An Ode to Milwaukee
Milwaukee is my favorite city in the world.
This is a bold statement. Especially coming from someone who has been to more cities than 99% of people. I’ve driven across the United States over 20 times and have lived and traveled abroad extensively. (Not bragging — I’m usually just running from my problems.)
Though, perhaps, my opinion is not completely objective.
Why? Well…the most significant event of my lifetime happened in Milwaukee.
No, not my first kiss. No, not the birth of my first child. No, not bumping heads with my eventual lifelong love while reaching for the same fresh grapefruit at Sendik’s Market.
No: the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Coming Out Of Their Shells LIVE music Tour at The Bradley Center October 13th, 1990. — (sponsored by Pizza Hut).
They say, “never meet your heroes”. Surely, getting to meet your heroes at such an early age really alters your worldview.
But, ever since that momentous brisk Fall day in 1990 — I’ve had an undying affinity for the City we call Milwaukee.
So many of my defining memories happened in the City of Milwaukee. I have a drawing (which I will scour my mom’s attic for while writing this) from kindergarten. Our assignment was to draw a photo of a memorable experience from the last week and then ask the teacher to write a narrative under the drawing (due to our inability, at age 5, to articulate our thoughts and feelings via writing because of the impossibly difficult task of learning English. Something I’m still working on daily (WTF is an adverb? Sounds expensive.))
The (abstract — due to lack of motormechanics) drawing depicts a muscle-bound man with his…phallus…flapping about.
(EDIT: HAHA I FOUND IT!)
What I was *trying* to convey with this drawing was my first viewing of the film Terminator. The scene where the Terminator spontaneously arrives, unclothed, from the future in order to attempt to murder Sarah Conner and prevent her from giving birth to John Connor, and in turn, eliminating the leader of the technological resistance before he was even born.
Five-year-old me really got a kick out of this. Was it the undercurrent of anti-technological sentiment as a 5-year-old luddite? Was it the hypermasculinity (of the T-800) vs. the cunning intellectual feminism (of Kyle Reese) that appealed to me?
No — surely it was the floppy dong. Which is why I depicted it via crayon to my Kindergarten teacher.
(If you want to revisit this scene — it’s available slightly-censored here. But why would you need to? My photorealistic drawing above should suffice.)
This seminal (heh) viewing of this classic film took place at my Aunt’s apartment at 52nd & Bluemound in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. An apartment my Aunt is leaving this month. For the first time in my life.
The same aunt who, for fun, would take me on architectural and history tours of the city at night — pointing out her favorite gothic cathedrals, mid-century brutalist factories, craftsman bungalows, coal minor cottages, and even the factory where she worked with Jeffrey Dahmer (one of my earliest memories is visiting the site of his infamous apartment where he stored dozens of victims/corpses).
Not Milwaukee’s most glamorous historical reference — but that’s the allure of the city. Are we the home of fun lovin’ Arthur Fonzarelli and Laverne & Shirley? Well…sure. Are we also the dark, disgusting, site of Dahmer and the most segregated city of America that suffers, still, from historic redlining?
Well…yeah.
But, much like each individual human being, cities are alive. And, anything alive, is imperfect. We all have major flaws and major redeeming qualities. None of us are the worst (or best) thing we’ve ever done. We are all highly complex, sophisticated, entities.
(Note to people assembling/tearing down statues & naming buildings: this is why, unless you are capable of accepting the complexity of human existence and identity, you don’t create permanent structures based on temporary human figures.)
One thing I know for sure: Milwaukee is working harder than any other city I’ve visited.
Now…I know that although I say, abstractly, that cities are alive — Milwaukee cannot, “work”. But, the individual living cells (residents) in the organism (city) are working their asses off. Simultaneously prideful and resentful — accepting the beauty and wanting things to be better.
If I could think of an individual identity that sums this mentality up (we’ve already learned to not lean on individuals, but here I go) — it’s Tarik Moody. A Milwaukee transplant via Atlanta/Minneapolis/Detroit— he constantly reminds me (and the rest of his internet followers) how much better Atlanta is doing things — especially for the black community — than Milwaukee is.
My knee-jerk reaction is often, “well, then shut the fuck up and move back to Atlanta”. But…then I realize all of us who love something can be the harshest critics. Like…when your mom calls you fat during the holidays.
I think the sentiment behind that completely unhelpful and unsolicited feedback is often, “Hey sweetheart, I love you so much and because I love you — I’m worried that perhaps your diet has taken a dip, perhaps due to mental health challenges or a stressful time at work. Perhaps you should be more aware and cognizant of your diet and treat yourself better so that you can live a higher quality, longer, life because, selfishly, I want more of you (not literally) and the longer the world gets to share in your embrace — the better.”
But also: I want grandchildren. And you ain’t gonna have ’em lookin’ like that!
But, also, also: Your grandmother criticized my appearance, because she is shallow, and cared more about status than anything else, so now I’m going to pass that trauma onto you. #neverbreakthecycle #generationaltrauma
BUT — for a moment — let’s pretend harsh criticism stems from LOVE & INTENSE CARE.
I’ve gone many places where there is a complete lack of criticism.
San Luis Obispo. The weather is perfect and so is the food! No complaints!
Yuck. San Luis Obispo is like a model who is also the valedictorian and then you meet them, and hope they have an annoying voice, or are just intolerable to be around, or have the world’s worst breath — but then their voice sounds like a warm hug, they have the breath of fresh sea breeze, and are actually extremely engaging and interesting.
And I fucking hope they get hit by a bus.
The only real thing people find to complain about SLO are, “it’s expensive”. Yeah because assholes like you, and your $25 million, moved here and displaced all the native people. But you gotta complain bout something. (I realize every place has it’s issues. I just don’t trust people (remember, places are people) without grit. If someone can’t handle a brisk 5 degree breeze — they probably can’t handle when the grocery store is out of their artisanal New Zealand fromage*.)
*that means cheese
To Be From a Place
About 1/5 people I talk to here in Portland are from here. In Milwaukee, that number is much closer to 4/5.
There’s something to be said of being FROM where you LIVE.
Like a rental car.
Do you drive a rental car the same way you drive the car you purchased with money you spent years earning. A car you need to get to work week-to-week?
No. You just don’t. Because you have to live with the repercussions of any ill effects. I don’t dare drive over a pothole in my 2005 Saturn VUE — I don’t care if I have to run over 15 chipmunks to avoid a pothole. Rental car? I suddenly become the world’s #1 animal rights activist as I test out the depth of those holes.
Same thing with a hotel room. I’m not going to publicly admit to putting my skull through the drywall in a hotel room in Michigan and then covering it up with a painting while on a roadtrip back in 2005…BUT I will admit that I’ve never once attempted to put my skull through my bedroom drywall at home. And I plan to keep it that way.
The greater number of native people a city has, and the longer those people plan to reside there (perhaps generationally), the more incentive they have to not ram their skulls through the metaphorical city walls.
“Following in along line of wide-eyed small-town boys, I experience Roma as a living being and am sometimes guilty of romanticizing a city I probably couldn’t live in full-time. But aren’t cities made of our desires and fantasies? Why not err on the side of adoration, particularly when it comes to the city that supplies the etymology of the word “romanticize”.
— Rome as Guide to the Good Life
Comparing Milwaukee to Rome?! Yes.
It’s easier to have a good life in a good land. In THE “good land”.
Cities and places take time. Those ridiculous accents? The casseroles (hotdish, if you’re a freak from Minnesota)? The supper club traditions? Euchre, sheepshead, and cribbage obsessions? Those don’t just happen overnight.
In the elite coastal areas I’ve lived, people come and go without a second thought — in pursuit of prestige and opportunity.
There are no grocery stores near my home in San Diego?
Okay…I’ll just move to Carlsbad.
The intersection near by house is bad in Milwaukee?
Okay let’s write the planning commission. I’m going to show up to the neighborhood meeting. I’m going to advocate — to make a place I’ve been connected to, and invested in for decades, better.
At play is geographic choice — which is, in and of itself, a privilege. Wealthy people have much more geographic mobility and options for where they live. Environmental racism plays directly into this, and how we as citizens choose to sort. (Unsurprisingly, the “purplest” cities in America are located not-too-far from Milwaukee — including the most politically divided city in the nation — Algoma, WI). I just feel like Milwaukee is a city where the populus will stay and fight for the rights of their neighbors, rather than flee, when injustices are occurring compared to many cities I’ve lived in and traveled to. And, damnit, my feelings matter.
And yet…I write these gushing words about Milwaukee from…Portland, Oregon — one of the most racially/politically monocultured cities in America. If I love Milwaukee so damn much — why aren’t I there? Why deprive myself of her?
Well, reader, glance over your shoulder. Is your greatest love seated beside you? (If you answered yes: hug them.) If you answered no: why not? The answer is often: life.
We can know exactly what we like, what we want, and what our best fit is — but we don’t always end up together.
It truly is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all — but the same beautiful photos from the past can also bring stabbing bits of pain about what you missed out on. Most of this nostalgic aching comes from the fact that we didn’t get even more time with something we loved. Or that we feel like we didn’t fully immerse ourselves in those previous moments enough. We feel we somehow took that fleeting time for granted and now yearn for even 10 seconds back in that place. In that body. Touching that person. Sitting in that room. Smelling that air. Feeling that old wind on our face. Blowing into that Nintendo cartridge. Listening to that AOL Instant Messenger ding.
I’ve been on a mindfulness journey since 2020 related to slowing down and living in the moment. As an ADHD-er who has not lived at the same address for more than a handful of months since 2004, slowing down isn’t my forte. I just stopped and smelled the roses (literally AND figuratively) for the first time last year.
I’m starting to notice, and admire, the little things. The things, when added up, we call life. The things we remember. The things we look back on and yearn for.
Stopping for a second on the way back from the bathroom and just admiring her silhouette from behind as she struggles to complete the Zelda level and noticing the way her hair flops out of frustration. The way she stress-bites her lip during a boss battle. The way her left eye twitches during extreme focus.
(Milwaukee-specific: the fresh smell of Milorganite (recycled Milwaukee resident poo) while passing over the Hoan Bridge, the taste of an Oakland Gyro @ 2:36 am, the fierce stomping of the Milvereen in Walker’s Point on a summer afternoon while the sun prisms off the glistening sweat on his pulsing pectorals, or your East Side picnic being disrupted by Brother Ron in his Jesusmobile — all things I dearly miss when away.)
While you sit back and admire these quirks, you never once think for a moment they are fleeting. You don’t truly soak them up, preserve them, store them away, and keep them hydrated. You assume they are plentiful. A scene you’ll get to witness a thousand more times, on tap, at your beckoning.
Then, one day you walk into an empty room. A room once shared. A room of laughs, tears, and loving embraces. Now all you can find, the only remnant of the past, are decomposing strands of protein — hair from a bygone era caked between the floorboard and the wall.
She’s still out there somewhere. Leaving little hair dolls for someone else now. You’re the only one who has changed.
Does she long for these simple times like you do? Was she ever truly there with you? Did she even exist?
If she did exist — maybe what you considered the best time of your life is one she worked hard to dissociate from — considering it a low point. The same sponge you squeeze with all your might to get one droplet from is one she disposed of long ago after using it to scrub cat vomit off the floorboards.
If your best is another’s worst — are you wrong?
This isn’t answerable.
Also, holy shit, what a nonsensical figurative tangent. But I think there’s something to be said of how some of the most miserable and frustrating moments of our lives end up being the ones we become most fond of in hindsight.
Some of the most difficult events and years of my life took place in Milwaukee. A lot of disappointment, isolation, and grief. It was a test of endurance and will. And coming through those dark nights and days was redemptive and character-building.
And, like how a cold glass of water tastes better after a long summer run, a cold beer tastes better after a grueling mountain hike, a meal tastes better after hours of meticulous preparation, and a movie is more enjoyable after riding your bike 15 miles to retrieve it from Blockbuster Video — difficulty often breeds reward.
This hit really close to home one day when I was leaving for work while living in Milwaukee. I was running late and had six-layers of clothes on to combat the record cold and, hence, wasn’t at peak agility. I ended up slipping on ice and falling, Home Alone style, as I descended the staircase. My laptop and bag went flying. I just laid there. For a good 15–20 minutes. Staring at the sky.
I realized while lying in pain on my back: life is ridiculous and we tend to take it way too seriously — as if we know the answers for what we’re working towards.
The funniest part: I ended up getting to work a half-hour late after scraping ice and snow off my car — but I was the only one who showed up to the office. It was a holiday.
Why Milwaukee? Why now?
When I describe Milwaukee to people in Portland, I usually say, “Milwaukee now is like how Portland was back in 2004–2008”.
And then they sigh — nostalgically recalling a better time when things were gritty, affordable, underground, and rogue.
Since then, with the help of developers, VCs, and Fred Armisen — Portland has become a caricature of itself.
Still a fun city that I very much enjoy — but after seeing a new hip bar painting faux-poo in the entryway while serving an $18 cocktail, you gotta step back and be like, “what the hell are we doing here? Maybe this isnt it”.
A little too self-referential — like a 46-year-old man wearing his letterman jacket on a night out in his hometown.
And I’m not the only one who feels that way. Even Portland does. In fact, Portland city leadership has been so impressed with Milwaukee’s genuine revival that they have sought out advice for Downtown bouncebackability (official urban planning terminology) from MKE.
Fun fact: the current head of the Portland Chamber is a Milwaukee native — and the great grandson of former (Socialist) Milwaukee Mayor, Daniel Hoan!
But…this isnt a “shit on Portland post”. It’s a “salivate on Milwaukee” post.
I don’t want Milwaukee to become gentrified beyond recognition + so maybe I should tuck myself back in and delete this post before letting the world into my little secret?
But NO. I can’t. Like a proud obnoxious parent, I am way too proud of my kid and I want the whole world to know how cool she is.
And, like a proud parent, maybe I am terminally blind to her obvious flaws and drawbacks. Maybe distance has given me the necessary proximity needed to love with reckless abandon and an open heart. Sometimes a perfect friendship can be ruined when becoming roommates. A picture perfect engagement ruined on the honeymoon cruise.
Should I ask, in this gushing essay, for Mayor Cavalier Johnson to legally banish me from the city?
The way pining over a lost or fleeting love is sometimes better than the reunion itself (I’ve unfortunately experienced this + with my longest hiatus between picture perfect meeting, and lackluster reunion, being 21 years. The fantasy was roughly 5,000x better than reality. But I’ve been told I have a hell of an imagination.)
I love you Milwaukee. Near or far. I love being inside you, but I still love you just as much from the outside. I’ve learned to share you. To be shared. Although not my default setting, our open, non-monogamous love has made me appreciate you more than I ever could’ve had we maintained our initial, traditional, relationship.
It was the leaving that allowed me to appreciate and adore everything you bring. All the ways you are. All the ways you’ve grown.
I didn’t think we would survive time apart. For so long, my life didn’t exist without you. I didn’t think it could. It wasn’t a life I knew or one I ever thought I’d have to live again.
But…we departed…and it was for the best.
I can say sorry for taking you for granted. But that would be disingenuous.
I appreciated you every bit as much as I was able to give at the time in the moments we shared. I’m not gonna apologize for giving 100% (even though I feel like my 100% then is my 50% now).
I hope to see you again soon. Whether it’s a 20-minute coffee catch up or a 40-year reunification — I’m always excited at the prospect of seeing you, my love.
Aunt Pat Milwaukee Poem #1 — “Milwaukee Then & Now”
The old Milwaukee I knew smelled like money and wore Carhartts. Now it’s the odor of freshly brewed coffee, while 35 year old prime working men still wear Carhartts to pound on their keyboards in various coffee venues instead of raking the hops towers to slake America’s thirst for cheap beer.
Aunt Pat Milwaukee Poem #2 — “On Milwaukee Coffee”
I’m savoring the aroma of fresh dark brew, the bitters reach my taste buds before I sip. I settle into the comfortable clinking of heavy crockery cups while thinking of my ride here, my favorite route to the south side. I took the Hoan, of course, the bridge named after the Socialist Mayor who saved our city from becoming Sodom and Gomorrah. The Hoan is our own Golden Gate Bridge, with stunning views of Milwaukee especially at dusk, when city lights just begin to twinkle, and the blue of the lake becomes deep.
-Patricia “A.P.” Adams
—
Shoutout to some of the neighborhoods/places that make Milwaukee special:
- East Side: my first home. Where I gained a liberal arts education, mentored nearby youth, filmed some dumb videos, and got tackled by police for hauling dirty laundry late at night (they thought it was booze). Where a girl I once went on a date with (literally) dove behind a car to avoid being seen with me, and where my Aunt would often come retrieve me from the UWM dorms to do some local cultural spelunking and wisdom-giving. Fun fact: I was once a bus driver doing an East Side loop! But was fired after I ran into a school bus :-(
- Riverwest: where I strolled over to from the East Side when I was feeling angsty and cooler than I actually am. I was told several times that I wasn’t “Riverwest enough” while in Riverwest, so I don’t know if I would call it an inclusive community — but it’s certainly diverse, gritty, and a bit eccentric. As a lifelong wannabe goth, I curse my blonde hair and perpetual smile almost every morning. Someday y’all will accept me. *schedules facial tattoo session*
- Bay View: my graduated love. After leaving the East Side, I moved to a small cottage in Bay View where I worked at Outpost Co-op and let my inner granola freak run wild. Homebrewing kombucha and working at a farm — life was simple — except for my sell-out cubicle content writing job at the software company Zywave. I lasted about 10-months there. It remains my one and only corporate job to this day!
- Summerfest: Where else on earth can you see Weird Al perform immediately after Mudvayne? Then, hit a golf ball to win a car? Then, play wheelchair basketball and win a year’s worth of summer sausage? That magical place is called Summerfest — the world’s largest music festival. A festival I’ve worked a handful of times — including being the Hole-in-One specialist. I know it sounds sexy — but I rode around on a boat all day retrieving floating balls out of Lake Michigan while people attempted to win a brand new car by hitting a ball to a floating island. In terms of dope summer jobs — it was the dopest.
- Coffee shops: The National, Amaranth Bakery, FUEL Cafe, Anodyne, Alterra (Colectivo), Stone Creek, blah blah blah — hours of reading, writing, cribbage, and bullshitting occurred here and I honestly think Milwaukee has the best coffee shop scene in the United States — without a fucking doubt. Eat it Seattle & Portland.
- Menomonee River Valley/Story Hill: my aunt’s apartment on 52nd and Bluemound falls into what is now affectionately known as Story Hill. As a kid, all I knew was County Stadium, the nearby cemetery, and a bunch of run down boarded up buildings and loud bars. In middle-school, once the Brewers actually started to have a functioning team, I’d spend weeks at my Aunt’s house walking over to Miller Park and got to see some of my heroes — including a washed up Griffey Jr. on the Reds who threw me a ball in the $5 bleachers! (Well…kinda. He handed it to Jason LaRue who then threw it to me. Close enough.)
- Brewery tours: is it about the taste? Is it about the experience? Milwaukee’s brewery tours go hard. At least…they used to. Most tour guides at Lakefront & MKE Brewing Company (RIP? But I’ve heard they’re coming back?) were pulled directly from the local improv scene. As a former improv performer — it was always a dream to someday get paid to drink free beer while bullshitting people.
- Bradley Center & County Stadium ❤
- Mitchell Park: The Domes, cleanups, and strolls — I fought and advocated for the restoration of The Domes and surrounding neighborhoods as Executive Director of Milwaukee Preservation Alliance. A fight that has been raging on for decades, local residents are beginning to run where we were only able to crawl. Check out the progress and support the Domes here: https://milwaukeedomes.org/
- Dive bars.
- ’Tosa: There has been quite a revival in this area in the last 30 years and every-so-often I love grabbing a coffee over in ‘Tosa for a nice change of pace. If I had kids, I could see the appeal of the faux-suburban feel for Wauwatosa — while still having amazing access to the city. Technically, Mayfair Mall is in Wauwatosa. This was my high school destination almost every other weekend. I would drive a crew over from Sheboygan and we would buy our stupid Hollister, American Eagle, and Abercrombie gear, and skate shoes from Zumiez, and then proceed to get chased by security and kicked out. Never a wasted moment. Simpler times. (Man do I miss the teriyaki chicken from the food court — they always tricked you with those little samples on the toothpick. That shit was soaked in some mysterious MSG/butter/sugar combination that was just irresistible.)
- All of the publicly owned golf courses: Golf is an embarrassing sport and a terrible use of natural resources — but if courses are going to exist, I want them owned by my COUNTY GOVERNMENT, and I want them CHEAP. Love you Warnimont ❤ https://mke.golf/
- Urban Ecology Center: Renting a kayak from the center, cruising out to the mouth of Lake Michigan and back from the east side, and then sitting back in the cabin-esque east side center while sippin’ hot cocoa and reading a book? *chef’s kiss*
- Lake Michigan: I love you. My grandma loves you. You’re cold 364 days a year — but I can’t help but pine after you. Your one annual day of tolerability makes it all the more special. I want to be embraced by you so badly but you push me away time and time again with your powerful current. You are simultaneously emerald green and blueberry blue without an endpoint in sight. When I show you off to friends from around the world, they always ask, “is this the ocean?” Yes. This is my ocean.
- Milwaukee Film: as a former Film student, and current (future?) filmmaker, I love the Milwaukee Film scene. Go visit The Oriental, Downer Theater, The Avalon, or The Times Cinema. I’ve never seen a city pull such weight in the film scene for it’s size. And I’ve lived/worked in the heart of Hollywood. https://mkefilm.org/
- South Milwaukee: Grant Park: The site of my strolls with my mentor: David Backes. I’ve written about David before. A far better writer than myself, David passed away about a year and a half ago. Completely unexpected to me. I thought he and I had 20 more years of strolls left in us. Just goes to show you never know how much time you get.
Fun Milwaukee ticket stubs:
My Milwaukee Hero
My former UW-Milwaukee professor Dr. David J. Backes is my favorite man I’ve ever met. I took his classes three times formally in undergrad — and continued to learn from him long after.
Although, as a writer and author, he often wrote about the rugged wilderness — he did it via his modest residential home in South Milwaukee near General Mitchell Airport. Not exactly a naturalist’s heaven. But he made it work — with the, incredibly mindful, simple sentiment:
If you can’t be in the place you Love, Love the place you’re in:
i don’t live in the country
i don’t live in the woods
or the mountains
or on the ocean
i don’t live in a rustic cabin
or a cute tiny house
or a renovated van that i drive to beautiful remote areas
i don’t live in any of the kinds of
places that get a lot of attention on youtube
…
a popular song that’s probably still loved by aging hippies
said that if you can’t be with one you love, love the one you’re with
i think you can apply that to places too
and to the kinds of relationships we need to build for a better world
i love the wild places of the world but
i also know that wonder is everywhere
…
i rarely drive anywhere these days
i have almost everything i need in my neighborhood
and it’s beautiful park
along the shore of lake michigan
- David J. Backes, 1957–2022
Love you, David.
I once convinced a New Jersey girl, who was raised just outside of Manhattan, to fall in love with Milwaukee. We lived in a tiny little cottage in Bay View. She learned to love scraping the ice off windshields, moving the car every night for the snowplow, and even getting salt-crusted pants legs. This was all worth it to her for “the culture”.
The accents. The food. The supper clubs. The friendly smiles. The caring neighbors. The strange addiction to professional football. The passion for community. (Yes, she became a proud cheesehead.)
If a New Yorker/Jersey girl, who I met while chainsawing in the Sierra Nevada mountains of California, can fall in love with Milwaukee — you can too!
About the Author:
Craig Wiroll is a frozen custard aficionado from the Midwest. He is the author of 26 unpublished books that mysteriously burned in a barn fire in 2014. He is a has-been reality television “star”, game show failure, Asian elephant rehabilitator, waterfall repairman, two-time garlic eating champion, and also worked at Pizza Hut and The White House.
He lives with his cat Dr. Dentist — oftentimes out of the back of his 2005 Saturn VUE.
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