Let’s clear up the “Hill of the Dead” matter before launching into our dinner stop at the White House Inn. There are three Butte des Morts—two lakes, Little and Big (or Petite and Grand en francais) and a village founded in 1818 on the north shore of the Big Lake Butte des Morts.
The often circulated story of the French attacking the Fox (Meskwaki) Indians and massacring many of them didn’t really occur at either lake, but mostly likely happened on Doty Island where the Indians had an encampment. But it’s a good story of how the French with their Menominee Indian allies canoed up to the Meskwaki (Fox) Indians village and launched an attack. According to the story, the Meskwaki village was on the west side of Little Lake Butte des Morts. The French attacked from their canoes where they had hidden guns and the Menominee by land from behind the village. The French were pissed because of “depredations of the Fox on [French] fur traders.” After the battle there were many, many Meskwaki dead; they were buried on the spot and hence the bluff became known as the Butte des Morts. There is an historical marker here (Fritsie Park) that was put up in 1955 and describes the battle.
As I mentioned earlier, area archeologists know there really was such a battle, but they think this battle was actually fought on Doty Island, which is at the mouth of the Fox River at Neenah and Menasha. The large burial mound on Little Lake Butte des Morts was built by the Woodland Indians way before the Fox and French got here. The mound was damaged in the late 1800s by railroad construction. Currently the mound is being rebuilt, but there won’t be any bodies in it.
So, what about Big Lake Butte des Morts? Well, the large bluff there on the north side was also a burial site for indigenous peoples. Most likely Late Woodland who existed from 500-1300 AD. Although archeological evidence says later tribes of Indians also used it as a burial site, but no battleground.
In the 1990s and early 2000s, the University of Wisconsin Oshkosh archeology field school excavated the Bell Haven and later the Bell sites on the south shore of Lake Butte des Morts. Lots of artifacts were found dating from the French and Meskwaki times (early 1700s) and the Late Woodland Indians. I was satisfying my archeology longings at the Bell site in 2004, I think, sifting dirt and looking for “treasure,” when one of the students unearthed a Jesuit trading ring. Cool.
But now it’s time to get back to the White House Inn. The head waitress, also the daughter of the current owner, led us to a table in the prochlike dining room. We weren’t the only diners in the place. She handed out menus. “Oh, they have liver,” Judy exclaimed. Go for it, kid, I thought remembering how I dreaded the liver and onion dinners I had as a kid.
The White House Inn
Like Tilly’s Too, the White House Inn serves only bottled beer, no taps. There were many choices. Gary chose a Blue Moon; Elaine, a Sam Adams; Marv, a Pabst Blue Ribbon (hear that, Steve?); I, a Spotted Cow; Don, an Amber Bock; and Judy, our designated driver, chose an O’Douls.
The waitress (the current owner’s granddaughter) brought them all on a small round tray with the beer glasses upended on the bottles. Whoops! The tray was tippy and some bottles and glasses fell and broke and beer spilled—most at Gary and Don’s side of the table. Marv’s, Judy’s and my beers survived the accident. The waitress went back for more after apologizing, picking up broken glass and mopping up spilled suds.
We ordered. Judy didn’t have the guts to order the liver. There was a lot to choose from. Of course, I had salmon; some had the day’s special.
Elaine and Gary had the perch diner. The consensus was that the food was really tasty.
We talked about being at the White House Inn in the past. Don and Judy have fond memories of dining here years ago celebrating a wedding anniversary. Marv and I recalled being here one night for dinner when Don came in with Dr. Kerrigan who had just been appointed the new Chancellor at UWO.
But the day of our visit was November 2, 2011, and the concealed carry bill had just become law. Elaine had downloaded the application for carrying a weapon and read us the qualifications. As far as I know, none of us were going to become gun-toters. Marv thinks his 3-shot bolt action 16-gauge is enough for home protection. Since it hasn’t been cleaned, fired or even taken out of some closet, I doubt if it would be helpful in an emergency. Marv says I’m wrong. Me? Wrong? Ridiculous! Marv and I were the only ones there who had ever fired a pistol. When we lived in Potsdam (actually Hannawa Falls), New York, back in the ‘60s, a young couple that were gun enthusiasts lived in the upstairs apartment. They took us out to “do some target shooting” in the Adirondack forest. Against the side of a steep sandbank, Dave had stacked beer cans and bottles in pyramid shapes like one would see at a carnival booth. He fired a pistol decimating bottles and cans. Cans were restacked and Carol showed her prowess with a pistol. Then Marv. Lastly me. The pistol was much heavier than I thought it would be. “Two hands,” said Dave showing me how to grip the gun, straighten my arms, and take a wide stance. “It’ll kick,” he warned. I aimed low and pulled the trigger. God only knows where that bullet went—it missed bottles, cans, and hillside. I was left standing with the gun pointed skyward. Marv thinks it might just be a “girl problem”? After all Dave and he hit the target. That’s when I learned that all that shooting in TV shows and movies is fake. Guns aren’t easy to control.
On a much lighter and more pleasant note, Judy told us her granddaughter Tess got a marmalade tabby cat for her birthday. Both the kitten, named Wyatt, and Tess are very happy.
We wandered out to the barroom after dinner and examined the Civil War artifacts of Corporal LaFever. Though the menu of the White House Inn provides the history, it is easier to go to their web siteand read all about it! Two museum type cases in the large barroom hold his Civil War mementos—sword, medals, photographs, etc. We were impressed with the large back bar with its columns, mirrors, and carving. One column is hollow—a place for illegal liquor during Prohibition? Maybe, but supposedly the White House Inn was a candy shop during that time. The high back bar, wooden booths and wide archway had the look of the Robert Brand Company. We were invited to come behind the bar and look for the Brand insignia, but couldn’t find one. We asked the bartender, who happened to be the owner’s daughter, if she knew. “I’ll call and ask,” she said dialing her dad’s number. She asked, “Who built the back bar?” His answer “Robert Brand Co. of Oshkosh.”
Robert Brand Co. Bar
It was still raining when we said our good-byes and stepped outside. Though the Butte des Morts Supper Club, our last stop of the evening, was just a hop, skip and jump away. We piled into the white van and Judy drove us around the corner to the supper club.
The White House Inn is one of our favorite weekend breakfast places in the Oshkosh area. We particularly like that “porchlike dining room” in the morning, as you can enjoy looking out at the lovely garden, beautiful even in the wintertime because of the wide variety of clever yard sculpture and structures, bushes, and trees. They have a small, but very nice, breakfast menu.
Have we already talked about our having lived in Potsdam, New York, too? I can easily picture the setting for your early target practice incident!
Keep up the great posts — even with “didn’t have the guts to order the liver.” Groan!
Hi Mary Ann, I didn’t know you and Peter lived in Potsdam. When? Marv taught at Clarkson in the humanities department. I taught 8th grade for a couple of semesters at Potsdam Junior High. We moved to Oshkosh for the weather in 1966.