Earlier this week, I stood at Ground Zero – the capitol rotunda in Madison – and spoke out. I took a turn at the megaphone to announce my support for my hometown of Watertown, Wisconsin. Watertown was supposed to have a new train station built along the high speed rail line that Governor Walker killed before he took office. Watertown is about halfway between Madison and Milwaukee, an ideal location for the new line. When Walker scrapped the train, which would have been paid for by federal funds, he threw away hundreds of permanent jobs and thousands of construction jobs.
I live 45 miles from Watertown these days, but I still have family and friends there. The town is devastated by Walker's decision to drop the train. It would have revitalized an area of abandoned stores that is quite an eyesore, and prompted new businesses to open to serve the commuters and travelers. It also would have made Watertown an ideal home for commuters who would otherwise find the drive from Watertown to Madison or Milwaukee a little bit too long, especially in winter. Property values would have increased along with the tax base. Some new homes would be built. But in a single, dictatorial move, Scott Walker cancelled the train and threw my hometown under the bus.
Maybe people would have stayed the day in Watertown and visited the historic downtown. Perhaps they would have learned about Arthur "Turkey" Gehrke (Gehrke rhymes with turkey), a long time tavern owner who had the habit of “hibernating” from November to April every year.
Perhaps they would have visited the Octagon House Museum, where I had my first real job in the summer of 1974, mowing the lawn and weeding the flower beds. I was 14 years old, and our family was poor enough to qualify me for a federally-funded summer jobs program. I made about $1.oo per hour and worked 24 hours a week. It was a thrill to buy myself two pair of brand-new Levi’s at the end of the summer and wear them to school that fall. I assume the curators of the museum at the time, Mr. And Mrs. Mabe ( rhymes with “baby”), have passed away, but maybe not. People live a long time in Watertown. They were already of retirement age when I worked for them. Mr. Mabe was the best first boss a young worker could have. I wasn’t paid by the museum, but he treated me like a member of the staff. He expected me to work hard, which I did, but he and his wife thanked me every day and always had an ice-cold Orange Crush for me to wash down my brown-bag lunch. Saints, both of them.
On the grounds of the museum there is a small building, relocated from Main Street, that housed the first kindergarten in America. It was a progressive idea, brought from Germany – that children could learn and thrive in an environment that encouraged creativity and curiosity. The idea still infuses the curricula and structure of modern schools in America.
It was a nice place to grow up. We had some manufacturing, a lot of agriculture, a thriving Main Street. But all things change, and that train station would have been a real boost to an economy that now relies mostly on service-sector jobs.
When I spoke at the capitol, I said to the crowd that someday we would build that new train station, with or without Governor Walker, and that in honor of him, we should name it Union Station. It will happen. I do believe.
If you have a weak stomach, do not google “Watertown Stuffed Goose”, a delicacy created from a process now considered cruel and inhumane. The famous geese from Watertown, however, prompted the town to adopt “The Goslings” as the high school team name and mascot. Seriously, we’re the Goslings. Or should I say, The Mighty, Mighty Goslings!
So here we are, at a crossroads. Do we give up without a fight or do the middle class and working class Goslings stand up together and honk? Are Watertown and the hundreds of towns like it in Wisconsin willing to move Forward, as our state motto urges us? The Governor’s been getting a lot of advice lately, but here is some more: Waking up Turkey Gehrke in February is considered very rude, and approaching a mother goose that's trying to protect its young can get you a nasty scratch.
Gobble, Gobble! Honk Honk!