As the volume of maritime commerce increased through the late 1850’s, the maritime community united to request the placement of a light at the western end of the Apostles to serve as a guide for vessels out of Duluth attempting to thread their way through the islands on their way to the ports of Bayfield and Ashland.

Sitting 1 ½ miles off the mainland, and at a diminutive mile in length, and ½ mile in width at its widest point, Raspberry Island was one of the smallest of the islands in the archipelago. However, its was deemed to be the natural location for the Apostles second lighthouse, since a light on the bluff at the southwest point of the island would serve double duty by showing the way to westbound vessels passing Bayfield, and guiding eastbound vessels between Bear and York Islands, and into the channel around the mainland to Bayfield, LaPointe and Ashland below.

Congress appropriated $6,000 for constructing the station on March 3, 1859, and a work crew was dispatched to begin construction on the island during the 1862 navigation season. Work continued through year until winter’s ravages made continuation impossible, and resumed the following spring.

The new structure consisted of a two story, single family wooden frame dwelling with a short square wood tower located at the center of the roof apex. Access to the tower was through a set of steps through the attic located at the top of the second floor landing. Atop the tower, a copper-covered wooden gallery was constructed with a decagonal cast iron lantern installed at its center.

The district lampist arrived at the station to install the station’s Fifth Order Fresnel, and carefully adjusted the clockwork rotational mechanism to ensure that the lens rotated at the precise speed to exhibit the station’s chosen characteristic of a fixed white light varied by a white flash every 90 seconds. The lens stood at a point twenty-seven feet above the building’s foundation, and by virtue of its location atop the bluff boasted a 77 foot focal plane, affording a visible range of 15 ½ miles in clear weather.

Work was close to completion in July, and appointed as Raspberry Island Light Station’s first Keeper, Andrew Cramer arrived on July 11, and set about moving his family and their worldly belongings into the freshly painted dwelling. Cramer climbed the tower stairs to exhibit the station’s light for the first time on the evening of July 20, 1863. Evidently Cramer was not suited for the life of an island keeper, as he was removed from the position on October 16 of that same year, to be replaced by William J. Herbert.

A work party arrived on Raspberry Island in 1868 to quarry stone to place around the base of the LaPointe Light on Long Island, which was in danger of toppling as a result of the sand being blown away from the foundation. Also in this year, it was determined that the interior plaster work in the Raspberry Island dwelling was cracking and peeling badly, and the Lighthouse Board recommended that funds be allocated to allow a complete re-plastering and painting. At this time it was also recommended that a boat dock be constructed, along with steps leading the forty foot bluff to the station. This work was accomplished the following year, making trips to and from the island much simpler for then keeper Lewis Larson.

After implementations of steam operated fog signals in a number of stations on the Lakes, the Lighthouse Board recommended that such a signal be erected at Raspberry Island in its 1881 report.

In the early hours of September 13th, 1887, Francis Jacker was serving alone at the station and became aware of a strong west wind kicking up. Realizing that the station boat was anchored near the dock, and thus in danger of being blown away, he decided to sail the boat around the lea side of the point. As Jacker pulled the anchor, the wind picked up to gale proportions, and he was unable to control the boat, and found himself being pushed away from the island to crash onto the rocky shore of Oak Island to the east.

Dressed in light clothes, Jacker huddled cold and without food for three days as the wind blew, and watched his boat being smashed repeatedly against the rocks. Jacker knew that without an assistant back at the station, the light would have run out of fuel by the first morning, and he was faced with the dual worry of possibly dying of exposure on Oak Island, or being severely disciplined for allowing his light to burn out.

As luck would have it, Jacker’s wife was delivered to Raspberry Island on the 15th, and finding Jacker was absent, managed to re-light the lamp, but could not figure out how to get the clockwork rotational mechanism operating. Fortunately, an Indian passing Oak Island saw Jacker’s furtive waves, and delivered him to the light station, where Jacker and his wife no doubt had an emotional reuniting. Jacker reported the incident to the District Inspector, and rather than finding himself in the deep trouble he feared, was rewarded by official permission to hire his son Edward as his assistant on December 1.

The lighthouse tender AMARANTH arrived at the station with a work party and materials for the construction of a new landing, boat house, stairway up the face of the bluff, and the laying of 327 feet of wood-planked walkways. The district Lampist also arrived to install new bearings in the lamp and make adjustments to allow faster rotation of the lamp to change the characteristic to a fixed white light varied by a flash every minute. The lens was also equipped with an improved kerosene-powered lamp, which afforded the light a 350 candlepower fixed light with a 100,000 candlepower flash, which increased its range of visibility to 16 miles…

With the dawn of the new century, major changes were underway at the station. The landing was again replaced and extended in 1901. 1902 saw the installation of 120-feet of sewer pipes, and 50 feet of drain tile around the kitchen. Storm houses were built at the front and rear entrances, and work on the construction of a brick fog signal to the east of the dwelling was begun.

A combination cast concrete stair and tramway was built up the bluff to the fog signal to allow the transportation of building materials, supplies, and the tons of coal that would be consumed by the steam engines which would be installed to power the duplicate fog whistles. Contracts for the boilers and whistles were let, and a brick oil house of 360 gallons capacity was built at the eastern end of the fog signal building.

The lighthouse tender AMARANTH delivered the boilers, plumbing and mechanical equipment for the fog signals were delivered in 1903, and the fog signal declared ready for operation on September 1 of that year. With the significant increase in workload represented by the activation of the fog signal, Keeper Charles Hendrickson was given permission to hire a 2nd Assistant to work with him and 1st Assistant Henry Baker. To this end, Robert Davenport was appointed to the position, and reported for duty on November 8.

With three keepers assigned to the station, over 1906 and 1907, the main lighthouse building was significantly modified and enlarged to create a true duplex dwelling. When complete, little of the old structure remained, other than some inner foundation walls and the short tower atop the roof. A small wood-framed 2nd Assistant’s cottage was also built next to the barn to the rear of the station.

The station was electrified in 1928 through the installation of a 23 kilowatt diesel driven electric generator in the fog signal building. The steam engines and whistles were replaced with a pair of Type T diaphone fog signals operated by twin diesel powered air compressors in 1933…

Finally, in 1952, the light was automated through the installation of a series of batteries in the fog signal to power a low voltage light on a squat pole in front of the old lighthouse. The station’s Fifth Order Fresnel was removed from the lantern, and was disassembled for placement into storage.

At some time thereafter, the lens was placed on display in the Madeline Island Historical Museum, where it remains on display to this day. The old battery system in the fog signal building was subsequently replaced by a solar powered 300 mm acrylic optic atop the pole, which continues to light the island to this day.

UNCLE BILL LEE was a friend of mine, and he passed away recently after a courageous battle against a body that had served him well for over 81 years, but now finally gave out…

Having had some time to prepare, I can write these words with less tears and more happiness for the times we had together on the Mellen area rivers and lakes that we both called home.

There will be more words in the future that will tell the story of Bill’s life, but for today I wanted to just add my humble words about a man I came to admire for a lot of reasons. For one, he was my late Mother’s brother, for another, he liked to fish — really liked to fish.

And he knew fishing is more than just catching fish, it’s the chance to view nature in all her glory, while swapping a few fish stories among friends who don’t really mind a “fish tale” as long as it’s not overly embellished.

I will leave readers with these few words today about an experience that created a deeper bond between us. Perhaps Bill’s favorite passion was fishing the waters in the summer, on a stretch of river that is mixture of pure wilderness and some damn fine trout, walleye and musky fishing.

This particular day started off fine, late-June with temperatures in the low 70’s, light breeze from the south (hook ‘em in the mouth), when Bill picked me up near Mellen with boat, motor and associated fishing gear in tow.

We put in at our usually location on the river, I got the gear positioned while Bill started the “drama” of cranking up the old 5-horsepower Mercury outboard, a motor that often seemed less dependable than today’s stock market.

Amazingly enough, the little devil started and we began our journey up the river, which always for some reason reminded me of a scene out of “The African Queen,” which featured Humphrey Bogart and Katherine Hepburn taking turns at saving each other’s lives.

Not that the characters in that movie exactly reminded me of our trips, it was the “adventure” around each bend of the wild river that always made my heart beat a little faster. Adventure - big word.

Would there be a dead-head log ahead, submerged rock to hit the motor’s already beaten and nicked propeller, a fallen tree blocking our path? You get the point – river’s change, just like people, every day it seems.

After reaching what Bill always called, “A fine hole for fishing walleye and musky,” we pulled the 14-foot aluminum boat to shore and set about catching the “whopper” that every fisher dreams about, but so seldom brings home.

Fishermen I have known can stretch the truth, but not Bill, he didn’t have to, I was witness to some fine trout, walleye and musky that were fooled by his “fishing technique,” which changed as often as the weather in Wisconsin.

“Have to read the water,” he would say. “Run the boat thru this hole a few times and wake up the fish.” O.K., seemed reasonable, I certainly wouldn’t be out of bed at this time of day.

On this outing, not terribly unlike some other fishing adventures I’ve had, fishing took a back seat to good old Mother Nature. Within a matter of minutes the wind had abruptly switched to the north, bringing with it an artic blast (yes, even in June) that brought a mixture of rain and sleet, along with a spectacular thunder and lightening show, better than fireworks on Thee Fourth of July.

The kind of electrical storm that makes you wonder why any fool would be holding a graphite fishing pole in his hands in an upright position towards the heavens; but I’ve never claimed that “all fishermen” were smart — I am evidence of that fact.

Well any other time the storm wouldn’t have been a big deal, except for one important fact: I forgot all my rain gear and thermal clothing right where I had set it out for the trip, on the kitchen table back home.

“Uncle, Bill,” I said slightly embarrassed and a little bit stressed. “I forgot my damn rain gear and I am going to freeze to death.”

Might as well face facts head on…

“Yes, I can see that,” Bill mumbled, knowing that fishing was done on this day, but he surprised me and said no more on the subject. Perhaps, he had been in the same situation a time or two…do you think?

End of story — Bill shared his parka until the worst of the storm had passed, I wrapped myself in some dirty old tarp that was in the bottom of the boat, and we went home the same way we came…fishermen to the end.

Slightly battered, but never beaten. There were other days we would fish the mystic waters that have almost timelessly etched formations on the boulders in the streams and lakes created during the bedrock of time.

I would later call Bill, or he would call me, “Hey, wanna go fishing? Looks like a good day.”

“Thanks, Uncle Bill, those times were indeed the very best…  ( Now let me tell you about the Gold Mine Creek episode, nope, another time, maybe) … hope to see you around the next bend in the river…”

Jeff Peters

Note: If anyone would like to share a story about Bill Lee, please email me at peters@ceas.coop  and I will post it on The ECHO website for his friends and family to read.

I Hiked to Potato River Falls with Bill once.  I loved his stories and the attentive brightness about everything.  He had a very loong stride.  — Dave Strzok   

A long time friend and former teacher, Dave Strzok, once told me, “The loss of an elderly person is equal to losing an encyclopedia.” How true!  It is one of the main reasons I started The ECHO, so people like Bob Dahl, Helen Chapple, Bob Mackreth and Mike Brecke, and so many more can record the important memories from their past. Winston Churchill perhaps said it best: “The farther backward you can look, the farther forward you can see.” Bill Lee could see a long way back…I can only add “embrace” your heritage. It’s the fabric of our lives. — Jeff Peters, publisher of The ECHO

“Walleye Willy, my Dad’s uncle, made the best pancakes in the world,” — Jill Anne Peters

“I knew Bill primarily as Commander of the Mellen VFW.  In 10 years, we did ceremonies together 20 or 25 times.  My image of Bill is as a tall, handsome man with the bearing of the ex-Marine, former Ashland County Sheriff that he was.  He looked the commander part, but he always had a twinkle in his eye, a good sense of humor and some great stories.

I visited him in the nursing home about a week before he died.  He was tired and pale, but he still had that sense of humor and used his waning energy to tell a couple of stories.  He let me know that he was ready to give up the struggle.  The nurses fussed over him like he was their own dad.  He had that effect on people.” — State Representative Gary Sherman, (D-Port Wing) 

“Bill Lee was a very good friend, my brother-in-law, and some one I could always trust, because his word was his bond. My family will miss him a great deal.” – Howard Peters

MY MEMORIES OF A FATHER AND HIS SON – “Sunday summer afternoons in the early 60’s were deadly quiet at Bill Guerin’s Shell Station.  Most often the entire town was at a baseball game, out at Copper Falls State Park having a picnic, or just taking it easy in a backyard or on a front porch.

I remember as if it were yesterday when he first appeared.  I knew him by sight, a distant sight, because as a young child I received a severe scolding from my mother for going into the “pool hall” next to Block’s market.  He was Mr. Lee or to some “Old Man Lee,” but to most he was just Mr. Lee.

That day I was sitting at the desk in the gas station and the doorway was suddenly darkened with his shape.  He wasn’t tall but he always dressed in a suit, he always wore a hat and carried a cane.  When he came in, I immediately jumped to my feet.  He smiled and said something about it being a lazy day.  He walked slowly by me and then sat at the chair at the desk where I stood next to, carefully removed a cigar from his inside coat pocket (a William Penn if I remember right), unwrapped it, and began to smoke.

He looked at me with that mystical and devilish twinkle in his eye and said, “You’re Marvin’s boy.”  I acknowledged as how that was true.  I remember his skin.  It looked translucent, his blue veins stood out on his hands as he smoked.  When the cigar was coming to the end of its life, he removed a toothpick from another pocket in his coat and slipped it into what was becoming a stub, and continued to smoke.

He didn’t tell many stories that day.  But it seemed that it became a summer Sunday afternoon ritual for him to come to the gas station and sit and smoke.  One day the stories began…. there were Mellen stories and Cozy Valley Stories and stories of his family and of people whose names I had only heard mentioned by other people in other stories.

There was always a twinkle in his eye and a smile playing delicately on his lips when he told these stories.  His voice was no longer as strong as I imagined it once was, but there was such life in his words.  His stories were compelling and I wish now that I had written them down.  My favorites were Pool Hall Stories.  He used to laugh softly as he remembered.  Some times he would sip an ice-cold Coke or Dr. Pepper.

After a while, as a teenager with much to learn, I looked forward to these visits.  When Mr. Lee didn’t come one a summer Sunday, I worried.  When he returned I breathed a sigh of relief:  Mr. Robert E. Lee was there again, smoking a cigar again, telling stories. 

During those days when customers rang the bell I almost always ran to wait on them just so I could return to the world of words and memory that were mine when I stood by the desk at Bill Guerin’s Shell Station and listened to the man with the cigar remember his life.

And now his son has died. Bill Lee. Memories flood my heart and stir my soul…

Bill after the war in his uniform hanging out with my uncle Chuck Kaseno on the 4th of July in Mellen after the parade had passed in the early 1950’s. I remember they drank a few adult beverages and told stories and laughed, told more stories and laughed some more…

Bill Lee working so hard on baseball in Mellen.  Working to see that we had a city team that would entertain us on Sunday afternoons in the summer months.  Baseball and basketball were always important in my hometown.  But baseball, there was always something special about Mellen and baseball.

I remember Bill in his Ashland County Sheriff’s uniform doing his job.  Sometimes his work involved our family.  It was Bill who came and brought the news of my Uncle Guy’s death.  I remember him standing with my father in the backyard, watching facial expressions as the news was brought and our world was changed.

I remember Bill as Postmaster of Mellen.  I remember him in Mary’s Beehive, drinking coffee, talking with Basil George Kennedy.  Bill was always a part of Mellen life.  I remember a fishing trip he took with my brother-in-law Jeff, me and my son.  It was a trip up the Marengo River.  A trip when we didn’t catch fish, but when we lived life and learned a great deal and swapped stories.

In recent years I remember Bill Lee as he walked in his last few 4th of July parades.  He was a man who cared about his city and his state and his country, but most of all; I think he cared about people.  Perhaps this is Bill’s greatest legacy:  the lives he touched, the ballplayers he helped become men, the words he used when he was the law in our county.

When a person lives out his life in one place watching one generation flow into the next, he can change a community just by his presence and what he does with his own life. 

I can picture the stories he might have heard from his dad, for I heard some of those stories at the now defunct Shell gas station.  I also know some of the stories that Bill Lee wrote with his life, the rest I can only imagine.” – Mike Brecke

LOGGING IN THE EARLY 1900′S…Wisconsin Style

 Logging in the early 1900’s was Tough Profession

 A BLOODY encounter in Mellen between a bar keeper and lumberjacks

Everyone knows logging is one of the most dangerous professions. Lumbermen work amid falling tress, using powerful equipment in rugged, remote conditions. In one recent year, government statistics ranked logging as the second most perilous of all occupations, surpassed only by another traditional Northland pursuit: commercial fishing.  

If the statistics were not enough to convince you, a casual exploration through back issues of local newspapers in the early Twentieth Century will illustrate the sacrifices that workers in the timber industry have made through the years. Headline after headline tell of injuries and deaths in the many lumber camps of northern Wisconsin.

Take one spot as an example: Stockton Island, in the Apostles Islands, in the old days known to many as Presque Isle. The Bayfield Press of Aug. 20, 1909, reported, Theodore Kerwin, of Duluth, was killed Wednesday at the camp of the Schroeder Lumber Co. on Presque Isle. He was standing near the landing and in some unknown manner a log fell, bringing several more with it which knocked the man down, rolling over him and crushing out his life.

Some years later, in a particularly poignant incident, a young man named Hugh Perin was hit by a falling branch and killed on the same island. Not only was Perin, of Russell Township, only 21 years old, but the accident took place in his first week on the job as a lumberjack.

When told this story, one old-timer from Russell recalled that another Perin boy was also killed in a logging-related accident: crushed when a sawmill turned over on him in a freak accident. 

The particular hazards of island logging, and the lack of access to emergency care, finally got to be too much for the loggers who worked on Stockton Island. In January, 1913, the Press reported a near-insurrection in the Schroeder Company logging camp:

One of the men employed in the camp of the Schroeder Lumber Co. on Presque Isle arrived in Bayfield last Saturday after a most hazardous trip by water, land, and ice to report the injuries received by two of the lumbermen last Friday employed in logging operationson the island. The man came, hoping to secure medical services to return to the island and administer to the injured men and attend a case of sickness which was reported as smallpox, but which later proved to be nothing so serious.  

Conditions are such that no boat could get out of the local harbor Saturday afternoon as ice was making too rapidly, and as a result no doctor could reach the island. The first of the week, however, Dr. Dell Andrus, of Ashland, came over and went to the island where he found one man suffering with a double fracture of an arm and another with a broken leg, both caused by the giving way of supports beneath skids (logging skids, or sleighs, transported logs and were usually pulled by a team of horses or oxen), logs striking the men injured.  

During the past two days many of the men employed on the island have given up their jobs and came in to, not caring to work in a place where, if injured, it would be difficult to secure medical attention. Fourteen of the crew came over yesterday, in many places passing over ice which cracked and sank beneath their weight.  

The men stated that nearly 250 men are at work on the island, but that many will undoubtedly quit in a few days, fearing some mishap, similar to that of their companions, might befall them.

If working in the woods was not dangerous enough, now and then lumberjacks found other ways to add to the carnage in their off-duty hours. The Bayfield Press of January 27, 1911, reports one such incident:

Friends in Bayfield of John Gordon received word that he had been killed in a street fight at Mellen, Wis., late last Saturday night. A. J. McAdams, of Superior, was also killed in the same battle, and Martin Miller, a lumberjack, is being held by the authorities, charged with the double killing. 

Gordon and McAdams and several other men came to town Saturday from Finch Brother’s camp about ten miles from Mellen. Late Saturday night in a saloon, Gordon became involved in an argument with a bartender. One of the men, so it is said, reached across the bar and struck the bartender in the face, knocking him down.  

 The men were then all ejected from the saloon. Miller, it is claimed, took the bartender’s part and with the latter attempted to “double up” on the man who did the slugging inside.  

Gordon and McAdams attempted to interfere whereupon Miller, picking up a big club in the street, struck McAdams across the head and then assaulted Gordon with the weapon. McAdams dropped unconscious to the street and died almost immediately. Gordon also died within a few minutes after the blow was struck. 

Sure sounds like Martin Miller was a man you would not want to mess with!

Unquestionably, though, the most bizarre ending for any Northwood’s logger had to be the 1912 death of John Kobus, in a ship’s smokestack at a Bayfield dock on Lake Superior.

As the Press reported, Engineer Supple, of the steamer Superior, had a very strange experience and a sensation that he was “hearing things” Wednesday morning, when at five o’clock he opened the firebox preparatory to steaming up for the day’s work. Three times he hesitated before throwing in the coal, feeling sure that he heard a man’s voice nearby. He went outside and looked around but not seeing anyone decided to get busy which he did by throwing several shovels of coal onto the fire.  

At this moment the voice was again heard and as Mr. Supple stepped out on the dock he discerned the figure of a man leaning against the smokestack. He called to him to get down, but received no answer.  

 Efforts were then made to assist the apparently half-frozen man to get down, whereupon quickly removing his coat and vest, the stranger jumped into the smokestack, landing on the boiler some distance below. 

Mr. Supple, realizing that no human being could live long in such a place, rushed onto the boat and shut off all drafts. The stack was removed and the man, nearly smothered from gas and coal smoke, was taken to the Bayfield Light and Power Co. plant and a physician was called. 

When consciousness was restored, the man gave his name as John Kobus, aged 52, and stated that he had worked in Hines’ camp near Ashland for 12 days. He arrived in Bayfield Tuesday night and during the storm found his way to the boat. The last he remembers, he was trying to keep warm.

Not surprisingly, the next week’s paper carried the news of Kobus’s subsequent death in an Ashland hospital. Though his last words were not recorded, one can’t help thinking that they may well have been, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

By Bob Mackreth, Washburn, Wisconsin —  — The Badger State    

What readers are saying about The ECHO…

“Paleobiologist J.W. Schopf has observed that for 4/5’s of our history the world was populated by pond scum.  The Echo is doing a great job of chronicling what has happened during the remaining 1/5 in Wisconsin.  Every edition has been great!  Keep up the good work.”

Don Baur, Washington, D.C.

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Dear Jeff,
Just a short note to offer you my gratitude for the use of a photo you took at my installation. I also want to offer my compliments and the promise of my prayers as you continue the great work of publishing The Echo. You capture so beautifully the life of Wisconsin on the southern shore of Lake Superior. Your photos inspire my desire to once again pick up a brush and paint. Blessings to you and the work you do.”

In gratitude,
Diocese of Superior Bishop Peter F. Christensen

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Dear Jeff,
“I want to thank you for publishing The Echo.  Your emphasis on Wisconsin history, excellent writing and remarkable collection of photographs make each issue a collector’s item.  Good job!”
 
Carolyn Sneed, Washburn, WI

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“The fascinating history of Northern Wisconsin, from the forests of the North Woods to the shores of Lake Superior, has long been overlooked. It’s wonderful to see The Echo filling that gap with such style.”

Bob Mackreth, retired National Park Service historian

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Hi, Jeff,
“The paper is really neat–I shared my copy with Wendee today. I do believe you are on to something here… As we age, we certainly enjoy some stories from the past and the memories shared in The Echo are super!” 

Kathy Wagner, Park Falls, WI

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“Jeff, I wanted to tell you that the Christmas issue of The Echo was absolutely fantastic:  from the layout, pictures (and their quality), to the articles. It was just a super little Christmas treat.  You should be very proud.”

Dr. Kevin McClelland, M.D., Ashland, WI

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“Jeff, I thought your November-December edition of The Echo was outstanding! The color photos, historic photos and the history were exceptional. Best small newspaper in the Nation.”

Pete Jensch, Tualatin, Oregon

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“The Echo is really a breath of fresh air… I like the recipes too.  Good job.  I’ll get a check out to you for a subscription by next week.”

Bridget Burns, Molokai, Hawaii

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“I enjoyed the March-April 2008 Echo. I especially like the history of the lighthouse on Sand Island as there were some new things in it that I hadn’t known about during its construction.  Art Harris’ article on the Allen boy was also very interesting to read.  To have made the ultimate sacrifice in that war was such a shock for the small town of Bayfield.  I believe “Wattse” Soulier died before Merlin, but loosing the two of them in the prime of their lives shook up the town for quite awhile. I have never been to the Lake Superior ice caves, so your pictures took me there without getting cold. Good job.”

Bob Dahl, Jacksonville, Florida

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Jeff, This paper is wonderful and I hope you get many more subscriptions. I’m also very impressed with the article on your family. That is quite an honor.”
 
Mary Schueller, Richfield, WI

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Hi, Jeff,
Got my copy of The Echo and it is wonderful! I haven’t had a chance to read everything, but it looks like a great issue. Keep up the good work and let me know if you want another story some day.”

Virginia Hirsch, Bayfield, WI

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Hi Jeff,
All components to The Echo were wonderful to read, but as you could expect I was excited that the Rocky Island (Apostle Islands) contribution was very well received by my parents, Barby Brown, and me.  Thanks for that entry into a wonderful newspaper dedicated to our past.”

Bob Nelson, Bayfield, WI

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Dear Jeff,
“…keep up your very interesting work on The Echo, I read each issue of it completely. I always find the stories about people, places, etc. very interesting.”

Merle Lang, Waupaca, WI

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Hi, Jeff,

“I read your paper – and what a paper it is! All the stuff you have in there is amazing. Enclosed is my subscription to the ECHO for the upcoming year, and thank you again for a fine product.”

Mr. A. Beardsley, Taylorville, Illinois

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“Jeff, I was very impressed with your newspaper – The Echo.”

Bill Wulff, Sugar Grove, Illinois

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Dear Jeff,

We’ve been receiving and enjoying the “Echo” for about a year and a half and we usually enjoy the articles and especially the photos.  But this last issue was really
extraordinarily fine.  We particularly liked the articles about the
Lattimer house and Julius Austrian (though the “Piano” piece and the
one about Sand Island were pretty good too).  Once again, the photos
were superb, the lighthouse on the first page and the inner fold
especially, but also the historical photos.

Thanks for providing so much pleasure with the pieces of history.

Sincerely,

Bob and Jeanne Tabachnick
Madison, Wi
UW-Madison Professors

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Jeff  — The last Echo is awesome–loved the stories!  The ECHO keeps getting better with each issue…

T.L.P.

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Jeff,
Just a short note to let you know how much I enjoy your ECHO newspaper.   
It’s great to read about the history that one’s parents & grandparents had lived …

Al and Peggy Benson                      
Palmer, AK  99645

David Wroblewski, author of The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. Wroblewski grew up on a farm in central Wisconsin. (Echo photo by Jeff Peters)

Dear Echo Readers:

Dogs are the centerpiece of The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, such as Ginger, a Golden Retriever photographed at a farm near Mellen. (Echo photo by Jeff Peters)

Here is a question and answer segment with one of America’s hottest authors, David Wroblewski. His best-selling novel, The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, is based in and around my hometown of Mellen, Wisconsin.

It was a pleasure to team up with my former colleague, Claire Duquette, editor of Ashland, Wisconsin’s Daily Press, to photograph the author while Claire interviewed him.

Without further ado, it’s the ECHO’s privilege to introduce David, who grew up on a central Wisconsin farm just off famous State Highway 13 near Pittsville, about 150 miles south of Mellen.

Q.: Are you officially a full-time author now?

A.: As of March I’m in free fall, officially a full-time author. It’s a little scary, which is good. I think it’s good to be a little frightened by what you’re taking on. It keeps you honest.

Q.: You worked on this novel a long time. How did you get the ideas for the novel?

A.: I never know how to answer this question honestly. I have a terrible memory and I tend to revise in retrospect. When you’ve been working on a project this long, remembering accurately can be a real problem. My earliest notes go back to the mid-1990s. I do know a lot of the initial ideas for this story came very quickly in the course of one afternoon. I’d been taking short story writing classes in the early 90s. And I knew I wanted to try writing a novel, and I knew it was a personal project. I wasn’t aiming at publication. I was aiming at writing a novel because I knew I would learn from it, and I was interested in dogs and I was interested in Wisconsin, and I wanted to write about where I came from, and I wanted to write about dogs because they matter to me. Our lives with animals matter to me. And I wanted to tell a story that I had a certain emotional response to - and I wanted to create in other people that emotional response.

Q.: Did you achieve that goal?

A.: Over the course of writing, I did. The book that I finally submitted for publication is probably the closest I could get to what I imagined within my talent.

Q.: Can you describe that emotional response you referred to?

A.: Let me answer that two different ways.

There’s the response of me as the author, with something that has gone out into the world, and I’m very proud of that in the way I would be very proud of my kid going out and graduating from college or something.

My response as reader is … I have every emotion towards the story. What I imagined when I started was something that would involve me at a level of happiness and joy as a reader and something that was as sad and as devastating as I think the best fiction can be.

Mellen's unique City Hall, which is over 100-years-old and listed on the National Register of Historic Places, is mentioned in the best-selling book. (Echo photo by Jeff Peters)

Q.: The novel is a success. Does that put pressure on you for the next book?

A.: I think there are expectations, but I don’t have a book under contract and I’m free to write whatever I want right now. One of the advantages of this happening to me relatively late in life - I’m 49 years old - is that I’ve made a lot of things in the world of software; I’m also a practicing photographer. I’ve learned many times over that when you start a project, you never know how it’s going to end, even if you think you know.

I’m not at all alarmed about expectations or anything like that. What’s important for me is that there’s material out there. I have a new character I am fascinated by, I’m in love with him in the same way I was in love with Edgar Sawtelle. I want to look at his life and I want to understand him.

Q.: How do you work?

A.: I aspire to a very structured way of writing. The fact is, it’s pretty chaotic. What I know is that for a first draft, I need to be in my office at home, which is so familiar it’s boring. I’m easily distracted. For a first draft, it never works for me to go somewhere else. Revision is different. I can do that in a lot of places. In fact, I love doing that in a lot of places. But when the page is blank to begin with, I need some sensory deprivation (laughs). I used to be a nighttime writer but I undertook a deliberate process to shift myself to be an earlier writer. Now that I’m doing a first draft again I’m finding that morning writing isn’t working for me really well. The first drafts kind of come to me at night despite having shifted. I get up at 5 a.m. every morning, as does my partner Kimberly, who is a poet. We don’t say a word to each other and we go off to our separate offices and then she goes off to work and when I was working outside the house I would go off to work. Usually the first time we would talk was in the evening when we would both come home. Now she goes off, and we still don’t talk until she comes home (laughs). Sometimes we call each other during the day and say “What are we doing for dinner tonight? What groceries do we need?”

Q.: Does that mean you do more of the cooking?

A.: I wish I did more. Now that I’m traveling so much we don’t have a regular schedule. The plan is for me to do more of the cooking because I’m there and it’s a nice break from the writing.

Q.: How many drafts did Sawtelle go through?

A.: I’d say 12. It was nothing so neat as one pile of paper, then another pile of paper. I have boxes full of drafts in the storage locker that we rent. Sometimes a draft for me was to just cut, not do anything but go through and just cut. In fact, this book was about 25 percent longer than it is now. I had been submitting it to agents and getting rejected right off the bat every time on the basis of the size. The answer was always, “You’re a first time author and it’s a big novel, and that’s a recipe for never being published.”
I rejected those comments out of hand in my kind of ornery way. Well, first of all, I never thought the book was going to be published, so why should I change it to make somebody happy when it’s not going to be published, right? But then I gave it to somebody who was in a workshop that I was in, and he said “I really, really like it. You should cut 20 percent out of every single page.” And I said to myself, “Oh, that really hurts.” I can totally ignore it from an agent who’s rejecting me anyway, but someone who gets it, and who’s a writer, I have to pay attention to. So one of the drafts was a cutting-only draft and I took about 20 percent out. And, lo and behold, after I did that, I found an agent.

Q.: What kind of research did you do in Mellen?

A.: I had one main research trip up here where I was here for about 10 days and camped in various places. I would write some, but mostly I was here to understand the town, understand the countryside, so I could see how it was different from what I was used to in central Wisconsin. I wanted to get the land right most of all. Actually, I felt very free to alter Mellen to be anything I wanted it to be. I mean, it was going to be a small town, but I had no qualms about taking liberties. But I wanted the description of the land used in Edgar’s time in the forest to be as real as I could make it. As it turns out, I didn’t have to alter much about Mellen. I wanted the city hall to be there because I’m very fond of that building.
Joe Barabe’s book, A Journey into Mellen, was the clincher in terms of picking a town.

Q.: What was it like coming back this time?

A.: I’ve been looking forward to this ever since the book came out. I sent Joe [Barabe] a galley copy of the book early on. Before the book came out, I wanted the town to know they were in the book. I was very self-conscious about doing this. It seemed like such a strange thing to do, to call someone and say, “By the way, I’ve appropriated your town and I’ve put it into my book.” If it had been a big city that would’ve been one thing, but in a small town it’s more personal. I was hoping that somehow during the book tour, which took place in June and July, that it would make sense to sort of swing up here and do a reading in Mellen, but it didn’t. I said, “Well, I’m just going to go up there myself.” It was just a matter of timing. I actually intended to do it early in the fall, and then we found out about the Oprah selection and didn’t want to do it until after that was done.

Q.: So what about Oprah? How does that work? Does your publisher call and say “Oprah wants you?”

A.: No, Oprah called me. I got a call in the morning from (publisher) Harper Collins saying “You should stay by the phone today. Someone from the Oprah show is going to call.” They didn’t know who, but when the phone rang it was actually her and we just talked about the book. It was really a fan call. She was calling to say “I really liked the book and I have some questions,” and so on, and it wasn’t until later that she broached the subject of selecting it for the book club. And, of course, I was delighted. I think the thing that felt wonderful to me was, had she not done that, we still would have had a great conversation about the book. It was like a call from any other reader who had really responded to the material and that’s just delightful.

Q.: Why are dogs so important to you?

A.: There’s a couple different answers. First, I grew up around dogs. I think there’s a little essay on the Oprah.com site about how the very first memory I can recall is a memory of our dog, Princess, when I was a toddler. My folks raised dogs for about five years seriously.

The author's love of dogs is very real in his national best-selling fictional book The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. (Echo photo by Jeff Peters)

Q.: What kind of dogs?

A.: German shepherds at first and then poodles. Actually, we had lots of different kinds of dogs, but mainly because we rescued a lot of dogs from other places. My parents would go to visit other kennels and more often than not, they’d come home with a dog they had bought to rescue it, because they didn’t think it was being treated well. So all our house dogs were Pekinese, Manchester terriers and Pomeranians and so on. They tended to be little dogs. And I had an outside dog who was pretty wild. His name was Prince. He was a shepherd-collie mix of some kind, and he’s the prototype of Forte in the book. He was dumped by our place and we had to lure him in, and he became bonded to our yard - but he was kind of wild, always. You could never put a leash on him or a collar, but he was very protective of the yard. He defended it against all threats, imaginary and otherwise.

In any case, who knows why certain people respond to dogs the way they do? There’s something really primitive about it to me. My feeling is that we evolved as a species along with dogs. They are the oldest animals that we have lived with. I don’t think we domesticated them, because you can’t domesticate something unless you have a domicile, and as far as I can tell the earliest dogs that lived with us did so before we built houses in the last Ice Age. It certainly predates anything we could call civilization, and I think that changed us. However that changed us resonates more in some people’s lives, and that’s certainly true with me.

Q.: What kind of dog do you have?

A.: That’s my one big secret. That’s because the Sawtelle dogs are a fictional breed of dog, and I believe that if I went around talking about my dog, Lola, everyone would say, “Yes, it’s a fictional breed, but it’s really a Chihuahua,” or whatever. One of the great things about this book for me is listening to other people describe the Sawtelle dogs to me, because everyone describes them differently. Once I understood that by making the breed of dog a fictional breed, readers would make them up for themselves. Watching that dynamic in process has just been great fun. It’s the best single decision I made around this book. The dogs are deliberately under-described in the book. I wanted to put in enough detail to make them just barely real. It’s a risky thing to do, because the writer’s general rule is everything has to be concrete detail. So it was a very delicate line I was trying to walk.

Q.: Why is Edgar mute?

A.: The real answer to every question about what is in this book is: Because I experimented with it, and the experiment succeeded. Had the experiment not succeeded I wouldn’t have done it that way.

Part of my interest in animals is also an interest in language and the ways in which human language gets in the way, or fails, or can be used inappropriately. Or how the right way of phrasing something can change your conception of the entire situation, or just finding the right way to say something is in and of itself a solution to a problem. Very early on, I was stumped about how to make language an element of the story as opposed to the medium in which the story is being told.

Then somewhere along the line, I had very minor oral surgery that involved a stitch in my tongue in just the wrong spot so that it made it hard for me to talk for a few days, so I didn’t talk, because I couldn’t talk right. I conducted my ordinary life the same except that I didn’t say a word for the better part of a week - and I discovered that I started noticing things because I wasn’t talking. And I made a little note at the time: This is really interesting. I see things more clearly because I’m not talking and I ought to find a way sometime to use that in a story. I found that I was able to weave Edgar’s muteness in such a way that it raised questions about language.

Storm clouds built over a Wisconsin farm in north Wisconsin this past summer. Dogs and farms have always had a connection in people's heart and soul, a fact echoed in The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. (Echo photo by Jeff Peters)

Q.: Who are some of your favorite authors?

A.: I’m crazy about William Maxwell, who passed away a few years ago. He’s the author of So Long, See You Tomorrow, probably the best single book written about the Midwest ever. It just captures so much correctly you could reconstruct the entire Midwest from this book.

I like Richard Russo a lot - I was lucky enough to study with him. He writes about small town life and does it brilliantly.

Cormick McCarthy - I have idiosyncratic choices among his books. I understand why he’s criticized as being mannered, but I don’t agree.

Q.: How do you read books?

A.: Slowly. I didn’t used to be a slow reader but I’m getting slower every year. There are two possible explanations: One is, I’m getting dumber, and the other is that by having written a book I’m more tuned into the craft so when I read, I’m reading at several levels at once, so I go slower. It’s a little distressing. I just can’t keep up. It feels to me like it ought to be the other way around: Now that I understand fiction a little better, I should be able to consume more books and instead I can consume less.

Q.: Do you enjoy books more or less as a result?

A.: Differently, and possibly less. Once you know how the magician does the trick, you can never get back to the very simple pleasure of just being amazed. It’s not without its penalties, being a writer, because reading is one of my favorite things to do.

Q.: Are reviews hard to read?

A.: I don’t read them. My original plan was to set them aside and take a weekend and read them all in a batch when I thought the book had run its course in the public eye and see what there was to learn. There’s a few I’ve read, and there are some that like it, some that don’t like it, and some that like it with reservations. I think it’s inevitable the whole spectrum of opinion will come out. What’s troubling are spoilers. That’s part of why I’ve stopped reading the reviews, because I just sort of curl up inside when I see somebody doing a review that gives away story elements that were supposed to be presented in context as part of the reading experience.

Q.: Will there be an Edgar Sawtelle movie?

A.: The movie rights haven’t been sold. I have very mixed feelings about the book being made into a movie. I put my heart and soul into the book and I don’t know how I feel about the book being not exclusively an experience on the page. It doesn’t matter to me if it is never made into a movie.