Devil's Lake, Wisconsin and the Civilian Conservation Corps

By Robert J. Moore

Thousands of young men embarked on the adventure of a lifetime when they joined the Civilian Conservation Corps during the Great Depression.

Service at Wisconsin's popular state park offered notoriety absent at most camp assignments. While most of the CCC work around the country was in remote forests and farmlands, at Devil's Lake tourists could view CCC project activity each day, forging that labor into an essential part of the park experience. Historian Robert J. Moore interviews veterans and mines the archives to preserve this legacy so that the gasps of wonder at nature's marvels remain mixed with respect for the men who helped bring them forth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The History Press
• Release date: Jun 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781625842060

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INTRODUCTION

Only teenagers on a dare would try a stunt like this. It was a climb of five hundred feet to the top of the bluff over slick and icy chunks of rock. Many of the boulders were as big as an automobile. Most of the climb was open and exposed to the elements. Yet the boys were not afraid. They knew the dangers that lay ahead of them. They had climbed the East Bluff of Devil’s Lake many times before, but it was different this time. This time, they faced winter conditions on the jagged rocks. There would be patches of ice, and the exposed boulders would quickly numb fingers that were not protected with gloves. All of that didn’t matter to the small group of young men looking up at the bluff. This was not a work assignment, and it was not a rescue mission. This time, it was just for fun.

It was not a technical climb and did not require any sophisticated equipment, but it was a dangerous attempt nonetheless. If they wanted to be safe, they would have to take it slow. But that probably wasn’t going to happen. The impatience of youth gripped them all. They hurried through their preparations. Instead of climbing ropes and other mountaineering gear, the group simply put on warm clothes, and each member carried a pack containing water and a sack lunch. One of them had a camera.

Winter was the off-season at Devil’s Lake, so they didn’t see anyone else as they started the climb. No one would be watching from below. They knew friends would be waiting after they came down and would be willing to help them if things went bad, but it would take a couple of hours or more to get a seriously injured climber off the bluff and to a hospital. The greatest danger was that most of the hike had to be negotiated over a steeply pitched talus slope of icy boulders and loose rock. To the invincible young men on the way up, all the hazards and risks that briefly crossed their minds hardly mattered. The first part of the hike through the trees was easy. They continued up at a steady pace but had to stop occasionally. Even for healthy young men, drawing deep breaths in this cold hurt their chests. As they moved out of the trees and onto the exposed talus slope, the wind became stronger and the footing more slippery. Finally, the white pines near the summit gave them some cover. Then, suddenly, they were on top of the plateau.

A rare winter view of the Devil’s Lake CCC camp taken from the top of the East Bluff, circa 1937. Courtesy Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources (DNR), Devil’s Lake State Park.

They had seen the view from the top of East Bluff many times, mostly in the green splendor of summer, with boats on the lake and bathers in miniature wading in the shallow south beach far below. Looking down on the south side that day, they saw a winter wonderland of snow. The park had a quiet and lonely feeling, but that’s why they came on this day. Down below, about a quarter mile east of the lakeshore, was a set of buildings lined up in rows. Even from the top of the bluff, the building complex looked impressive. If the boys didn’t know better, they would think it was a school. What they were looking at instead was the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) camp built in 1935, still looking bright and new.

One of the most important pieces of equipment on this climbing trip was the camera. A number of boys had made this trip and taken a photo of the camp, but this picture was going to be a winter view. Not many boys would have a picture like that, only ones who were brave enough to climb the East Bluff on a bitter winter’s day. The picture was going to be sent to the folks back home to show them where they had spent the last year. Hopefully, it would end up in the family scrapbook alongside the pictures of their high school graduations. Since it was such a special view, an extra copy might be made and given to the camp commander. It might look good in the office. It was a unique view at a unique time, but then, everything about Devil’s Lake was unique. The young CCC boys atop the East Bluff at Devil’s Lake had good reason to believe that their camp assignment was the best. Their obviously biased evaluation was not unfounded. It was not only the job but also the location. In the fledgling Wisconsin state park system, some areas were more equal (and accessible) than others. In a grouping of equals, Devil’s Lake seemed to be even more equal than others. Its increased status had everything to do with its location, transportation links, and the related upswing each year in tourist visitation.¹

In the late nineteenth century, railroads were the key to prosperity. Lumber in the far north and dairy everywhere else propelled the growth of railroads in Wisconsin. Railroad barons were attracted to new locations by the potential for making money on freight, not people. Devil’s Lake and surrounding Sauk County had neither an abundance of wood (at least not enough to make railroading profitable) nor a significant dairy operation. What the area did have was a tourist gem that was growing in popularity. That popularity was the key to attracting a railroad to Sauk County.

Tomahawk Rock and the north beach, circa 1918. Note the double railroad tracks hugging the eastern shore. Courtesy Robert J. Moore.

The lake eventually got its rail connection, but it was a mixed blessing. However, in the 1870s, few people saw the coming of the railroad as a mixed blessing. It would take almost a century for a groundswell of environmental awareness to point out that a ribbon of rails in the park was not consistent with the natural characteristics of the area. In the meantime, none of that mattered. What mattered was development and progress, and a railroad was the first step. The second step was to provide people a place to stay. If tourism at Devil’s Lake was to be successful, it was obvious to civic leaders and businessmen of towns near the lake that accommodations were needed to meet the demands of long-distance visitors. Development plans were grand and in some cases luxuriant, thanks in large part to the reliability of the railroad. Magnificent resort hotels were built, and comfortable excursion boats cruised the lake. It was the Gilded Age in America, and at the same time it was the Golden Age of Luxury at Devil’s Lake. Rail transportation made it all possible.²

Alas, the prosperity of the Gilded Age did not last. But even after the resort hotels were gone, railroads were still a popular transportation option into the park. But that would change, too. By the time the first group of Civilian Conservation Corps boys arrived at Devil’s Lake in 1934, the automobile had taken over as the most convenient way to visit the lake. The independence that came with the car had an impact on the park, much like the railroads had eighty years before. Attendance exploded.

Cliff House during the 1890s. This was the most luxurious hotel at Devil’s Lake during the heyday of the resort period. Room rates were $2.50 per day, with the railroad depositing visitors within a few feet of the hotel entrance. Poor management decisions and squabbles with the railroad doomed the resort, and it was closed in 1904. The hotel was torn down shortly thereafter. Courtesy Wisconsin DNR, Devil’s Lake State Park.

Since the 1950s, Devil’s Lake has consistently been the most visited park in the Wisconsin system. A significant part of that appeal is due to its popularity beyond central Wisconsin. Geography was always a friend to Devil’s Lake. Chicago, Milwaukee, Madison and even Minneapolis were all within manageable travel distance of the lake. One of the biggest draws to the lake came from Chicago, less than two hundred miles to the southeast. From the railroad days of the late nineteenth century to the resort hotel period around the turn of the twentieth century and beyond, residents of the Windy City have perpetuated a long-standing love affair with Devil’s Lake—this from a population that has one of the mighty Great Lakes on its doorstep.

Tired urbanites have always found respite by Devil’s Lake. Word-of-mouth was enough, and one example is representative of how a good thing traveled on the lips of city folks. Lois Krzeminski and her high school friends from the ethnic Cragin neighborhood of northwest Chicago had many recreational opportunities to choose from in the city. One of their favorites was the North Avenue beach on Lake Michigan. The good news for them was that it wasn’t far from home. The bad news was that it was downtown, with all the traffic and noise. Riding on a crowded city bus in one’s swimsuit was not the kind of atmosphere that Lois and her friends thought about when they imagined getting away from it all. There had to be an alternative—something more natural and less urban. Word spread through her circle of city friends. There was a place. It was a bit of a drive compared to North Avenue, someone said, but it would be worth it.

Looking back on it all, Lois’s best memories of walking on the beach on a hot summer’s day are not from those in the shadows of Windy City skyscrapers but from her 1970s camping days at Devil’s Lake. While there, she had seen the stone buildings at the Wisconsin park but didn’t know about the CCC work back then; she just knew it was a great place to camp, swim, rent a boat, buy an ice cream and experience the natural beauty of the lake. Hordes of tourists had come before her, and millions more would follow her each year.³

Seventy years before Lois’s first visit, Devil’s Lake businessmen were bragging about their connection to Chicago’s elite families, like the Revells and Gilletts. A hotel publication at the lake reported that late nineteenth-century politician and popular five-time mayor of Chicago Carter Harrison had considered Devil’s Lake to be his favorite summer resort. That was during the heyday of the hotel resort period.⁴ In 1935, the CCC would find the amenities at the lake far different from when Harrison and his entourage lounged by the shore in the 1880s. Some would say things had gone downhill since Harrison’s day. The lakeside resorts were gone. Even the remaining camping amenities looked worn out and haphazard by the 1920s. The park needed a facelift. That was why the CCC boys came to Devil’s Lake.

Thousands of teenagers and young adults embarked on the adventure of a lifetime when they joined the Civilian Conservation Corp during the Great Depression years of the 1930s. Even though many saw it as an adventure, the program was not intended as a recreational or vacation experience. It was a program of outdoor work, and everyone who went in knew that. They also knew that the CCC was part of a massive relief program to help people get through the tough economic times. But beyond the work, the CCC opportunity was a chance to get away from familiar surroundings and experience the world outside their hometowns. Some had spent their young lifetimes growing up within a few miles of where they were born. Many felt they had something to prove, and the CCC gave them that chance. Beyond the adventure, perhaps more than anything, it was a way they could show their folks how mature, productive and independent they could be.

The confidence, fun and a sense of independence can be seen on the faces of the young men in this CCC work crew at Devil’s Lake in 1937. Courtesy Richard McDavitt.

This book is intended to focus on the CCC camp at Devil’s Lake. Doing so will show why the CCC was the most successful of the New Deal relief programs. The stories of the young men bring out the adventure, fear, loneliness, friendship and cooperative spirit that made these men part of the greatest generation of Americans. The stories will also show that the CCC experience carried over beyond the Depression years to have an impact on the national character as America entered World War II. The stories will take the reader back to a time in which leaving home and accepting responsibility was the key to economic survival, as well as the path to personal maturity in an era of crushing economic despair.

The level of desperation was unprecedented, and every household felt its effects. Leaders in Washington seemed paralyzed. The economic crash that began in the fall of 1929 had become a crisis the American government did not know how to handle. As the economy spiraled down, the American public had a chance to speak—at the ballot box. The presidential election of 1932 brought a new administration that heard the message on election day. Franklin D. Roosevelt came to Washington determined to offer a New Deal and try new things.

Among the first laws to pass was one directed at helping young people. A central component of that law was the creation of the Civilian Conservation Corps. It was one of Roosevelt’s favorite projects and one that not only would provide relief for young men but was also an opportunity to restore and improve the nation’s forests, farms and parks. To the young men who joined, it was a chance to embark on a grand adventure while working and making a little money. The program was a rousing success.

On one level, it was an environmental success that changed America’s perception about conservation. But the true legacy of the Civilian Conservation Corps is found within the young men themselves. In the depths of the Depression, the CCC gave young men something that carried them through the bad times but also laid the foundation for future success. That new element in their lives was hope. The CCC was a realization that somebody cared about them and was willing to give them a chance. That chance included development of skills on the job that could be used to make a better life.

The stories of work and play the young men brought back