Post by swampiewolfess on Mar 15, 2008 8:57:01 GMT -5
WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT DEPARTMENT -
Wisconsin - Where the 'Bear-Wolf' Roams
Did it really happen? Did Brett Favre retire? What if winter lasts until July? What was that lurking near the abandoned barn last night?
Rest easy, Northeastern Wisconsin. Except for the fact that Favre really did blow out of Titletown, we haven't totally lost our marbles. But if anyone is snapping cell-phone shots of a Bigfoot-type beast roaming the northwoods or a Nessy look-a-like breaking the surface of Lake Michigan, they're not sharing those secrets too close to home.
But there are stories. Stories that a shadowy wolf-like, bear-like creature seen foraging in the woods wasn't the average Wisconsin carnivore.
Those with enough nerve to share the sightings — or more accurately, what they think they saw — contact people like Linda Godfrey, an author from Elkhorn, who has written several books on weird goings-on in the state.
Godfrey spends a majority of her time traveling the highways and byways, compiling notes on long lost tales of pig men in Brussels or one-eyed horse tormentors in Green Bay-area stables. Some areas have richer and more well-traveled tales than others. That the stories exist speaks volumes about the human imagination and that people want to believe the unbelievable.
"People definitely want to believe that there are other things out there," said Godfrey, author of "Weird Wisconsin" and "Strange Wisconsin: More Badger State Weirdness."
"I've seen enough from the little bit that I've been able to explore to know that there are things you can't explain. That's why I think you're seeing a huge interest in ghost hunter shows, paranormal shows, monster shows. People really want to believe beyond what our senses tell us."
Do 'bear-wolves' live among us?
Godfrey, a former reporter who also has authored several books on werewolves — not the man-to-wolf transformational kind — says there's enough consistency in statewide sightings to believe a creature in the wilderness has some 'splainin to do.
"I don't think we're talking about Lon Chaney-style werewolves. I don't believe these are humans changing into wolf form," said Godfrey. "It does make for a sexier book title.
"It's strange, though, because I've received probably close to 200 reports just in Wisconsin and Michigan that have been consistent over years … and the way people describe its strength and speed, how it seems interested in staying out of sight, yet it stares people down, sometimes chases them before hiding in cover, it's a lot of the same.
"Sometimes, it's on two legs, runs away on four. Or sometimes, its starts on four and gets up and runs away on two. Either way, it's enough for people to say, 'I know what a wolf looks like. I know a dog or a bear. That wasn't it.' "
When conducting research, Godfrey said she's a skeptic. She does interviews to sniff out hoaxes, while information that passes the smell test is used to track patterns of consistency.
And wouldn't you know it? The Wisconsin werewolf in question has been to our neck of the woods.
"Green Bay is in a different area, in a sort of circle that extends to Wausau back to Green Bay and down to the West Bend area, the northern reaches of Milwaukee," she said. "It walks upright, and while it has a wolf-like head and ears, the body is bulkier. It's kind of been dubbed the 'bear-wolf.'"
"Bear-wolf." Check.
Now what about the legend of the little one-eyed man?
According to Godfrey's "Strange Wisconsin" book, the early settlers of Green Bay included French immigrants who shared stories about Les Lutins, tiny one-eyed men who loved to terrorize horse stables. Equivalent to goblins, whenever something was wrong with a horse, Les Lutins was blamed by owners.
That led Jacques, a Green Bay stableman, to sleep with his horses one night, eventually leading to noises and movements under a plank in the barn floor, the book said. A tiny cap poked through a hole, but went back under when the Cycloptic troublemaker realized a trap had been set.
"Geez, I've been in this job for 30 years and I've never heard that one before," said Mary Jane Herber, historian at the Brown County Library.
Herber had a meeting of the minds with two longtime residents and together they couldn't pin down any pervasive myths or legends tied to the area. Locations like Scray's (or Ghost) Hill, have history in terms of how they got their names — it stems from an illusion where cars were thought to be moving backwards by themselves up the hill — but she wasn't aware of anything that had stood the test of time.
"We all thought the same thing, that because of the strength of the churches in this area, both Lutherans and Catholics, that it probably wasn't something that was in the norm," Herber said. "People probably dismissed (those kinds of stories) right away."
The same might hold true in Door County.
Jon Jarosh said his area has several ghost tales, with tours capitalizing on the paranormal interest. But no deep woods or lake creatures to speak of. Just oversized fish.
"There's been a lot said about big fish over the years, because obviously there are some decent sized sturgeon that can swim around here," said Jarosh, marketing director with the Door County Chamber of Commerce. "But no lake creatures. And no Bigfoot around here. But we'd love to have him. Or her!"
Abnormalities also exist in Native American culture, though for the Oneida Tribe of Indians, it's intrinsic to its culture, which places the conversation at a different level.
Stories about the Goat Man, Deer Woman or shape shifting have persisted, often as scare tactics, among various tribes. But they aren't a matter of myth or legend to many who grew up with them, said Brian Doxtator of Oneida.
"For those of us who have been here for years, it's not something that brings raised eyebrows," he said.
What they haven't been able to control is how outside influences have taken the cultural concepts of Mother Earth and medicine and presented them as matters of black magic or witchcraft, Doxtator said. So maintaining who they are as tribal members — and passing that identity to the younger generation -- is something he'd like to see persevere.
"For my own self, it's something I try to practice. Storytelling," Doxtator said. "And occasionally I'll get teased, 'Oh, there's Brian telling a story again.' But we're all storytellers. Every one of us.
"But I'm also careful not to feed into the romanticized version of who we are as (supernatural) people. It's integrated in our community, but it's a small piece of the whole."
Then there's the Hodag.
Perhaps the most well-known Wisconsin-bred mythical monster, the Hodag has infused itself with all of Rhinelander.
The green dragon-like beast is used in city logos and advertising. It's Rhinelander High School's mascot. A smiling statue sits out front at the Chamber of Commerce. It even has its own Wikipedia page.
"Oh, we embrace it wholeheartedly, all the businesses, everything," said Trisha Gaffron, executive director at the chamber. "If you ask locals, you will not get one of them to tell you the Hodag is not real."
The Hodag story is credited to a logger named Gene Shepard who had the community eating out of his hand with the tall tale of a seven-foot-long creature roving the desolate pine forests in the late 1800s. The creation gave him a reputation for P.T. Barnum levels of showmanship, and by time he was found out, the story had cemented itself as local legend, Gaffron said.
"More than likely he's not around anymore … but you know, he was very real back in the day," Gaffron said with a laugh.
Wisconsin - Where the 'Bear-Wolf' Roams
Did it really happen? Did Brett Favre retire? What if winter lasts until July? What was that lurking near the abandoned barn last night?
Rest easy, Northeastern Wisconsin. Except for the fact that Favre really did blow out of Titletown, we haven't totally lost our marbles. But if anyone is snapping cell-phone shots of a Bigfoot-type beast roaming the northwoods or a Nessy look-a-like breaking the surface of Lake Michigan, they're not sharing those secrets too close to home.
But there are stories. Stories that a shadowy wolf-like, bear-like creature seen foraging in the woods wasn't the average Wisconsin carnivore.
Those with enough nerve to share the sightings — or more accurately, what they think they saw — contact people like Linda Godfrey, an author from Elkhorn, who has written several books on weird goings-on in the state.
Godfrey spends a majority of her time traveling the highways and byways, compiling notes on long lost tales of pig men in Brussels or one-eyed horse tormentors in Green Bay-area stables. Some areas have richer and more well-traveled tales than others. That the stories exist speaks volumes about the human imagination and that people want to believe the unbelievable.
"People definitely want to believe that there are other things out there," said Godfrey, author of "Weird Wisconsin" and "Strange Wisconsin: More Badger State Weirdness."
"I've seen enough from the little bit that I've been able to explore to know that there are things you can't explain. That's why I think you're seeing a huge interest in ghost hunter shows, paranormal shows, monster shows. People really want to believe beyond what our senses tell us."
Do 'bear-wolves' live among us?
Godfrey, a former reporter who also has authored several books on werewolves — not the man-to-wolf transformational kind — says there's enough consistency in statewide sightings to believe a creature in the wilderness has some 'splainin to do.
"I don't think we're talking about Lon Chaney-style werewolves. I don't believe these are humans changing into wolf form," said Godfrey. "It does make for a sexier book title.
"It's strange, though, because I've received probably close to 200 reports just in Wisconsin and Michigan that have been consistent over years … and the way people describe its strength and speed, how it seems interested in staying out of sight, yet it stares people down, sometimes chases them before hiding in cover, it's a lot of the same.
"Sometimes, it's on two legs, runs away on four. Or sometimes, its starts on four and gets up and runs away on two. Either way, it's enough for people to say, 'I know what a wolf looks like. I know a dog or a bear. That wasn't it.' "
When conducting research, Godfrey said she's a skeptic. She does interviews to sniff out hoaxes, while information that passes the smell test is used to track patterns of consistency.
And wouldn't you know it? The Wisconsin werewolf in question has been to our neck of the woods.
"Green Bay is in a different area, in a sort of circle that extends to Wausau back to Green Bay and down to the West Bend area, the northern reaches of Milwaukee," she said. "It walks upright, and while it has a wolf-like head and ears, the body is bulkier. It's kind of been dubbed the 'bear-wolf.'"
"Bear-wolf." Check.
Now what about the legend of the little one-eyed man?
According to Godfrey's "Strange Wisconsin" book, the early settlers of Green Bay included French immigrants who shared stories about Les Lutins, tiny one-eyed men who loved to terrorize horse stables. Equivalent to goblins, whenever something was wrong with a horse, Les Lutins was blamed by owners.
That led Jacques, a Green Bay stableman, to sleep with his horses one night, eventually leading to noises and movements under a plank in the barn floor, the book said. A tiny cap poked through a hole, but went back under when the Cycloptic troublemaker realized a trap had been set.
"Geez, I've been in this job for 30 years and I've never heard that one before," said Mary Jane Herber, historian at the Brown County Library.
Herber had a meeting of the minds with two longtime residents and together they couldn't pin down any pervasive myths or legends tied to the area. Locations like Scray's (or Ghost) Hill, have history in terms of how they got their names — it stems from an illusion where cars were thought to be moving backwards by themselves up the hill — but she wasn't aware of anything that had stood the test of time.
"We all thought the same thing, that because of the strength of the churches in this area, both Lutherans and Catholics, that it probably wasn't something that was in the norm," Herber said. "People probably dismissed (those kinds of stories) right away."
The same might hold true in Door County.
Jon Jarosh said his area has several ghost tales, with tours capitalizing on the paranormal interest. But no deep woods or lake creatures to speak of. Just oversized fish.
"There's been a lot said about big fish over the years, because obviously there are some decent sized sturgeon that can swim around here," said Jarosh, marketing director with the Door County Chamber of Commerce. "But no lake creatures. And no Bigfoot around here. But we'd love to have him. Or her!"
Abnormalities also exist in Native American culture, though for the Oneida Tribe of Indians, it's intrinsic to its culture, which places the conversation at a different level.
Stories about the Goat Man, Deer Woman or shape shifting have persisted, often as scare tactics, among various tribes. But they aren't a matter of myth or legend to many who grew up with them, said Brian Doxtator of Oneida.
"For those of us who have been here for years, it's not something that brings raised eyebrows," he said.
What they haven't been able to control is how outside influences have taken the cultural concepts of Mother Earth and medicine and presented them as matters of black magic or witchcraft, Doxtator said. So maintaining who they are as tribal members — and passing that identity to the younger generation -- is something he'd like to see persevere.
"For my own self, it's something I try to practice. Storytelling," Doxtator said. "And occasionally I'll get teased, 'Oh, there's Brian telling a story again.' But we're all storytellers. Every one of us.
"But I'm also careful not to feed into the romanticized version of who we are as (supernatural) people. It's integrated in our community, but it's a small piece of the whole."
Then there's the Hodag.
Perhaps the most well-known Wisconsin-bred mythical monster, the Hodag has infused itself with all of Rhinelander.
The green dragon-like beast is used in city logos and advertising. It's Rhinelander High School's mascot. A smiling statue sits out front at the Chamber of Commerce. It even has its own Wikipedia page.
"Oh, we embrace it wholeheartedly, all the businesses, everything," said Trisha Gaffron, executive director at the chamber. "If you ask locals, you will not get one of them to tell you the Hodag is not real."
The Hodag story is credited to a logger named Gene Shepard who had the community eating out of his hand with the tall tale of a seven-foot-long creature roving the desolate pine forests in the late 1800s. The creation gave him a reputation for P.T. Barnum levels of showmanship, and by time he was found out, the story had cemented itself as local legend, Gaffron said.
"More than likely he's not around anymore … but you know, he was very real back in the day," Gaffron said with a laugh.
