from Poisoning Paradise: An Environmental History of Madison
By Maria C. Powell, PhD
City and industrial growth means more sewage and stormwater runoff
Industrial and city growth in the 1930s meant more water was pumped from Madison’s deep wells. The Madison Water Department reported “substantial business gains” to the State Journal, gushing that “if water consumption is a criterion, business in Madison is definitely on the upgrade, because during 1934, we pumped more than 6 per cent more water than during 1933 and within 3 per cent of our peak pumpage in 1931.” Each person in the city, the headline bragged, was using 105 gallons a piece (these were averages; large industries like Oscar Mayer used enormously more water than individuals).[1] “To pump this quantity of water,” the paper reported, “required 232 cars of coal or 50 tons each, as well as nearly 1,000,000 kilowatt hours of electrical energy.” The Water Department’s net profit would be “the greatest in history.” Moreover, an “extensive program of construction work” related to water and sewer utilities was initiated under the PWA, including a large sewer main to the Nine Springs Sewage plant and a new well and reservoir on the Isthmus. [i] In early 1935, the Water Department said it would increase its pumpage once the new well was in place.[ii]
After being pumped up and used by businesses, industries, and homes, this polluted water went down sanitary drains to the sewerage plant. So as water use increased, so did sewage amounts.
In 1937, Herbert O. Lord told the State Journal that an uptick in “better times” had resulted in more sewage going to the Nine Springs disposal plant and “the increase in sewage has been especially noticeable since business has picked up in Madison factories.” City and suburban growth also contributed to the increase. Lord said the sewage plant at that time had a capacity of about 11 million gallons per day, but during peak periods, the load could read 16 million gallons a day.[iii] More storm and sanitary sewers were being constructed at breakneck speed by WPA workers, but at times they couldn’t handle the increasing volumes of water.
When it rained a lot, stormwater drained into leaky sanitary drains, especially in the low, marshy east and northside industrial areas of the city. Reports of sewer overflows and backups—sometimes into residents’ basements–appeared in newspapers periodically in the 1920s and 30s (and in later decades). In 1937, the Capital Times reported that the mayor and alders would seek WPA funds to “eliminate stormwater from the sanitary sewer system,” and in 1938 the Nine Springs plant was expanded using PWA funds.[iv],[2],[3]
Excess wastewaters overflow into Starkweather Creek, Yahara River
During the infamous boat tour of August 1941, scientists adamantly denied that sewage was causing algae problems, and listed several other causes, including fish fleas, carp, hard water, nitrate-rich springs feeding the lakes, the shallowness of the lakes, and Dane county soils–again, notably, the first time this cause (which rose to the top of the list in subsequent years) had been mentioned.[v]
Resident activists, meanwhile, were not only convinced that sewage from the wastewater plant into the lower lakes was the top cause of the stench there, but also that there were remaining pollution sources upstream of the lower lakes, into Lake Monona in particular, such as city growth, industrial plants, overflowing sewers, and more. Oddly, these and other obvious pollution sources, such as a dramatic increase in road building, were not mentioned by the scientists and experts who had been studying the problem for many years.
In 1941, during the debates about the proposed sewage legislation, Alexius Baas opined: “The situation then at present is just this: that this growing city of Madison is dumping sewage effluent from a rapidly expanding population of 85,000 to 100,000 people into two of the smallest and shallowest of Madison’s lakes and their connecting streams. I am also firmly convinced that when the load under certain conditions becomes too heavy the old inefficient city system dumps some of the surplus into Monona…”[vi]
Mr. Baas was also among the first in years to point to what he was sure was industrial pollution in the lakes. In his May 1941 Capital Times Canoelogue, he described seeing water “dotted by black gobs of filth” with “an evil odor” a quarter of a mile out from where the Yahara enters Lake Monona. As he headed up the Yahara River, he noted that “the filthy masses become ever thicker” so he followed the “dirty trail upstream until the tell-tale evidence,” leading him to a sewer outlet just south of the Johnson St. bridge “from which the polluting flood rolls forth.” This was very likely the large storm drain outlet that received stormwater from Oscar Mayer and a number of other east and north side industries.
In his classic dramatic style, Baas described his epiphany upon seeing this storm outlet: “Light breaks upon me. This is not city sewage. It must be that some manufacturing plant takes this way of disposing of its waste. Whatever its source it has no business in our Madison lakes. In this particular case it is Monona which bears the burden of the evil. I have made inquiries since last Saturday as to what plant or plants are responsible and have been answered that the guilty parties are doing all they can to find a solution for the problem. What I cannot understand is that the city—or whatever agency represents the city in such matters—should ever allow any manufacturing concerns to begin lake pollution. Perhaps it is that, in our anxiety to get business for our community, we overlook the fact that our lakes are our greatest asset and the people who build homes on their shores and pay taxes on those homes have a right to be considered.”
As he had many years prior, he observed that the privileged Lake Mendota lakeshore owners didn’t experience this pollution near their homes—and less wealthy Lake Monona residents were being dumped on. “Incidentally I wonder how long any concerns no matter how big or how wealthy could get by if it poured its waste into Lake Mendota where the upper crust has their dwellings,” he pondered. “Not for five minutes. The small fry who put their savings into a modest home on any of the lower lakes can go to the devil—or move if they don’t like it.”[vii]
In fact, they were outraged and wanted to oust city leaders. During the 1930s, as described in another section, Madison and downstream residents packed meetings protesting the sorry state of the lakes, placing their blame squarely on city leaders. A June 1931 article, “Clean up City Hall to Clean Up Lakes” described a meeting at Lowell School attended by 100 people. It began, “To clean up the Madison lakes it may first be necessary to clean out the Madison city hall. That was the keynote of speeches made at a meeting of the Clean Lakes association…Speaker after speaker declared that to get action in removing pollution from Madison lakes the only system will be to pledge candidates for aldermen and mayor before the next city election…”
Throughout the 1930s, anglers were adamant that the chemicals the city was dumping in the lakes were killing fish—stated repeatedly (and often passionately) in the Wisconsin State Journal’s Hook, Line & Sinker fishing column. But the city’s biochemist Dr. Domogalla assured that the chemicals did no harm to fish.
Lakeshores filled with garbage to create parks; other landfills grow
John Nolen’s and Michael Olbrich’s big visions for parks along the lakeshores slowly came true in part with the help of New Deal funds—and this also helped with “disposing” of the growing amount of wastes generated by city residential, industrial and infrastructure growth in the 1930s. Following the recommendations of the city engineer in the late 1920s, the city worked hard to gather enough trash, construction debris, dredged sediments—and whatever materials it could obtain–to create new “land” for what would become Law Park (see earlier chapter). Moving enough materials to the lakeshore took years, and a lot of labor—and WPA funds were used to pay unemployed people to do this. These funds also supported a development and infrastructure boom, so there was abundant construction debris to push into the landfill.[4]
While the downtown lakeshore was being filled with garbage, another dump along the lake, at the mouth of Starkweather Creek, was also growing. In 1932, as part of the Monona Parkway, Atwood Avenue was expanded to four lanes over the garbage fill placed in wetlands there in previous years to create Olbrich Park. When the city began collecting residential garbage in 1933, it officially deemed the area north of Atwood and east of Starkweather as public dump.[5],[viii] This unlined, unlicensed “open burn” city landfill accepted residential waste, foundry sand, “burned waste,” and demolition wastes.[6],[7],[8] Residents were threatened with arrest, however, for placing any perishable items (fruit, vegetables, etc.) there due to offensive odors.[ix] Dumping at the “Olbrich Landfill” ended sometime in the 1950s.[x]
Other landfills, such as Truax and Demetral—both adjacent to Starkweather Creek– also grew significantly during the 1930s as city and industrial growth boomed and more infrastructure was built to expand sanitary and sewer capacities. All of this generated wastes that needed to disposed of somewhere.
City officials propose that Starkweather Creek should be made into a storm sewer
Starkweather Creek’s condition remained abysmal—stinky, filled with garbage, and oozing with industrial wastes. A variety of strategies to address the creek’s sad state were proposed in the 1930s, often carried out with WPA funds and workers.[9]
In October 1931, Madison Mayor A. G. Schmedeman outlined a $3.5 million, five-year public works program for the city, which included a new sewage plant outfall that a Capital Times reporter speculated was “probably intended to avoid emptying effluent in Lake Monona by diverting it into Starkweather Creek.”[xi],[10] In early 1932, another alder proposed that the city had “enough parks” and should instead use WPA funds to “give employment to many men by transforming Starkweather Creek into a storm sewer.” Apparently in years leading up to this officials had suggested covering the creek to “prevent dumping of rubbish,” given that “all sorts of materials” had been thrown into the creek, interfering with flow and boat movements.[xii] Following from this, the city engineer presented a proposal to “transform Starkweather Creek into a storm sewer by enclosing it in cement covers” at “outdoor relief” and finance committee meetings in the mayor’s office a few days later.[xiii] The creek wasn’t covered then, though two years later, another alder again proposed it.[xiv]
At the end of 1933, the Capital Times reported “30 men at work…cleaning bed and banks of Starkweather Creek.”[xv] State Journal published a front page collection of photos “presaging happy times for the unemployed of Dane county and Madison,” including one of a WPA crew “digging a drainage ditch near Starkweather Creek.”[xvi] The next year an alder proposed installing a “catch basin or cesspool at the mouth to reduce pollution of Lake Monona” and extending a road over “a low marshy area near the creek which is now a mosquito breeding place.”[xvii] Other alders proposed using New Deal funds to build park playgrounds, baseball diamonds, and a “bathing beach” at Olbrich Park, over the areas formerly filled with garbage.[xviii] All of these projects were eventually completed.
“Lake development” means dredging to improve boating and create parks
With the city growing rapidly, and more wetlands being filled in for development, not surprisingly more sediments were also draining into and clogging up Starkweather Creek and the Yahara River. The lakes were as troubled as ever. In August 1934, the State Journal reported that the executive committee of the Dane County Sportsman’s league met to discuss “the lakes, lack of fish, troubles of copper sulphate, and sewage.”[xix],[11]
Meanwhile the powers-that-be proposed more dredging throughout the 1930s, funded by New Deal money.[xx] In 1940, the city proposed more funds in the budget for dredging on the east end of Lake Monona for filling the shoreline for Law Park (which was later done).[xxi] County commissioners also wanted $4,500 for dredging “five bad spots” in the Yahara River between Lakes Monona and Waubesa to improve boating, pointing to “increased interest in boating on the lakes.”[xxii],[12] The county “lakes and streams improvement committee” also asked for funds “to investigate causes of lake pollution.” Lake Monona was “the worst offender” in a study four years prior, but according to the committee “sewage abuses” had been corrected” since then and another investigation “would give us an idea where the trouble is coming from.”
About a month later, the county’s finance committee voted to dredge the Yahara River between Monona and Waubesa.[xxiii] The county park commission proposed a 40-foot channel, 6 feet deep.[13] A dozen speakers attended the committee hearing, all in support, arguing that it would somehow reduce algae in addition to improving boating. George P Gaffney, spokesman for the park commission, argued (without providing a scientific rationale) that less algae would grow in a deeper channel. The president of the Waubesa Improvement Association opined that the present shallow channel “inoculates” the water with a heavy growth of algae, which is then carried into Lake Waubesa (implying that this wouldn’t happen with a deeper channel).[14]
Dubious arguments about reducing algae aside, clearly the top reasons for the dredging were not ecological, but economic—to encourage recreation, tourism and facilitate economic growth. Gaffney said the number of power boats had doubled in the last two years and “[d]redging this channel would return the lakes to the usage for which they were meant. When people come here to conventions, we could offer them something that probably no other city can show—a 70-mile boat ride through Mendota, Monona, Waubesa and Kegonsa.” He also hoped that in time a 200- or 300-foot strip of wetland on either side of the channel would be donated by marsh owners for an “eventual park drive.”
Trying to boost the argument for a deeper channel, the president of the Waubesa Improvement Association opined, nonsensically, that larger boats are less noisy and would “reverse the condition of Lake Waubesa to Madisonians taking excursions, and thus would stimulate correction.” Others, including the chairman of the finance committee, suggested that a revived interest in boating would take many persons off the congested highways for recreation. Another argued that though Madison had given up on its lakes, money spent improving them would return “big dividends.” “This chain of lakes could be made into a wonderful playground, and everyone would benefit,” he said. Frederick Fuller, of the Four Lakes Boat club, pointed to the city’s recent dredging of the Yahara between Monona and Mendota, after which, boat traffic between the lakes had “broken all records.” “Madison is about 40 years behind the times in development of its lakes,” he argued.
[1] Oscar Mayer was undoubtedly using growing quantities of water for its meat product processing and production, and also for its ice business. The company built its first deep well in the early 1920s and sank at least one more in the 1930s.
[2] Lord said the new sewage plant unit built two years prior just took the place of the abandoned Burke plant and so it didn’t actually increase the capacity. Also, “according to officials the effluent turned out at the Nine Springs plant is as clear as water.” 1938.7.27 WSJ.
[3] Increasing amounts of water from the growing number of residential and industrial air conditioning systems in the sewage district meant more water was going to the wastewater treatment plant–so the city decided to divert it to the storm systems instead. 1937.5.29 CT.
[4] Asphalt removed while rebuilding State Street was dumped at the shoreline, and in 1941, granite blocks were removed from the border of the rails circling capitol park and placed along the shoreline for the road being constructed next to Law Park.
[5] In early 1932, Starkweather Creek was the eastern edge of the city, and the creek split Olbrich Park in two, but the city annexed land across the creek that year. 1932.5.9. WSJ
[6] It is likely that some of Kipp’s toxic wastes ended up in this unlined, unregulated landfill, several hundred feet from City of Madison municipal drinking water well at Well 8, just a few hundred feet away.
[7] Records from the 1990s say “no industrial wastes, such as oils, paints, solvents, metal sludges, etc., were disposed in the landfill.” This was based on the city’s report to DNR, which was based on “soil borings and past employee interviews;” there were no actual records of what was put there.
[8] In 1934, a woman brought a case against the city after she was hurt in an accident (presumably on Monona Drive) that she said was caused by limited visibility due to the smoke blowing from the burning at the Olbrich dump 1934.4.22 CT and WSJ.
[9] In summer 1931, a Madison alder—completely ignoring the obvious impact of industrial discharges and garbage dumping—proposed that the creek stench was caused by “refuse from farms washed into the creek during heavy rains,” and proposed treating the creek with lime.
[10] The proposed program would also fund the “Monona Parkway,” which involve expanding the two lane road through Olbrich park into a four-lane road.1931.10.11 CT
[11] Carp seining debates also continued—see 1934.9.11. WSJ
[12] The state conservation commission also wanted fill from the dredging for Waubesa Park.
[13] At the same meeting, the state conservation commission, developing the park at Lake Waubesa, proposed to dredge a channel between Lakes Waubesa and Kegonsa with $100,000 in WPA funds.
[14] The present copper sulphate spraying does not harm fish, he said, based on some tests he had done, earlier sprayings killed many fish because they were less well controlled.
[i] 1934.12.30 WSJ
[ii] 1935.1.25 WSJ
[iii] 1937.5.10 WSJ
[iv] 1937.3.5 CT, 1938.7.27 WSJ
[v] 1941.8.22 WSJ, CT
[vi] 1941.3.28 CT
[vii] 1941.3.28 CT
[viii] 2001.3.23. City request for Olbrich exemption, from Olbrich LF files
[ix] 1927.8.6 WSJ
[x] 1995.4.21 Hanefeld exemption for park, in Olbrich landfill files
[xi] 1931.10.11. CT
[xii] 1932.2.4. WSJ
[xiii] 1932.2.9. WSJ
[xiv] 1934.8.10 WSJ.
[xv] 1933.11.20 CT
[xvi] 1933.11.20 WSJ
[xvii] 1934.8.6.WSJ
[xviii] 1934.8.6. CT
[xix] 1934.8.21 WSJ
[xx] 1938.8.10 WSJ. 1939.6.13 WSJ
[xxi] 1941.6.30 CT
[xxii] 1940.10.24 WSJ, 1940.12.12 WSJ
[xxiii] 1940.11.19 CT
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