GROWING UP IN Manitowoc, Wisconsin, I was probably the only ten-year-old boy in the world who dreamed of living in Milwaukee. At that age, my only contact with the city had been the long drives south with my dad to watch the Brewers at old County Stadium. But watching the madness of the place through the car window—the concrete orgies of freeway, the dead-eyed office high-rises, and the charmless tin horseshoe ballpark—I fell into a peculiar kind of love.
It was around that time that Jeffery Dahmer was arrested. The black-and-white details of his horrific decade of carnage delivered to our house every day in the Milwaukee Sentinel piqued my interest even further. A car crash was a once-a-year excitement in our neighborhood, but Milwaukee had played host to unspeakable evil for ten years before anyone even noticed. To imagine that people lived there, I thought. Big league baseball, lousy traffic, and serial murders. . . . But I suppose people have been drawn to other places for less.
This is all to say that my appreciation for Milwaukee has never been typical, and that is the driving force behind this book. I wanted to tell the stories that historians had long ignored, but the city—the living, breathing thing that won my heart at an early age—could never really forget. If all the weirdness and horror within these pages makes someone else out there desire for this place, then I’m glad for it. And if it similarly scares someone away, then I’m glad too.
Before I get to the more substantive acknowledgments, I would like to thank a group of people whom I have never met and who had nothing at all to do with this project. Nonetheless, the following people offered much needed distraction and inspiration during the many hours I spent toiling: H. Jon Benjamin, Bette Davis, Bob Dylan, Steve Earle, Erica Gavin, Carlos Gomez, Pam Grier, Drew Magary, Joe Posnanski, Leon Redbone, Crow T. Robot, Chris Rock, James Rolfe, Roseanne, Tom Waits, and Michael K. Williams.
More to the point of this project, I would like to thank the Wisconsin Historical Society Press, particularly Jane De Broux, Sara Phillips, and Kate Thompson, for giving me the chance to tell the kinds of stories I’ve always wanted to tell. I would also like to thank the staff at the Shepherd Express, particularly David Luhrssen, for doing the same. Thanks are similarly due to Jake and Kaila Chianelli and the entire staff and crew at the Milwaukee Boat Line, for their help and support for the Mondo Milwaukee Boat Tour—the adults-only history tour of the city that was the real nexus of this project. Thanks are also due to the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee history department, particularly professors Joe Austin and Glen Jeansonne, who have taught me that good history need not be dull. Much is owed to Liz Kaune, who edited the early drafts of this work and moved just about every comma I used into its proper place. The resources and staff of the Milwaukee Public Library—especially the staff of the Zeidler Humanities Room—and the Golda Maier Library at UWM were of immense value to this project, as were the many immensely talented journalists who, without bylines, penned the hundreds of resource articles this book used. This book could not have been possible without their florid prose and subtle wit. As in any work, I have stood on the shoulders of giants, specifically Milwaukee historians H. Russell Austin, James Buck, John Gurda, Bayard Still, and Robert Wells.
And of course, I can’t forget the many friends and family who have helped me, supported me, or just plain tolerated me during this process. I could not have made it this far without my parents, Ed and Joan, and my little sister, Angie, who always supported even my dumbest ideas. Much love to you all. And, at the risk of forgetting someone, I’ll just say thanks to all those I’ve hung with, worked beside, whined to, laughed with, laughed at, loved, hated, needed, or forgotten. You know who you are. Make sure to save me a chair at Gee-Wi. Be there just as soon as I get my shoes on.