FINALgf

Frogtown History
A Path through the Mud
Frogtown resident Alexius Hoffman (1863-1940) on pedestrian life in the old neighborhood
Rev. Alexius Hoffmann lived in Frogtown
from 1863 to 1940. In the late 1800s,
Frogtown was considered to stretch
further to the east and south. Rondo St.,
long since vanished to make way for
I-94, was then thought to be heart of
Frogtown. Hoffmann recalls the wretched
boardwalks, then mourns the inevitable
destruction of his family home.
The improvements made in the lower part
of the city gradually found their way up
the hill (to the Rondo area). Frogtown
ceased to be — that is to say, the swamp
was drained in the city sewage canals, the
tamaracks were cut down and the warbling
of the frogs was hushed for all time.
The next step out of barbarism was the
introduction of the plank sidewalk. They
had some drawbacks, of course. At first
it was customary to lay the planks close
together. Result: they warped after rains
and formed ridges. What was the remedy?
Lay them half an inch apart. That gives
room for expansion, takes less lumber
and provides a chance for ventilation.
Also, the interstices between the planks
were handy for dropping coins and other
little articles, and also for breaking off
umbrella ferrules.
The planks were
fastened with
spikes: the wood
about them warped
and came loose.
If the planks were
nailed into three
stringers, the
middle one being a
bit higher than the
others, the planks
would act like a
see-saw and trip
pedestrians.
Acceptable as were these sidewalks as far
as they went, the public had some reason
to vent disappointment at the little they
got for their money. For this reason: the
street was not only muddy, it was mud.
All went beautifully ’til you arrived at a
crossing. The sidewalk came to an abrupt
halt and there was the ever-present mud.
So the solution of the problem must be
attacked from another direction. Improve
the street and the sidewalk will take care
of itself.
A boardwalk: perfect for tripping.
Sidewalks gave
streets an air
of comparative
rectitude, which
may have given
an impulse to
better fence building…
Then came
illumination —
oil lamps — on
alternate street
corners. Six lamps
watched over the
slumberers along
the whole length
of the street. City
lamplighters tended to the lamps, lighting
them about 6 PM and extinguishing them
at dawn, unless the wind had taken the
matter in hand.
The years fled, old faces grew older,
new ones appeared on the scene, some
were no longer there. The number of old
acquaintances grew perceptibly less with
every visit. The little house in which we
had lived, laughed and wept was carried
away across the street and set along
Rondo St., but facing west, and it got a
new coat of yellowish paint that gave it a
youthful appearance. I never again stood
within its walls. No house ever filled up
the gap left by its disappearance.
…The sleepy old thoroughfare gradually
developed into a modern street. It
was paved for a considerable distance.
The plank sidewalk was replaced by one
of cement. Next came the telephone and
electric lights, and finally the streetcars,
horse and then electric, of course. With
the introduction of the latter, the peace
and quiet of the Frogtown that was, came
to an end.
I hate the thought that the old house will
be demolished…. Be it so. The old goes,
the new comes in. That is the world. It
may be progress or just growth.
Anyway, something different will someday
be there and it will mean little to me.
Next to blood itself, home is the strongest
bond. And we associate a house — “be
it ever so humble” — with our idea of
home. When that house is gone we feel
that something has gone out of our lives
— one of the lamps that brightens the
way has gone out. Nothing can adequately
be substituted.
PAGE 10
MAY/JUNE 2016