaining to the jury every detail of his herculean effort to try and get the out-of-control trolley to stop; the jury listened with rapt attention. Captain Groh also described the heroic action of his tugboat crew during the disaster and their futile attempt to rescue the three ladies trapped in the sunken car. Dozens of other persons testified, including a Sheboygan alderman who happened to be working in the area at the time of the disaster. On April 18, the final witness testified and the case was given to the jury, who then left the courtroom to deliberate. At 9:00 a.m. the following day, the jury notified the judge that they had reached a verdict, and the court was reconvened. The judge asked the foreman of the jury if they had reached a verdict; he answered, “Yes your honor we have.” The judge then said, “The defendant will rise and face the jury.” The judge ordered the foreman to read the verdict. In a strong voice, the foreman read, “We the jury find the defendant, George Thieme, not guilty as charged.”