Tag: Wisconsin

On A Dangerous Substance

When this product arrived in the US in the 1870s, the farmers of much of America were outraged.

How could the US government allow the sale of something that not only hurt their profits but also was so obviously bad for people? The product was a threat to the American Farm, they argued. The sale of it flew in the face of the moral fabric of the country! What type of world would allow such an evil to be for use by any right-thinking American? Even the governor of the state of Minnesota joined their campaign against this product; he labeled it an “abomination” created by “depraved minds” who had designs of killing the American farmer’s way of life. The politician bemoaned the product while he heaped praise upon the “wholesome” and “sweet” products of the farm.

Something had to be done, obviously. Yet, the poor people of the cities absolutely loved the product; they couldn’t get enough of it. And there you have it, in many ways. The divide between a rural perspective verses an urban outlook has long been a staple of American culture and politics and remains one to this day. You hear about the depravity of the cities–filled with the “evils” of foreigners, those Americans of color, and the allure of “sin”–verses the sanctity, the almost sacred nature, of the image of rural America. The divide over this product was part of that ongoing urban/rural split.

So, in order to combat the evils of this product (and since the rural establishment couldn’t outright ban it legally), they tried to tax the hell out of it in an effort to limit the city dwellers’ access to it. The sponsor of the tax bill in congress, a senator from Wisconsin, said that the product he was targeting was the product of “death” and lacked the “natural aroma of life and health” and filled with “chemical tricks” designed to hurt all right-thinking (read: rural) Americans. But it didn’t slow the purchase and consumption of the product by those in the cities. In fact, within a few years of being introduced into the US, this item was produced by over 40 different companies in an effort to meet demand. And, as the 1800s drew to a close, the cities began to have more and more residents, scaring the rural bloc even more.

A public relations effort began designed to scare people away from the product. Cartoons were commissioned by rural groups that portrayed the manufacturing process for the product and showed “foreign elements” dropping poison, garbage, and even rats into the vats in which the product was made. According to an article in one magazine, this disinformation campaign strongly hinted that users of the product would come down with diseases and cancer and even mental illnesses.

Some states with a majority rural (meaning mostly farmers) population even passed laws either outlawing the use of the product or at least imposing clear labeling on the packaging of the product detailing its potential dangers. Wisconsin, for example, had such laws on their books until the late 1960s, laws that provided for stringent restrictions on how the product would be sold. But, time changes things. Shortages in farm products caused by the first world war, then the Great Depression, and then World War 2 all served to make this product not only acceptable to all Americans but also preferred by most–even most rural Americans as well.

Who could’ve guessed that the introduction of margarine in the US would have caused such a dramatic reaction?

On a Cursed House

Frank stood in the ashes of his house in Wisconsin. He couldn’t believe his misfortune. His home had burned down because of faulty electrical wiring, specifically (and somewhat, oddly) a poorly installed telephone line. All that remained of the house was the foundation and the chimney. Lost in the fire was also a large collection of art he had gathered over years of travel, specifically Asian art he’d gathered in years of work in that part of the world.

Frank and some neighbors and other helpers had tried to fight the blaze themselves. The house, a large affair, was some ways out of town and, in 1925, there was no nearby volunteer fire department to possibly put out the fire. By the time any firetrucks arrived from the nearby town, it was too late. The little group of neighbors and workers and friends had tried to fight the fire with buckets of water and garden hoses, but it was obvious that the place would be completely consumed. The weather didn’t help their cause. A strong wind blew across the Wisconsin plain and helped to spread the blaze beyond the group’s ability to fight it. All they do was watch helplessly as the flames quickly ate the building.

Because he was so desperate to put out the fire, Frank’s shoes had practically melted on his feet. The soles of both feet were burned and blistered and would need medical care. His eyebrows were singed off. He loved this house, Frank did. He decided to build here because his mother’s family had emigrated to the area from Wales some time before. In many ways, the place was home to him, so he wanted a house there. So part of his past, part of his heart, went up in smoke along with the house.

However, it wasn’t the first house built on the site. A previous house there also burned. It was 1914, only 11 years earlier. That time, the house burned down because of arson. That time, luckily, Frank wasn’t there. He was on a business trip. It seems that a worker on the place, a handyman who had mental issues, had taken gasoline and set the house on fire. Oh, and before he did that, he took an ax and killed Frank’s girlfriend, her two children, and a few men who worked for Frank. No one ever found out why the handyman did this terrible thing. He drank acid soon after his dastardly deed, and he died soon after. The crime remains one of Wisconsin’s most heinous mass murders.

Some tried to convince Frank that the site was cursed, that it would not be wise to rebuild the house on the same site of the terrible murders and arson. But Frank didn’t listen. He rebuilt. And, here again, the house was in ashes. And, again, people told him to give up on the site, that it was not appropriate to rebuild there.

Frank ignored them again. In fact, as he commissioned a third build of the house, he ordered that some of the burned artifacts, some of the destroyed art, be incorporated into the walls and supports of the third incarnation of the house. You would think that his architect would object to this odd request, but, of course, Frank’s architect didn’t object.

That’s because, you see, the architect was Frank himself.

Frank Lloyd Wright.