Although I started teaching at the Wisconsin State Prison in November of 1968, I fully intended to quit the job sometime in August, 1969, in order to start my Ph. D. studies at the university in Madison.
Therefore, Gere and I decided she and the children would remain in Wisconsin Rapids in the home that we had purchased and were still remodeling. We’d sell it in July of ‘69. That meant I had to find a place to stay at nights from Sunday through Thursday while I taught English during weekdays to convicted burglars, robbers, thieves, rapists, and murderers at Waupun’s maximum security prison. Returning home Friday afternoons, I helped with remodeling chores on Saturday and Sunday.
I rented a room in Waupun’s oldest “hotel,” built for wayfarers in the nineteenth century. In 1968, it had rooms for rent on the second floor. On the first floor was a joint called “Steve’s Bar.” Steve, the owner, and his wife lived in an apartment in back of the tavern.
My room, right above the tavern, was about ten feet square and had a sink with a mirror above it in one corner and against one wall sat a plump, old wooden dresser, countless cigarette burns on its top. It had a stained mirror that Steve said he bought at a bargain store in Milwaukee. The room’s bed, I was certain, must’ve been in that very room since the 19th century. With its flummoxed mattress and sagging springs, the bed reminded me of a swayback nag that protested every time whenever I lay on it.
There were two major negatives about the place: The music from the jukebox below either woke me up or kept me from getting to sleep, and only one bathroom on the other end of the hallway served all those who rented rooms. When Steve closed the tavern doors, men who were too drunk to drive or couldn’t recall where they lived or drunken couples who wanted to fulfill their desires for one another often opened the door to the stairway and made their way up to our hallway. Sometimes, the clamor they made was downright laughable.
One early morning, I woke up and had to use the bathroom. After opening the door and taking a partial step forward, I promptly ended up on the hallway’s linoleum covered floor, hands first. When I lifted myself up, I realized I’d tripped over a drunken oaf who chose to fall asleep right in front of my door. No more of that, I decided right then and there.
From that night on, if I woke up at and had to pee, I’d use the sink and turn on the water for some lengths of time. Yes, I must admit I did wash in the morning and brushed my teeth, using that very same sink.
The person renting the room next to mine, an elderly gentleman, told me he used a chamber pot “because you never know who or what’s going to be outside my door at night.”
I fully agreed, telling him of my experience with the sodden lout, and since I didn’t know my neighbor’s name, I used the title, “Sir.”
“That won’t do,” she said, “because my name is Liz, short for Elisabeth.” After I realized my mistake, we both laughed. Liz wore men’s clothes, walked like a man, and even talked like a man.
Another elderly and sweet lady was in my room just about every day. Steve assigned his wife as cleaning lady. She daily made the beds. Whenever awake, she was invariably drunk. I couldn’t understand one solitary mumbled word that emanated from her lips although I’d nod and grin as if I did fully comprehend. Because she shook her head a lot, I thought she was probably thinking, “What a dumb ass. He keeps nodding and grinning even while I speak about very sad or serious subjects.”
One afternoon when I returned from work, I found her asleep on my bed. Passed out is more like it. Try as I might, I could not arouse her. I went downstairs and into the tavern. Since Steve had a few customers, I told him in a low tone that we needed to talk. “Speak up,” he demanded. “My hearing’s not so good.”
Since I didn’t want his customers to overhear our conversation, I asked him in a louder voice if we could talk outdoors. “No,” he said, “tell me whatever you’re going to tell me right here.”
I could see by the way he looked, Steve wished he would’ve gone outside to hear the news. It took both of us to finally arouse his wife and help her navigate the stairs. She never again fell asleep on my bed, and I never once understood a word that she mumbled but I kept nodding and grinning while she kept mumbling and shaking her head.
I didn’t like staying in that room during daylight hours because it was at those times I felt awfully alone and lonely. I missed my wife and two daughters, six-year-old Sheila and one-year-old Shelley.
So, after work I began walking a great deal, learning as much as I could about Waupun. I strolled through its Protestant cemetery. As with many boneyards in Wisconsin communities, they were either Protestant or Catholic. Even in my hometown, there was a parting of its dead folks, according to religious beliefs, produced by a long line of tall and rotund bridal wreath bushes. As a kid, I often wondered if folks really believed Catholic and Protestant souls dwelt in separate portions of heaven, or were there a number of heavens, one of them, Protestant and another, Catholic?
Waupun’s Catholic cemetery was located outside the city limits, across the road from the city dump, or as they say nicely nowadays, landfill. Symbolism, anyone?
Therefore, Gere and I decided she and the children would remain in Wisconsin Rapids in the home that we had purchased and were still remodeling. We’d sell it in July of ‘69. That meant I had to find a place to stay at nights from Sunday through Thursday while I taught English during weekdays to convicted burglars, robbers, thieves, rapists, and murderers at Waupun’s maximum security prison. Returning home Friday afternoons, I helped with remodeling chores on Saturday and Sunday.
I rented a room in Waupun’s oldest “hotel,” built for wayfarers in the nineteenth century. In 1968, it had rooms for rent on the second floor. On the first floor was a joint called “Steve’s Bar.” Steve, the owner, and his wife lived in an apartment in back of the tavern.
My room, right above the tavern, was about ten feet square and had a sink with a mirror above it in one corner and against one wall sat a plump, old wooden dresser, countless cigarette burns on its top. It had a stained mirror that Steve said he bought at a bargain store in Milwaukee. The room’s bed, I was certain, must’ve been in that very room since the 19th century. With its flummoxed mattress and sagging springs, the bed reminded me of a swayback nag that protested every time whenever I lay on it.
There were two major negatives about the place: The music from the jukebox below either woke me up or kept me from getting to sleep, and only one bathroom on the other end of the hallway served all those who rented rooms. When Steve closed the tavern doors, men who were too drunk to drive or couldn’t recall where they lived or drunken couples who wanted to fulfill their desires for one another often opened the door to the stairway and made their way up to our hallway. Sometimes, the clamor they made was downright laughable.
One early morning, I woke up and had to use the bathroom. After opening the door and taking a partial step forward, I promptly ended up on the hallway’s linoleum covered floor, hands first. When I lifted myself up, I realized I’d tripped over a drunken oaf who chose to fall asleep right in front of my door. No more of that, I decided right then and there.
From that night on, if I woke up at and had to pee, I’d use the sink and turn on the water for some lengths of time. Yes, I must admit I did wash in the morning and brushed my teeth, using that very same sink.
The person renting the room next to mine, an elderly gentleman, told me he used a chamber pot “because you never know who or what’s going to be outside my door at night.”
I fully agreed, telling him of my experience with the sodden lout, and since I didn’t know my neighbor’s name, I used the title, “Sir.”
“That won’t do,” she said, “because my name is Liz, short for Elisabeth.” After I realized my mistake, we both laughed. Liz wore men’s clothes, walked like a man, and even talked like a man.
Another elderly and sweet lady was in my room just about every day. Steve assigned his wife as cleaning lady. She daily made the beds. Whenever awake, she was invariably drunk. I couldn’t understand one solitary mumbled word that emanated from her lips although I’d nod and grin as if I did fully comprehend. Because she shook her head a lot, I thought she was probably thinking, “What a dumb ass. He keeps nodding and grinning even while I speak about very sad or serious subjects.”
One afternoon when I returned from work, I found her asleep on my bed. Passed out is more like it. Try as I might, I could not arouse her. I went downstairs and into the tavern. Since Steve had a few customers, I told him in a low tone that we needed to talk. “Speak up,” he demanded. “My hearing’s not so good.”
Since I didn’t want his customers to overhear our conversation, I asked him in a louder voice if we could talk outdoors. “No,” he said, “tell me whatever you’re going to tell me right here.”
I could see by the way he looked, Steve wished he would’ve gone outside to hear the news. It took both of us to finally arouse his wife and help her navigate the stairs. She never again fell asleep on my bed, and I never once understood a word that she mumbled but I kept nodding and grinning while she kept mumbling and shaking her head.
I didn’t like staying in that room during daylight hours because it was at those times I felt awfully alone and lonely. I missed my wife and two daughters, six-year-old Sheila and one-year-old Shelley.
So, after work I began walking a great deal, learning as much as I could about Waupun. I strolled through its Protestant cemetery. As with many boneyards in Wisconsin communities, they were either Protestant or Catholic. Even in my hometown, there was a parting of its dead folks, according to religious beliefs, produced by a long line of tall and rotund bridal wreath bushes. As a kid, I often wondered if folks really believed Catholic and Protestant souls dwelt in separate portions of heaven, or were there a number of heavens, one of them, Protestant and another, Catholic?
Waupun’s Catholic cemetery was located outside the city limits, across the road from the city dump, or as they say nicely nowadays, landfill. Symbolism, anyone?
RSS Feed