What the hell?

Dear Readers, I’d like to open this month with a question: What in the hell is going on in America? Have we been so successfully distracted by the “Iraq Conflict” and the near cataclysmic domestic situation that we don’t care about obvious attempts to undermine democratic process? So that’s two questions, but really, what does it take to make us mad these days? While America munches Doritos and consumes the laughably mismanaged Gray Davis recall like so much reality TV, 11 Texas State Senators are hiding in New Mexico (at press time), using the only constitutionally allowed means (breaking the quorum in the Texas Senate) of blocking an illegal redistricting, spearheaded by Gov. Rick Perry and House Majority Leader Tom Delay (R- Texas) and passed by the U.S. Supreme Court without legislative review. The new districting, which falls outside Texas’ legal frequency of once per US census, is a blatant effort to gerrymander US Congressional districts to a solidly Republican majority. Perry has called in The Departments of Homeland Security, Transportation and Justice to “help bring these guys back,” even though they’re not breaking the law. The Governor has indicated he will continue calling special sessions until the Republican redistricting plan is enacted, despite the fact that the Republican-controlled Texas Supreme Court recently rejected the Governor’s writ of mandamus filing to compel the Senators to return. Meanwhile, eleven Democratic state senators are exiled from their state, unable to be with their families, friends and constituents, for fear of being arrested. In the most recent indignity, Republican Senators voted to fine the absent Democrats up to $5,000 per day, and to revoke parking and other privileges for their staffs, for as long as the Senators are away. Needless to say, while these measures are mean-spirited, they have not been effective. Meantime, Ashcroft is on a stump tour of the country to garner support for the PATRIOT Act, parts of which are scheduled to expire soon. The Administration doesn’t want that, and they’re meeting with more opposition than anticipated. Of special note is that the Attorney General has cancelled his scheduled Milwaukee visit, the only stop in the state. No explanation has been given, so we must ask ourselves: does he feel adequate support won’t be found here, or is he confident enough in our habitually low voter turnout that he doesn’t need it? Read Richard Walter’s special We The People feature, “Hope Lives in Tonasket.” It’s the story of how a tiny town of mostly conservative farmers has passed a town resolution to protect the Constitution from “enemies of the state, both foreign and domestic.” The time to leave affairs of state in the hands of the “experts” has passed. I truly believe this country was founded on principles of Liberty And Justice For All, and the time has come to get off the couch and take notice. Use it or lose it: it’s a phrase never more loaded with meaning for each and every one of us. Back here in […]

Milwaukee Colleges

The words “higher education” are loaded with meaning. While most would agree that it’s hard to get very far these days without at least some post-high school training, there are as many takes on what constitutes “education” as there are roads to it. For some it’s a Bachelor’s or better from a college or university that, right or wrong, is the required calling card for entry into many white collar professions. For others, it’s a certificate or Associate’s degree in a specialized field or an apprenticeship in a skilled trade. Our city has a rich history of fostering the long-term well being of its individual citizens. And while, through mismanagement or merely the unfortunate circumstances of a changing world (which is more true could be argued without end), much of the higher social conscience that shaped Milwaukee’s development has withered to some extent with time. We still have sidewalks in city neighborhoods, a robust (but shrinking) amount of urban green space and access to nutrition and health care for most children living below the poverty line. On the other hand, our parks system has become the city budget’s redheaded stepchild. As a population, we gave up an excellent trolley system without batting an eye, and have left our current transit system to an eternal struggle for viability. Poor families must work in what could be arguably termed conscription conditions in order to receive aid, forced to leave their children to be raised on the streets without parental guidance. As a community, there’s much to work through. Wisconsin still fosters higher education. Fortunately, higher education is an area where Milwaukee is still strong. Despite tuition increases and decreases in financial aid at both the state and federal levels, Wisconsin has continued to perform well nationally, according to the National Center for Public Policy and Higher Education’s study, Measuring Up 2002, in such standards of higher education as affordability (6th), completion (12th) and benefits from a degree. This last bears explaining, for although the state was ranked 41st, it tied or beat the top achiever (Colorado) in four of the nine sub-categories, including both measuring increased income from receipt of a degree. Our state’s overall score in the benefits index was brought down by studies done in 1992 and 1994 on adults demonstrating high level prose, document and quantitative literacy skills conducted by the Center for Education Statistics National Adult Literacy Survey, and the U.S. Department of Education, respectively. In the year 2000 (the last for which consistent data was found), 64

Brian Jones Lays His Hands on Peter Gabriel

By Brian Jones As sophomores in high school, my small group of friends and I spent most of our time trying to be as cool as possible. By “cool” I mean we knew we weren’t popular, so it was our goal to be as strange, and in our minds, cutting edge as possible. Nobody else in our central Illinois town wore the clothes we wore. Punk meets the new wave and we had an obligation to show everybody else how uncool they were (and, by extension, how cool we were) in our Soviet full-length wool trench coats. Of course nobody listened to the same music. We were determined to be whatever we wanted to be as long as it wasn’t like everybody else. We conformed to being non-conformist. Not many concerts come to Normal, Illinois so when my friend Paul asked me to go a Peter Gabriel show I was psyched. We knew him then only as the former front man for the 70s prog-rock group Genesis. At the time Gabriel was enjoying moderate success with a strange little tune called “Shock The Monkey.” What I did know was that Gabriel was the kind of artist who didn’t conform to any standards. He did what he wanted to do, and I wanted to see what that was all about. Paul and I put on our best punky clothes, complete with Clash and Sex Pistol buttons, and headed to Braden Auditorium one early December evening in 1982. I think Paul’s older sister drove us to the show, and I think we chugged two whole beers before we went in. Our seats were in the 4th row, just to the left of the stage. The house lights were still on when a man walked out. Nobody seemed to notice him at all. I said to Paul, “Hey what’s that guy doing, checking the mics or something?” He stepped up to the mic and said, “Excuse me… Excuse me… .” The man began again. No one really paid attention. “Excuse me. I’m Peter Gabriel. Thank you for coming out tonight. We hope you have a good time. I just wanted to let you know how things are going to go this evening. These fellows are about to come out and play for you and then we’ll be back a little later to entertain you. So please welcome The Electric Guitars.” It was him. He actually came out to introduce the opening act. He had already impressed me. After the Electric Guitars got through pounding an oil drum with a baseball bat and hitting a suspended piece of sheet metal like it was a cymbal, the lights went out. In the distance we heard drums. We looked around but couldn’t tell where they were coming from, when suddenly everybody turned around to see the whole band marching through the mezzanine pounding on marching drums. They headed out into the hallway, then reappeared right in front of us, marched up on to the stage, took […]

Le Divorce

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American Splendor

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Drinking Coffee Elsewhere

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Cynthia Vasques

"I know what I want to do for the rest of my life."

By John Hughes What do the Pfister, the Milwaukee Athletic Club, Comet and Fuel Cafes, the Hi-Hat, Sanford’s, Trocedaro, St. Bessie’s, The Social, Sol Fire, Sendik’s and the 300 Club at Miller Park all have in common? You might guess, with a group as wide-ranging as that — nothing. But the answer is Wild Flour Bakery, which bakes wholesale for all of the above. Because of that, they all have Greg and Dolly Mertens, the owners of Wild Flour, in common. You might say Greg and Dolly are the leaven in Milwaukee’s yeast. So much the better for us. During a recent visit to the couple’s beautiful, Mayor’s Design Award-winning bakery on 28th and Lincoln, Dolly shows me with beaming pride the stripped original woodwork in the 80 year old shop, the original laminated bread cases, the original tile floor. She shows me the new, hand-built brick oven, which turns 600 pounds of dough into delectables on slow days, 850 pounds on busy ones. She informs me that there are two other bakeries under the Wild Flour name; one in New Berlin, and one baking pastries and croissants at Grand Avenue Mall. She takes me on a tour of her sparkling kitchen, bustling with hard-working Latinos from the neighborhood, and speaks with strength, conviction, and enthusiasm, her brown eyes bright. “Ten years ago I bought a loaf of bread,” she says. “And when I bit into it, I said to my husband, ‘I know what I want to do for the rest of my life.’ He said, ‘what is that?’ I said, ‘be a baker.’ He just said, ‘I’ll support you.’ He’s a honey.” She smiles with megawatt authenticity and leads me back to the front of the store, where employee Rosa is sweeping with vigor and cheer. “I was the 13th of my parents’ 14 kids,” she continues. “And I was raised on a farm in central Wisconsin. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with my mother. I became an expert dishwasher, I’m great at that. And I learned from my mother the art of sharing. I learned that bread is not so much to feed your belly, but your soul. I learned that when you bake for others, you are sharing not so much food but yourself. And we heal one another through food. So, now I’m doing that, and I love what I do.” Greg is, as Dolly reports, a honey, with an easy smile, gentle voice and approachable spirit. He was one of eight children, but his father died when Greg was 11, and he watched his mother raise the children by herself. He informs me that he decided to marry Dolly when he was 14 and she 13, during the 1950s in rural Wisconsin. The wedding had to wait several years, but they’ve now been married for over three decades. These are people who know the value of hard work and community, pulling together with other “good, honest people” to make something […]

Morsels

By Cynthia Vasques It has always amazed me that human beings can consume just about anything that crawls or oozes out of the earth. Who was that first prehistoric homo sapiens who picked up a disgusting snail and said to himself, “Mmmm, yummy- looking?” Or perhaps it was a Cro-Magnon future Frenchman who said the equivalent of “Zoot alors, I’ll eat ‘zis thing!” I had always felt somewhat ill at ease when faced with eating something whose legs were arranged on the plate and whose eyes were staring blankly upward, so I therefore had never experienced the exquisite crunch of soft shell crabs sautéed to perfection until our family moved to Milwaukee, where I became completely obsessive about these seasonal tidbits. My husband, the inveterate fly fisherman, has always been able to eat anything that swims including sea urchin, so I really had never counted on liking soft shells even though he had often tried to foist them upon me. So, it was a great shock to find myself ordering them for the first time at River Lane Inn, a long-established scion of seafood located in Brown Deer. Fran, the effervescent hostess who we have now spent seven years getting to know and adore, encouraged the choice that started my ensuing obsession. Since that first taste of crunchy, delicate shell releasing a burst of juicy flavor, I cannot get enough of these crabby little morsels. We have ordered them several different ways from creative chef JoLinda Klopp of River Lane Inn this season. In four recent visits she featured them Cajun-style, which packed a real wallop! Everyone at the table was wowed by them, but I felt the preparation over-powered their delicate flavor so I opted to have them sautéed them in a lemon beurre-blanc, a more classic way and my particular favorite. We have always counted on both of Jim Marx’ marvelous restaurants for our yearly fix of soft shells, and recently chef Thomas Peschong of Riversite in Mequon obliged us withhis unique talents, presenting us with impeccable soft shells. Thomas has been creating exceptional seafood dishes using only the finest ingredients for nearly 13 years at Riversite, and shows no signs of depleting his treasure chest of ideas. He and owner Jim Marx are responsible for some Milwaukee’s most creative pairings of exotic tastes in food and wine, and host frequent wine-tasting dinners. Next season we will be back in hot pursuit of the succulent softshells and other flavors to pass on to you. This recipe is one of Thomas Peshong’s simple favorites to try with your own frying pan! “Maryland” softshell crabs 6 live jumbo softshell crabs 1/2 cup seasoned flour* Peanut oil or olive oil for frying 1 shallot, peeled and diced 3 Tbsp. lemon juice 3 Tbsp. capers (nonpariels) 3 Tbsp. dry white wine 4 oz. (1 stick) salted butter, chilled and cut into patties salt & pepper Clean the crabs by snipping off the eyes, lifting the back flaps over the bodies and removing […]

Slicker than a snake on ice.

By Bill Wandschneider I think the first American flag was perfect. You know, the one with a snake on it. And the reason, to me, is that we seem to love the con artist. Our CEOs are often in the news for doing something delightfully sleazy. We live in a country rich in unsavory history. Snake oil salesmen, carpetbaggers, swamp land scams, gold mine speculation and stock market manipulation. I think con artists are at least as entertaining as anything on TV. They used to be called flim flam men. I spent the fourth of July with a band of them. They didn’t really break any laws, they just sold a bunch of junk. Things like silly string, blow up Sponge Bobs, beads and other trinkets of no real monetary value. And in observing their success, I’d say it seems we love to celebrate our freedom by giving money to con men. The greatest show on earth. I ran into them while walking past a park on the third of July. I decided to see if they’d hire me. I asked the guy who seemed to be in charge if they were taking anyone on. He said “yes.” I asked if they were carnival people. “No,” he replied, “we have all of our teeth and we aren’t running from the law.” Then he asked if I had a social security number and some ID. When I told him I did, he hired me on the spot. That’s when the show started for me. It was fascinating. The more I learned about these guys and their lifestyle, the more interesting things got. They have a culture of their own, including their own vernacular. It’s part Cajun, part Ebonics, part broken English and a smattering of Spanish patois. Their norms are a bit wild, but perhaps more of a mirror on the “straight” world than we’d like to acknowledge. Stealing from each other is acceptable and expected. Their worth or status amongst their peers is rooted in their ability to skillfully lie to, con and manipulate unsuspecting consumers. In other words, the best hustler has the most status. They almost never wear shirts. They flirt with every woman they see. They’re drunk almost all of the time. Nights in jail and fist fighting are just part of their routine. Not having a permanent residence doesn’t seem to bother them at all. They’re about as scrappy as could be, and seem to have an unshakable confidence. The operator and the Quickness. A hustler’s job exists in two parts: decorating the booth with items to sell, and actually selling the items. The first is called “flashing your booth.” Flashing is hard to do. It’s a real skill. The second part of the job is the selling. That’s where these people are amazing. They mix with ease equal parts psychology, pressure and indifference. In a different world, where only skills mattered, operators would make powerful floor traders. I watched one of them in action. A […]

public art or urban eyesore?

By Raymond Johnson One of the happiest developments in recent years is the explosion of sidewalk seating at restaurants and cafés in Milwaukee. It signals a renewed commitment to public life, or at least as close as we are able to achieve it in an age in which we are always and everywhere shopping. It seems nearly every establishment that is able has put a few tables out, even the Famous Cigar Shop on Brady St., so that smokers can enjoy their purchases immediately. Brady, perhaps the city’s most public street, has been literally transformed in recent years by the number of establishments with sidewalk seating. All this sidewalk seating, however, is not without drawbacks. The placement of private seating on sidewalks in part co-opts the public realm. Restaurants and cafés with seating on the sidewalk are making money in this public space. Such taking demands something be given back, a responsibility too few uphold. With great seating comes great responsibility. First and foremost amongst these is a requirement to keep the sidewalk passable. Legally, sidewalk seating may not encroach upon a wheelchair user, whose right to sidewalk use is unquestioned. Additionally, seating should allow for the passage of two people shoulder to shoulder holding hands. This distance, four to five feet, is about the width of a residential sidewalk. Couples shouldn’t have to break handholding to bypass outdoor grazers. That on too many of Milwaukee’s commercial streets (Kinnickinnic Av., Center St., Water St.) this would be nearly impossible, signals dysfunctional urban design. Recent violators have included Rock Bottom Brewery on the Riverwalk and Hooligan’s on North Ave. Rock Bottom has been the most serious offendor. In the past, it has placed tables along the narrow right of way east of the restaurant’s parking lot, although this practice seems to have stopped. Rock Bottom still packs its tables onto their main Riverwalk space, blurring the public passage and making those strolling by feeling as if they are walking through a dining room rather than on a sidewalk. Hooligan’s infringements have been less premeditated. Some days there is plenty of space, others not enough even for wheelchair users. Of course it is not only the establishments that are responsible for maintaining the public way. All of us who enjoy outdoor seating must remain cognizant of the amount of space we leave to passersby. This is simply a requirement of living in and using a dense urban environment. The other primary responsibility placed upon establishments utilizing sidewalk seating is aesthetic. Many establishments treat this public responsibility callously. They have simply gone to the local hardware store and purchased the ubiquitous plastic chairs and tables found on every backyard deck from New Berlin to Menomonee Falls. They are fine for that use, but inappropriate for urban sidewalks. There are too many of these places to mention them all. Sidewalk seating as public art. Others are trying harder. Hartter’s Bakery on Prospect Ave., and Cempazuchi’s and on Brady St. feature colored translucent resin slat […]

William Parker Violin Trio

By Jeremy Saperstein William Parker Violin Trio Scrapbook ThirstyEar www.thirstyear.com There’s something so right about violinists playing jazz, especially when they can rock it like Billy Bang does on this CD. Evoking styles and songs as disparate as classical, jazz, old-time pop and blues, soundtrack and avant-garde skronk (sometimes all within the same song), the William Parker Violin Trio (Bang on violin, William Parker on bass, Hamid Drake on drums) delivers a solid collection of six songs ranging from the bluesy “Singing Spirits” to the spritely “Urban” to the reverent “Sunday Morning Church.” Bang’s violin freneticism may not be for everyone, but if the idea of a violin trio working in the jazz idiom makes you tingle for that groove, the William Parker violin trio brings it on.