from Poisoning Paradise: An Environmental History of Madison
By Maria C. Powell, PhD
The 1930s were great for Kipp and Oscar Mayer
New Deal fuels growing city and county
With the help of New Deal funds, and preparations for World War II, the 1930s were very good for Kipp and Oscar Mayer. Madison and Dane County grew significantly in the 1930s, especially later in the decade when New Deal Public Works Administration (PWA) and Work Projects Administration (WPA) funds began to roll in. A 1937 article, “Building Boom Spurs Business,” with glowing statistics about the total value of new buildings constructed and large photographs of businesses and homes under construction, promised that “the city is contributing its share toward moving the wheels of industry.” [i] The Capital Times wrote in 1939 that according to city records, “Madison is experiencing its biggest building boom in its history at the present time, due to a revival in home building and the erection of public buildings with the aid of PWA funds.” All of the “local skilled workmen” were employed in the building program.[ii], [iii]
Dane County received generous funds compared to other counties. In May 1941, the State Journal reported a staggering list of WPA-funded projects. At that point, with WPA funds, 765 miles of roads had been built in the county–“more than quadruple a national county average of 180 miles.” Thirteen public buildings had been constructed and 61 buildings reconstructed, including 21 schools, 11 administrative offices, eight recreational buildings, two gymnasiums, six fire houses, one library and hospital, two penal institutions and storage buildings, three barns, and four other public buildings. WPA workers also built seven bridges and viaducts, 214 culverts, and dug 8,000 feet of roadside drainage ditches, as well as eight miles of sidewalks, 18 miles of curbs, and three miles of gutters. They built two utility plants, two sewage treatment plants, several water wells, four large water storage tanks, and installed 20 miles of water mains and 786 consumer connections. Twenty-seven miles of storm and sanitary sewers and 970 sanitary privies were constructed. At the airport, WPA workers built 12,000 feet of runways, 16,000 square yards of aprons, a hangar for 20 airplanes, an administration building, and dug 14,000 feet of drainage canals and ditches.[iv]
Oscar Mayer and Madison-Kipp thrived with New Deal funds—and the impending war
Though business was sluggish for some Madison companies in the early 1930s, many thrived after the influx of funds from the New Deal and in the years leading up to World War II. By the end of 1934, the city’s industrial commission reported “an almost uniform month to month gain during 1934 in employment and payrolls of Madison manufacturing establishments.” Oscar Mayer and Madison-Kipp were no exceptions.
Kipp
At the end of 1934, Madison-Kipp’s Thomas Coleman reported an increased demand for heavy production equipment, likely spurred by PWA projects, which he said indicated “a foundation for greater prosperity in general industry.” Kipp reported a 40% increase in its die casting business.[v] In 1937, despite heated resistance from neighborhood residents, and contentious city debates, Kipp expanded into the adjacent defunct Four Lakes ordinance plant to increase its munitions production for the war.
The State Journal, as it had from the time Kipp was built in 1902, continued to serve as a cheerleader for Kipp as well as the Colemans and their anti-regulatory, right-wing perspectives. In 1936, after the Capital Times published a list of contributors to the republican campaign fund, which included Thomas E. Coleman, the Journal published in its entirety a letter from Coleman to his employees about why he supported the Republican Party. Summarizing Coleman’s letter, the Journal explained that Mr. Coleman wrote that “in fairness to his employees he should explain his stand,” in response to the Capital Times piece. The fundamental reason Coleman supported the Republicans, the editorial explained, is “what he considers the devastating and destructive forces of the so-called Roosevelt social security act.”
State Journal editors were “so much impressed” by Mr. Coleman’s letter to his employees that they decided to “publish the whole matter herewith…with the thought that wage and salary earners who are readers of The State Journal may want to give it close study before going to the polls on Tuesday.” Coleman’s letter to his employees was printed verbatim below the editorial. He accused Evjue and the Capital Times of intentionally trying “to influence the votes of the Madison-Kipp employees on the basis of the increase in business and employment.” Coleman explained to his workers that Madison-Kipp had paid wages and salaries that were 36 times its profits in the last 18 years, and taxes to government that were more than 2 1/2 times its total profits. Further, he complained, President Roosevelt’s Corporation Tax bill “forces this and other companies to pay out a major portion of their 1936 profits to stockholders,” though he believes that “such profits should be held In reserve as a protection for the entire organization against lean years.”[1] Most of all, he opposed Roosevelt’s Social Security Act. “Together with our belief that the present Governor of Wisconsin is anti-industry, these are the reasons why we as individuals contributed to the Republican Campaign Fund.[2]
Coleman then outlined in detail his calculations on how much would be deducted from workers’ paychecks under the Social Security Act, and what benefits workers would later receive under various work scenarios clearly intended to illustrate that workers would pay much more into the system than they would receive later—if they even made it to age 65. He stated that the life expectancy for a 21-year-old at that time was only 62 ½, and presented some strange statistics showing that life expectancies were decreasing—suggesting that many people might not even live long enough to get their social security benefits. Several more arguments on why “the American Workman” would not benefit from the act were articulated, and the letter was signed by both Thomas E. Coleman and his brother Joseph A. Coleman, then the vice president of Kipp.[vi]
Neighbors oppose Kipp’s request for zoning change
As they had before WWI, Kipp leaders prepared to profit as much as they could from World War II. In 1937, Madison Kipp purchased the Four Lakes Ordnance plant on Atwood, which had been built by the U.S. War Department in 1917 to make munitions for World War I, but had been only used for storage for the previous 18 years.[vii],[3] Even before World War II was declared, Kipp had begun developing a new process for manufacturing ammunition that involved the use of steel molds (as opposed to boring parts out of aluminum bar stock), and had begun querying U.S. military arsenals about their interest in munitions made with this process. Kipp’s Four Lakes plant was used during the war to make these munitions.[viii]
The first significant neighborhood unrest reported in the papers since the World War I labor protests was about Kipp’s 1937 expansion into the Four Lakes plant. After they had already started moving into the Four Lakes building, in early 1937, Kipp applied for a zoning change for the property from “light industrial” to “heavy industrial.” Several homeowners near Kipp—concerned about noise, pollution, and their property values—objected to the zoning change. They hired a lawyer, organized citizen meetings, and filed petitions. They did not oppose Kipp moving to the Four Lakes Factory, but wanted the zoning to remain “light industrial,” arguing that once changed to a heavy industrial classification, even if Kipp sold the property, the property could be used for “an objectionable industry” such as “a rendering plant, soap factory,” etc. At the neighborhood alder’s request, the City Council delayed the vote on the zoning change, and in April 1937, Kipp was asked to halt its moving of equipment into the Four Lakes plant for three weeks.
After the vote was delayed, a heated controversy ensued, which played out on the front page of the State Journal for the next couple of weeks. Coleman was outraged, saying the delay “caused a great inconvenience to the company.” Kipp’s attorney W.J.P. Aberg pleaded with the Madison city council to quickly approve the change to heavy industrial, arguing that the work that would be done in the building was light industrial, but that “to avoid any trouble” and “for its future protection,” the company wanted it zoned heavy industrial. “No one ever had any complaints to make about the present plant of the Madison-Kipp,” Aberg said. “Operation of the Madison-Kipp is mild compared to that for which the building was previously used.”[ix] Seeming to contradict this, a couple days later Coleman was quoted, “We have been operating as heavy industrial since 1928…We intend to operate just as we are now.” However, he explained that Kipp had “no means of knowing what future developments will be, as all manufacturing tends to change to some extent as years pass,” but the company wasn’t planning to “change its present line of products” and “has no intention of manufacturing soap, rendering animals, or entering into any other line of objectionable industry.”[x] He did not mention that Kipp had plans to make munitions in the old Four Lakes factory.
Using a tried-and-true family strategy for handling roadblocks at the city level, Coleman also scolded the city of Madison as being unwelcoming to industry. “There is a tradition.” Coleman told the State Journal, “that the city of Madison is unfriendly to industry—a tradition that we have never considered seriously.” He charged the city council of having “a complete lack of appreciation of an important expansion project.” He was highly annoyed that though the council and planning commission had intended to approve the change, an alderman from the Kipp neighborhood had caused a delay. “Although there were a few objections from property owners, they were certainly based on false fears and it would seem that their anxiety could have been allayed without causing this unfortunate delay.”[xi]
Swayed by Coleman’s scolding, Madison’s Mayor Law called a “special meeting” at the East Side Businessmen’s Club (which Colemans and their allies had co-founded and were members of) “in order not to delay the matter too long.”[xii],[4] The contentious meeting, on May 3, 1937, was attended by 125 people and presided over by H.J. Loftsgorden, a member of the club who was a prominent eastside realtor and long-time business colleague and ally of the Colemans. Opponents of the zoning change charged that the meeting was “packed” by Kipp with their workers, eastside businessmen, and others they asked to speak in favor of the change. Alluding to his plans to take the issue to court, McGeever, the attorney representing citizens on Marquette and Waubesa Streets said “I doubt if the supreme court is going to permit the city council to pass legislation designed, cut, molded, and modeled for one corporation,” and charged that the proposed change is “unequivocally class legislation.”
Neighbors opposing the zoning change said they believed Kipp knew very well that the Four Lakes was zoned light industrial but had “some unexplained purpose” in seeking the change. Coleman countered these charges. “We did know it was zoned as light industrial,” he said, “and we bought it because we considered it inconceivable that there would be any serious objection.” He disagreed with citizens’ claims that Kipp was greatly increasing their space. “That is not true. We have no plan to change anything…” but again added the caveat, “but you can’t tell and we can’t tell what is coming in the next 10 years. I wouldn’t tell anyone that we would not change our product sometime. We have no ulterior purpose in moving. We merely think we can operate more economically in the Four Lakes plant, which was built for heavy industry while our present plant was not.” Moreover, he called the statements about class legislation unjustified, suggesting that the changes were to benefit the workers: “The owners of a factory are not the only ones involved. We could operate in our old place if we wanted to let the boys bump into one another and fall over each other.”[xiii]
Several people spoke in defense of the zoning change, but zoning change opponents believed most were asked by Kipp to do so—especially those who didn’t live near Kipp. “Industry is the lifeblood of our nation,” one man stated. “Ifthe factories close, we all go on relief. I’m a union man and the Kipp isn’t union, but when I find that not a man employed by Kipp was ever on relief throughout our long depression, I say, ‘God bless Kipp.'” Another man who had lived on the east side for 32 years, testified, “We’d never have had the east side built up as it is if it weren’t for the industries. Those opposing this change are working against their own interests.”
Neighbors who testified against the zoning change were jeered by Kipp supporters. One said that if he had known the company was going to make castings when he built his home in 1924, he would not have built it, because the noise keeps him awake at night. Another argued that a few restaurant owners and other businessmen on Atwood Avenue were “figuring to make a profit.” “If one or two millionaires lived in the district, they wouldn’t attempt to rezone it…But because working people live there, they think they can ride over us. We ain’t so blind and dumb that we don’t know what is planned there. The Kipp think they can ride rough shod over us working people in the district. By Gawd, we ain’t going to stand for it.”[xiv]
The next day, in another “special meeting,” the planning commission recommended approving the zoning change. McGeever questioned their authority to make this recommendation and charged that east side residents were not given a fair hearing in the Kipp zoning case. Mayor Law countered him, “Do you think the city should run factories out of Madison?” he asked him. When McGeever answered that his clients were not opposed to Madison-Kipp’s expansion, but to the change in zoning, Law shot back, “Then what in hell are you talking about?” A neighbor opposing the zoning change supported McGeever, reiterating that the meeting at the East Side Businessmen Association was “packed with employees of the company, some of them even residing outside the city.” McGeever tried to continue with his argument, but Mayor Law said his assistant attorney said McGeever was wrong. “You lawyers could argue here all day and we would get nowhere,” he said, and refused to let McGeever speak further.
The city council accepted the recommendation of the planning commission the following day, unanimously approving the zoning change from light to heavy industrial for Kipp’s new operations in the old Four Lakes plant.[5] Coleman was thrilled. “We are pleased with the results and with the cooperation of the council members,” he told the State Journal.
Oscar Mayer in the Depression
Like Kipp, Oscar Mayer & Company thrived in the 1930s while low-income people, workers and others struggled. Local newspapers published company-written articles with creative promotional graphics—e.g., “Local packing plant reaches to the ends of the earth” and “One million people in the world depend on Oscar Mayer meat.”[xv] As always, it continued to tout its highly scientific and controlled approach to food processing and manufacturing. “Science is the dominating factor in every manufacturing process at the Oscar Mayer packing plant in Madison, where exactly 89 meat products are made, in addition to fresh meats…” one Capital Times article gushed. “[E]very part of the Oscar Mayer plant is a laboratory where exact sciences are applied to the manufacture of the best meat products that can be produced…modern equipment and machinery devices which have completely revolutionized sausage making. A huge quarter-ton-air-pressure stuffer spurts out more than 100 feet of uniformly filled casings each minute.”[xvi]
The company’s ice business soared during the 1930s. A new ice plant was built in 1932, was touted as “one of the most modern and efficient artificial ice-making establishments in the country” and “the larges artificial ice plant under one roof in the state of Wisconsin.” The new ice production building, 185 feet long and 35 feet wide, would double the company’s ice production and require an “entire new power unit to operate the equipment.” The construction of the new plant, company officials opined, would “contribute materially to the relief of unemployment in the city.” Oscar Mayer’s pure, crystal-clean ice “is made from Madison city drinking water from wells 2,000 feet deep.” This was a false claim—the wells were a bit over 700 feet deep.[xvii]
The same year, Oscar Mayer also began selling early versions of refrigerators called “coolerators,” a business it continued through the decade and beyond.[xviii],[xix] In 1933, the company again expanded significantly, enlarging and modernizing its slaughtering facilities, and in 1934, it built a large “cooler addition” and constructed its own power plant onsite, not wanting to continue paying Madison Gas & Electric rates.[xx] The Wienermobile was introduced in 1936.[xxi] Between 1936 and 1940, several more expansions occurred.[6]
Oscar Mayer worked with the University of Wisconsin researchers and engineers on developing chemicals, packaging and meat products. Madison was very proud of these industrial-UW collaborations and their roles in industrial growth in the city. A 1939 Wisconsin State Journal article, “Smokestacks in a Test Tube,” highlighted connections between University of Wisconsin and Madison’s industries, noting that “the scientific research which is being conducted at the university should discover new products and processes.”[xxii] It also touted the Segoe report, “which foresaw a manufacturing future for the city in the field of small specialized industries, suggested that Madison interests be first to recognize the possibilities of new products and new processes developed by scientific research at the University of Wisconsin.”
Oscar Mayer was a very powerful actor in city politics—in some ways more so than Kipp because it was bigger and employed more people. Its products, profits, philanthropy and other successes were regularly featured in local newspapers. The Oscar Mayer Foundation, created in 1946, funded many local public health and educational institutions. People in Madison and all over the country loved the company, its products and promotions. “Oscar Mayer firmly embedded itself in American popular culture, a first for the meat industry,” the historian Winterhalter wrote in 2019. Seeing the Wienermobile driving around town—or when it made special appearances at picnics and other community events—was a favorite of Madison residents, especially children. “For many, the name Oscar Mayer became almost synonymous with Madison… as Madison as Bucky Badger,” Winterhalter said.
[1] There are numerous instances reported in the newspapers of Kipp laying off workers when business was slow.
[2] The governor at the time was Phillip La Follette
[3] Kipp’s lubricating business had also been doing very well. In 1928 Kipp bought Detroit Lubricator, its main competitor at the time. Also, in 1930, Kipp had introduced and patented a unique new high-speed air grinder for making dies, which it sold to many other companies.
[4] Though some brought up questions about the legality of the “special meeting,” the city attorney pronounced that it was in line with city ordinance as long as council members received at least six hour’s notice of the meeting and the zoning amendment was mentioned in the notice.
[5] Even the alder who had sponsored the delay didn’t dissent.
[6] According to Winterhalter, from the 1920s onward 36 major additions were made over the next 39-year period and by 1969, the plant was 14 times larger than it was when Oscar G. Mayer first saw it in 1919. By 1980, the plant had grown to nearly two million square feet in size, and various additions were built through the 2000s.
[i] 1937.8.29 WSJ, lakes and sewage files
[ii] 1939.3.19 CT Lakes & sewage files
[iii] 1941.7.24 WSJ (can’t find)
[iv] 1941.5.22, 23 WSJ, lakes and sewage file
[v] 1934.12.30 WSJ, Oscar Mayer files
[vi] 1936.11.1 (need to find this)
[vii] Angle, Historic Madison, Inc., pg 145 of Brassworks ESA Phase 1
[viii] 1943.3.28.
[ix] 1937.4.24
[x] 1937.4.26.
[xi] 1937.4.26.
[xii] 1937.5.2
[xiii] 1937.5.4
[xiv] 1937.5.4
[xv] 1931.1.10 CT, 1931.5.2 CT
[xvi] 1931.6.6 CT
[xvii] 1932.4.23 CT
[xviii] 1932.12.7. CT
[xix] 1932.4.23 CT
[xx] 1933.1.1.WSJ, 1934.3.29 1934.10.27 WSJ.
[xxi] Winterhalter
[xxii] 1939.9.24 WSJ
© 2023 Maria C. Powell. All rights reserved.