Milwaukee Public Museum

Monday I went to Milwaukee's claim to museal fame: The Public Museum downtown. I was a bit apprehensive at first, especially since I had to correct the ticketseller twice on handing me back my fucking money. The admission was $14, and I paid with a $20 bill. She gave me my ticket and said, with a vapid smile "you're good to go". I pointed out that there was supposed to be some change in my future, and not of the "hope and change" kind. The airhead then proceeded to count out four dollars, which left me short two. I pointed this out. As she handed over my last two dollars with an apologetic smile, I remarked "this is not your day, is it?".

Anyway, as soon as I'd negotiated the ticket sales, I embraced the institution wholeheartedly. It has a wonderfully eclectic collection of stuff from all over the world, with grand, informative displays and explanatory notes on the side, just as I like it. I became progressively less interested as I moved along, but this had more to do with my own, highly erratic tastes, than with the exhibits themselves.

The best part, to my tiny, little mind, was the section with streets of Milwaukee from long ago. They had rebuilt several streets, with a bakery, a pharmacy, a pub, etc. and were fully stocked with old stuff inside. I pressed my little nose to the window of most of them and left a trail of wonder and snot. When they opened up the doors of a candy store, I was the first customer, browsing the goodies like the proverbial child.

The museum was crawling with children; the woman behind the desk in the candy store told me they had FIVE HUNDRED of them coming in that day, and that was just the ones they knew about. The kids produced an almost constant noise throughout the museum, but I did get my revenge. I stood still for some time, gazing through the windows of one of the "old" houses, then I turned around and looked into the wide, terror-stricken face of a black girl of about 6-7 years, who breathed "I thought you were a mannequin!". Score one for the Ghost.

Right next to the city streets they had an area displaying examples of building traditions from 18 (I think) countries whence early immigrants had settled Milwaukee. I was thrilled to discover that one house was Norwegian. Score another one for the Ghost!

All pics here.

The wonderful hodgepodge that is the central display of the first exhibit floor. It's as if some mad timetraveler has raced through the world, grabbing everything he could find and just thrown it in a great, big heap. I loved it.


A bakery. I could almost smell the freshly made bread. Sigh.


Milwaukee has TONS of Kraut German immigrants and for many years, German was as common as English on the streets.


One of the most German of traditions was the Schuetzenfest - shooting feast. It was a uniquely German combo of shooting, drinking, eating and dancing. It almost died out after WW1, since anything German was viewed with suspicion after that war. Prohibition also had a devastating impact on the German culture, based as it was on the consumption of large quantities of beer. Milwaukee, with all its breweries, was beer central and prior to the war it was known as "Little Munich".


A Czech beehive.


True story: I saw this display, thought they were actual museum employees working on a display and walked on to the next exhibit, thinking I'd do this one later iffin they had finished by then. It goes without saying that I'm an eejit.


A properly aryan looking doll looks out from the upper floor of the Norwegian house.


The inside of the Norwegian house. Wonder, snot and maybe a few tears of homesickness escaped.


They also had a closed off area with lots of butterflies in.


When in doubt, throw in a couple of dinosaurs.


Display of injuns dancing at a pow-wow.


They had several areas for kids; this was a room where you could play scientist. As I've stated before, I think this is a wonderful thing about US museums and I believe we have something to learn from them in Norwegian museums.


Some of the loot from the candy store. I am munching on the butterscotch as I write this.