by Martha Bergland, Ann Christenson, Tea Krulos, Bruce Murphy, and Evan Solochek
Photo by Jake Rhode
Milwaukee Coast Guard Station 1916-2008
It’s odd. Though the Prairie School style of architecture is indelibly associated with Wisconsin’s Frank Lloyd Wright, public buildings in this style were a rarity. Which made the Coast Guard station unique.
It was built in 1916 by a Colonel Wilkham (first name unknown) of the U.S. Coast Guard, but was probably influenced by famed Milwaukee architect Alfred C. Clas, who designed the Lake Park Pavilion and submitted plans for the Coast Guard building that weren’t accepted. The stucco, three-story building with a five-story tower was operated until 1970 by the Coast Guard, and its interior could protect boats that would slide down a dolly to the water.
From 1970 to 1980, the building was occupied by the Indian Community School, thanks to an obscure 19th-century treaty that allowed Indian tribes to reclaim abandoned federal land. After the group left, the building gradually deteriorated, suffering a fire in 1989, moisture damage to the stucco walls, vandalism, graffiti and a leaky roof.
Yet it remained a glorious ruin, one of the last such stations left in the country, listed on the National Register of Historic Places, a moody, lakefront beacon. The Alterra coffeehouse on the lake suggests how the Coast Guard station might have been saved, but the cost of reclamation and pressure from activists who wanted an “all-natural” lakefront spelled its doom. It fell victim to the wrecking ball in March of 2008. – B.M.
Heinemann’s Restaurants 1923-2009
Just days after the world crooned “Auld Lang Syne” to 2008’s passing, fans of the venerable local restaurant chain Heinemann’s were reeling from the loss of grilled coffee cake and baked oatmeal. Once 11 locations strong, in recent years the company was hit by formidable competition and the economic downturn, whittling Heinemann’s down to just three locations, and then none. Shortly after the last obits were written, the Pfister Hotel responded to bereaved buffs with an online reader’s poll to determine Heinemann’s top-three menu items. The winners – the famed grilled coffee cake, veggie burger and jogger’s French toast – live on as featured options on the Café at the Pfister menu. But Heinemann’s owners, alas, are keeping the beloved baked oatmeal recipe a family secret. – A.C.
Brett Favre 1992-2008
Consecutive games started: 291. Career touchdowns: 464. MVP awards: three. People in Wisconsin can rattle off Brett Favre’s career milestones as easily as their children’s names. He was integral in resurrecting the Green Bay Packers’ moribund franchise, and for that, we will be forever grateful. Well, not forever. It turns out all that love and adulation had an expiration date of about July 2008. And now, the man who could do no wrong in the eyes of Packers fans – even when popping pain pills like Tic Tacs or tossing out interceptions like Christmas presents – is about as welcome in this state as a Bears fan guiding a herd of those “happy” California cows. From leading the Pack against the Cowboys to playing one in jeans commercials, yes, it’s been a precipitous drop for this wild-armed QB. And only time will tell if we’ve reached the bottom. After all, he could still come back as a Minnesota Viking. – E.S.
Atomic Records 1985-2009
“It’s these kids and their g-d damn Internet,” says loyal customer Jim Ackerman as he surveys racks of records and CDs on one of Atomic Records’ last days.
It was Milwaukee’s premiere independent music store, beloved by musicians and music fans, and known for its iconic T-shirts with either the atom bomb or fallout shelter design. Atomic Records lasted nearly a quarter-century, ever since Rich Menning opened it in May 1985 after graduating from UW-Madison with a degree in film.
“I really didn’t expect it to last long,” Menning says. But the store became an East Side landmark, its storied history displayed on its walls through a decoupage of band and concert posters. But along came CD burners and Internet downloads, and Atomic couldn’t keep up. After announcing its closing, Menning was flooded with letters and e-mails lamenting the end.
“It’s often hard to read them without tearing up, let alone offer a sincere reply,” Menning says. “I hadn’t realized what Atomic meant to so many people. I appreciate it, although the emotion is so bittersweet.” – T.K.
Lukas Foss 1922-2009
He was not a great conductor. His podium technique was so-so, his tempo was erratic, his vagueness could drive members of the Milwaukee Symphony Orchestra crazy during the years (1980-1986) he served as music director.
He didn’t like the cocktail circuit, and wasn’t very comfortable selling the orchestra to the wealthy and well-connected. He was notoriously absent-minded, constantly forgetting names, his glasses, articles of clothing. He was famously inelegant: In rehearsals his belly button sometimes showed; at concerts he might have trouble keeping his pants up.
Yet Lukas Foss, who died in February, offered Milwaukee something special: a unique encounter with a true musician. Foss was a wunderkind who started composing at age 7 and was the youngest composer (age 23) ever awarded a Guggenheim Fellowship. His musical interests were broad, his many works eclectic (a search for “the right wrong notes,” as he once put it), and he often conducted like he was having a conversation with the dead composer.
He would tinker a bit, daring to change a note or some aspect of orchestration in a great work by Bach or Mozart. “Perhaps it’s just a slip of the pen,” he would say, asking musicians to make the change. His interpretation of classics could be fascinating. In his late 50s by the time he came here, he offered the wisdom of a lifetime spent with music, always offered with kindness and a sense of humor.
In his last year in Milwaukee, he brought old friend Leonard Bernstein (Lenny is like “my older brother,” Foss once said) to town for an MSO Bernstein Festival. It was a watershed event in the orchestra’s history and Milwaukee culture: two great musicians who were both triple threats (composers, conductors, terrific piano players) playing and discussing and sharing their equally all-consuming passion about music.– B.M.
Harry W. Schwartz Bookshops 1927-2009
We’d all do this. Milwaukee readers and writers wandered into one of the stores not knowing what book we wanted to read next, or not feeling at all like a writer, and then get lost in the labyrinth of books. Some of us would literally stick our noses in the books – nobody minded at Schwartz’s – and sniff the luscious paper and ink smell. We’d sit in a big old chair with a book or two or in a quiet corner and wander through a world encased in rectangles of paper.
For book junkies, Schwartz’s was the corner tavern. Not only could you drink in all the books, but somebody there always knew your name. A clerk might ask if you’d seen this book, remembering what you liked. Or she might ask when your next book was coming out. Or you’d run into a reader you knew and stand with him among the shelves, each telling the other what he or she had to read. Or you’d arrange to meet a friend there – to talk books, of course – and perhaps sip some coffee. Then you’d go out, a pile of new volumes under your arm, blinking in the real world as if you’d been in a movie all afternoon.
We bragged about this to people from out of town – four independent stores owned and run by three generations of Schwartzes, not by a conglomerate, for 82 years. It was our literary safety net. And then, unbelievably, it was gone, like the saddest of endings to a long, lovely narrative. – M.B.
