Wisconsin Hystory #754

As promised, here is the real story behind the Platteville "M". As told by the "experts". Platteville has the world's largest M. The M is a monogram for the former Wisconsin Mining School (now the University of Wisconsin, Platteville). The first M was first constructed in 1936 when two men, Raymond Medley and Alvin Knoerr climbed the Platte Mound and trudged through 2 feet of snow to form a huge letter M. Actual construction of the stone M began in the spring of 1937 and was completed in the fall of the same year. The M is composed of rocks laid on Platte Mound and is whitewashed every year. The M is 241 feet tall, 214 feet wide, and legs that are 25 feet wide.
Okay that's their side of the story. Now, here's the real poop. A couple of guys got lost on their way home from the New Year's Eve Carp Drop in Prairie Du Chein. They climbed to the top of a large mound on the outskirts of Platteville to get their bearings. No landmarks were visible to them. (after all the college, being a mining school, was completely underground.) In an effort to get help they started creating a message on the side of the mound. Their intention was to spell out "WHERE ARE WE?", but they made the first "W" so large that they not only ran out of space but they also ran out of white stones. To further complicate things, the only stones they had to use were white and blended in with the snow-covered mound. Needless to say their message went unseen until the following Spring when the snow melted and a giant "M" was visible for miles around. The bodies of the courageous young men were found, one at either tip of what bypassers viewed as a "M" while in reality the boys original intention was to create a message starting with a "W". You see they were working from the top of the mound so from their vantage point they saw . . .

In following years residents, city and college officials decided that it was easier to promote a "M" from the ground level than to induce tourists to climb to the top to view a "W". A number of attempts were made to change the "M" to other letters, like "A" "A" or "V" but they couldn't come up with a feasible meaning for the abreviation. So they settled for the "Mining College" story and to this day, still hold hopes that sometime in the future Michigan and Minnesota will combine with Wisconsin to form a new Northern Territory, Michconsota. The mound with its giant "M" would be a perfect setting for the territorial capital and people from around the world (or a least from Dickeyville) would dance around the base of the mound and miners, who have been underground for centuries, would emerge to cheering, drunken crowds of "Eminites".
As I revisited the "M" mound last week, I made another really interesting discovery. There, scaling the "M" itself, was a figure in a long black overcoat, a black derby hat and small round spectacles. I drove by then I performed a famous "Blume Uturn" and snuck back to a spot where I could photograph the "mystery man". Pretending to be photographing the entire mound, when I zoomed in on the person, I realized that he drew a striking resemblance to Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec only taller. Could it be that this, until now, unknown tall twin of Henri, suffering from a huge overdose of absinthe, had been lured into this area by the giant "M" believing it to be a sign for the infamous Moulin Rouge. That could be another entirely different story. But, for now, I feel that I've my best to clear up the origin of the big "M".

Monsieur Latrec musing on the mound!

Self portrait - I think not!
Notice the similarity of the pose to that of our Mystery Guy.

Too Much, Too Fast...

Over the past week I've been overloaded with material for blogging. At least three things are more than blogworthy. One is exciting from a personal standpoint, one whimsical from a hystorical standpoint and one is just something that struck my brain the other night during a sleepless period.
Exciting - After almost sixty years I have been contacted by my best high school buddies. For four years the four of us would meet every morning on the bus for school. Now this wasn't one of those Big Yellow school buses that you see packed with kids wearing Nikis and IPod earbugs. No this was a standard CTA (Chicago Transit Authority) commuter bus. We all lived more than an hour from school and were fortunate enough (in spite of what we tell our kids and grandkids) that we didn't have to walk barefoot in the snow for twenty miles, each way. Although we did have to walk a fair distance to the bus stop. The journey involved a long bus ride followed by either a Streetcar or El ride to the hallowed halls of Dumbach Hall, Loyola Academy. The great percentage of students at LA were from the wealthier North Shore section of Chicagoland. Our little gang haled from much humbler stock on the far western area of the city. After graduation our little crew split off to various parts of the country. Rich became a lifetime Navy man (a dentist I believe) a resides with his wife of over fifty years, Sylvia (his high school sweetheart) in Maryland. George, another military lifer, (I understand that he was wounded in Vietnam) is with wife, Anne in Florida. Jerry and his wife, who I did actually cross paths with back in the early sixties when I produced some materials for him at IIT (Illinois Institute of Technology) lives on the lake front in downtown Chicago writing, as he puts it, fiction and poetry. Ken rounds out the group. A retired Northern Trust VP lives with his wife, in of all places, Palatine Illinois. For those of you who don't know. Palatine was our last Illinois residence. I'm sure that this isn't very exciting to the rest of you but it has been just another one of those thrills that has been made possible by these little computing machines. So far in the past year or two I have renewed friendships with no less than dozen people. Being back in contact with them kind of gives me the opportunity to experience things that were happening in other places while I was living in my little world. All in all it's been a wonderful week of reminiscing about those days of DA haircuts and engineer boots, pegged pants and one button roll suit coats. Having malts for breakfast at the corner drugstore and pitching pennies on neighborhood sidewalk at lunchtime. We got a little rowdy on the bus from time to time and had our own renegade intramural basketball team. We didn't win much but we did provide some laughs for the audience (faculty members not included). We were Happy Days. I'm sure a lot of "remember when" stories are going to be filling cyberspace for quite a while and I'm going to enjoy every word.
Hopefully, in the future, I'll have a few pictures of the old "PP" (to the Jesuits that was "the Prowling Panthers" to us it meant something else) to share. Thanks for listening. I'll be back tomorrow with a real Hystorical Wisconsin story.

AMs Gone Wild

One of the main signs of Winter's end is a rite called "Spring Break". Cities in Florida, Mexico and any number of exotic destinations teem with jubilant high school and college kids. On Monday I discovered an entirely different twist to this phenomenon. On a mercy mission to Platteville, in search of discounted Easter chocolate, I encountered something that you won't see on the evening news. As I was driving along the highway something caught my eye. There was a bunch of cute little asses frolicking in a nearby field. Determined to investigate a little closer I zigged and zagged until I found a road that led to that field. As I came over the crest of a hill I found myself in the midst of a scene that would have made teenagers around the world shudder. I had run across, what seemed to be, an Amish Spring Break. On the right side of the road there were groups of boys, fully attired in their blue shirts, black trousers and vests and, naturally, their flat brimmed straw hats. They were engaged in what looked like a completely unorganized game of volleyball. Meanwhile, across the road, sitting on bank of the ditch were their female counterparts. The girls, dressed their black, ankle length frocks, watched admiringly. The astonishing thing about this scene was, there were forty or fifty teenaged kids and not one cel phone, IPod or laptop anywhere in sight. How do they communicate? I really wanted photos of this (probably would have been worth thousands on Ebay) but I live around these people and do respect their "I don't want my picture taken" policy. So with due respect I drove until I was out of sight then I swung a uturn and found a vantage point on a nearby hilltop where I could sneak a shot or two without being detected. I don't think the kids mind but them bearded parents (mainly the Amish men) are a tough bunch armed with pitchforks and biblical curses. I also managed to get a shot or two of those cute little asses that caught my attention initially. A short distance from the main party scene, as I approached the Big "M" (Explanatory story at a later date. This will be a subject for another Wisconsin Hystery Blog) I noticed a small splinter group of Amish kids climbing to the moundtop (like a hilltop only on the top of a mound) I popped off a shot or two pretending that I was shooting the "M".
All in all Monday was a pretty successful day, I experienced a ritual seldom seen by us Englishers and I scored big on leftover Easter candy at Walgreens. Can life get any better?

Amish Volleyball rules -

Thou shalt have no more than ten on a team, Thy buggy is out of bounds,
Thy ball in "Cow Pie" is still in playeth.

A chance meeting in the neutral zone. I think that's about as hot as it gets.

The girl's vantage point on the edge of the parking lot.
Notice, all those are the flashy sport model buggies.

A couple of those cute little "Spring Break" asses.
(And horses and cows.)

The Platteville "M".

A few kids viewing, probably, the only part of the world they've ever seen!

I Stand Corrected

Last week I posted a Blog titled "Way Up Nort". Upon my arrival in Minnesoda I was advised that, not only did I mispronounce Nord wrong, but I also misspelled it doncha know. Now since I bin up here a while ya know, I've brushed up on proper talkin'. We bin seein' the little kid, Eddie and his ma and pa. Dey're all prutty well too anyways. On a hot tip from da TV guy I went a ways up Nord ta see where a bunch of eagles bin hangin' out on some lake with lots of dead fish. When I got up der da froze up lake was all full of water and, I guess dem eagles musta ate up all dem dead fishes, cuz they were gone ya know. (Probably the same bunch we seen last week by La Crosse heading further Nord.) So I bin jus spending time any how eatin' watchin' the T and V and diddlin' with the computing machine while Eddie's ma and grandma run around doin' what ever he asks. His dad, Uncas, takes off in the mornin' for someplace he calls work while I study the lifestyles of the Nordwegian and the rest of dose blond folks at malls and liqueur stores. Tomorrow, if I manage to drag Grandma away, we head back down Soud to da Fennimore town. It'll be good to get home and start talking good old Wisconsin lingo again a na hey? I had planned on a lot of great eagle pictures but I found a better subject right here.

Here's Fast Eddie da new kid dat lives up Nord!

I got the feelin' this kid's going to be an orator.
Or an opera singer.

Maybe a politician. He's already trying to pat himself on the back.

Time to quit. I think he's getting bored.

Way up Nort

Packing up to spend a week with the new Grandkid, Eddie. The nice thing about having a Mac Mini is that you can pack it up and take along on trips. Fortunately Sally and Uncas have an extra monitor just waiting to hook up with Mini. I plan to do some creative roaming around the Twin Cities while Grandma does her baby spoiling voodoo that she doo soo well. Hopefully I'll find some stuff Blogable or at least get inspired enough to make something up ala Wisconsin Hystery. I keep hearing about all these folks that are traveling and it makes us seem like a couple of Wisconsin tree stumps. Some old friends from Illinois who now live in Oregon are on a major journey across our country. I keep seeing posts from them in a different city or state everyday. Maybe we can detour them through Fennimore on their way West and hear the tales of their travels. One of my favorite Bloggers, Evilbear, is heading from his home in in Crystal Lake, Ill to explore, and photograph, the far northwestern portions of his state. In both cases lots of exciting photos are expected. (For a photographic treat check out http://evilbearphotography.blogspot.com/ this guy's a serious amateur photographer who makes wonderful pictures) These are just two of many of our friends who are running loose in the world while we try to decide which route to take to Minneapolis.
The next words you read on this site will be coming to you from the home of tall blonds, big malls, Super Targets, Best Buy and an undomed Major League Team. (And Prairie Home Companion)

The pea pod is finally ripe!
The "Jolly Green Giant" would be mighty proud of this little sprout.

New Arrival

Well the new Grandkid finally showed up. On March 17th, St Patrick's Day, Edward David Nimz, assisted by the probing and coaxing of Mom, Dad and the hospital staff, made his entrance into our lives. His late arrival (11 days later than predicted) made for some interesting moments in our household. Grandma Jo had been fully prepared for weeks, ready to swoop up to Minnesota to offer her grandmotherly support. The trunk of the car was filled with suitcases and gifts for both male and female infants. Not knowing the sex ahead of time necessitated purchasing both pink and blue stuff. (Anyone having a baby girl soon?) Ready to heat and eat meals were prepared. Finally the call came around 3am on the 17th. I managed to restrain Jo for a few hours before we made our Northern dash. (As an example of how hastily we left, after our return Jo went to make some toast for breakfast Saturday morning only to find a slice already in the toaster. Seems as how it had been forgotten in the rush.) I guess I'd better include the vital statistics. (to a man that usually consists of, "It's a boy!") For those who need a little more info - Edward David, 8 pounds 5 ounces, 20 and a half inches tall, 10 fingers, 10 toes and strong lungs. He likes long walks in the woods, happy movies, laughter and candlelight dinners of Italian food. (At least that what his ad on eHarmony says) After Jo was satisfied that Eddie knew who she was and that spoiling classes would start next week, we returned to Fennimore (and 3 day old toast).
Now what could compete with anything as exciting as a new born grandchild? Well our trip home came close. Anyone who visits this blog very often knows my thing for eagles. We started down The River Friday afternoon hoping to spot an eagle or two fishing in the spots where the ice had broken up. We saw one, then another and another and another. I mean there were eagles in the trees, on the ice, and in the air. Some were just sitting around while others were performing what seemed to be a courting ritual. As well as spotting all these eagles we saw at least a dozen nests along the way. Considering that these were visible from the road one can only imagine how many more are stashed away out of sight. I'd say that those big guys are no longer endangered. I have a lot of excuses for not taking any photos but the real reason was that on the way up on Wednesday morning, I had seen a whole bunch of eagles in a back water area at the Minnesota/Wisconsin border and I was hoping to get back there while it was still light. When I made it back to the area I certainly wasn't disappointed. There on the ice in the trees and in the air there was easily a hundred or more eagles. I assume that this is a migration coming up from farther South heading up to their Summer quarters. Naturally the view, at least for photography, was somewhat obscured by twigs and brush making focusing very difficult. (It would have been an ideal situation for my blog friend evilbear with his new wideangle lens) We parked and just watched for a little while then continued on home feeling pretty satisfied, a new grandkid and tons of eagles. That all adds up to a really great couple of days.I finally finished painting the laboratory and have started preparing for a week long stay with Eddy and family next week. Grandma Jo, who is happily splitting her time between Saffie and Eddie, has gotten her second wind and is ready to face the challenge. Hey! Spoiling is no easy job!

Little Eddie - The Early Days

Mom, Dad and Eddie (Sally, Uncas and Edward)

Sammy doesn't know what to make of this new arrival.

Grandma Jo at work.

The Grandpa touch. (How about those new glasses)

A few of our fine feathered friends.

Oh Deer! part II

In my last post I mentioned that lately Eagle sightings are outnumbering Deer sightings. Saturday, after crossing The River into Iowa to drop off a few bucks at a Riverboat Casino, we decided to return home taking the road south on the Iowa side of The River. With all of the recent thawing and field fertilizing, I figured that we would encounter dozens of Eagles. Uh uh! Nary a stinkin' bald head in sight. But, the warmer weather did bring out the deer. Fair enough, lost some bucks, saw some bucks. (Well at least this one group of about a bakers dozen.)

Speaking of bakers. Last week I had a hankering for some good old fashioned oatmeal cookies. A simple task that I've performed many times before. Some flour, sugar, eggs and oatmeal beat it all together and, voila! cookies. Except this time, you might say, the oatmeal beat me. I found the friendly round container, with the smiley Quaker guy on it, back in a corner on the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet. I reached it, touched it and dumped it right on my head. Did you know that capturing flying oatmeal is similar to corralling runaway feathers. I did manage to collect enough for my recipe off the counter top. (The full 3 cupfuls that I needed) Then proceeded to gather up the rest of the three or four hundred pounds that was scattered around the kitchen (and some in the dining room). In an effort to keep it off of the floor, I managed to catch large amounts in my shirt pocket, down the back of my neck, in my shoes and in the waistband of my slacks. After a final cleanup with the vacuum, broom and snow blower I got back to baking and in half the time it took to clean up I had six about dozen crispy, golden cookies. Needless to say, the cookies led a very short life but the memory of them lives on with the discovery of little oat flakes here and there around the house. The other day one of my neighbors dropped by to ask if I had lost some oatmeal lately. Seems dog came home covered with it. Beats me?