Dave Wood

Several years ago, when I was a weekly columnist for “Grit,” the national weekly that prided itself on only printing good news, I broke the rules and referred to Wisconsin Dells as “a tourist trap.”

That nasty comment elicited a thoughtful response from Dells native Janice Koehler, who gently reminded me that columnists have a tremendous responsibility to be fair, that one reason some of us have fallen into disrepute is that some of us are very susceptible to taking a cheap shot once in a while and hurting people out there in Readerland, folks we don't even know. 

Understand that most of us certainly don't mean to hurt people and usually do so in the heat of composition or in the near nervous breakdowns caused by tomorrow's deadline or the occupational hazard of being hard-hitting, tough and to the point. Janice Koehler's letter to me hit home because just before I received it I was drinking coffee with a colleague in Minneapolis, and we were talking about how local newspapers have more than their share of enemies in any town and, as writers for these papers, we're often the target of tirades that wouldn't happen in any other business. Turns out my coffee drinking pal was attending a French class at the University of Minnesota. Let him tell the story.

“After the first couple of classes, people learned that I worked at the Star Tribune. When class ended other students would come up to me and say 'Boy I can't stand the paper you work for. Used to subscribe, but I canceled and just can't believe how terrible that paper is.'”

My friend said that sort of hurt, because he worked hard for that paper and he thinks it is a good newspaper trying to be better. “But when you work for a newspaper, you get that sort of stuff. If I'd work at a delicatessen, my fellow students would not come up and say 'Hey, do I ever hate your deli. It serves the worst bagels and lox in this whole town.'”

Anyway, Janice wrote to express her disappointment that I called her town a “tourist trap.” She also told me she had moved to Wisconsin Dells 17 years ago. 

“When my husband died three years ago, people wondered if I would move back to Chicago. No way! I love this little town. Sure, if you want to take in everything the Dells has to offer, you can, indeed, spend a small fortune!  But please, give the Dells a chance...I work in a drug store in town and believe me, when Labor Day comes, all of us Dells workers are pretty tired, but most of us hate to see the tourist season come to an end...We really and truly enjoy all the visitors, not just their money. We try to be helpful by making suggestions as to how they can see the most for the least. Thanks for reading this far, and for allowing me to get this off my chest, and coming to the defense of a town I have sunk my roots into, and will hold fast, God willing.”

Wasn't that a sweet letter to write a hard-nosed journalist who descended into being a smarty pants at the expense of honest, decent people such as Janice? She worked hard for a living and was closer to the flesh and blood of the matter than a columnist who drives past a tourist attraction once in a blue moon. That letter came to me many years ago, but I have never forgotten her message to me.

I'm fairly certain Janice has passed on to the Big Walgreens in the Sky by now. But I'd love to tell her that my Beautiful Wife and I stop in Wisconsin Dells at least once year to meet up with Ruth's sister from Illinois to celebrate my birthday, and we’ve discovered where Dells residents stop to refresh themselves after a hard day's work. No, it's not an aqua multiplex, or a papier mâché Colosseum, a ride through the hills and dells in an amphibious vehicle or a stop at a pancake house sporting faux lumberjack memorabilia, or a “world famous” water skiing exhibition.

It's called the Del-Bar, a 75-year-old restaurant where I always celebrate my birthday with B.W. and B.S.L. (sister-in-law) and the good people of Wisconsin Dells, who enjoy a good drink and a good meal just like anyone else. When I belly up to the bar, I'm hoping I'll be carded.