Memories of Weborg Point

My parents, Bill and Emma Funk, myself, and my sister Betty Jane, camped at Weborg Point from the late 1920s into the ‘30s. Friends of ours, the Strunck family, spent their summers in a house just north from Weborg Point on the East side of the road.

Directly across the road was a bay where the water almost reached the roadway. The Struncks introduced us to Peninsula State Park.

There was a deep economic depression at the time and jobs and money were scarce. Fortunately, my father did work and always took the last two weeks of July for vacation at Weborg Point. Our first camping unit was an umbrella tent. However, after that first year, we realized how inexperienced we were and adjustments were made. The following year we had a wall tent with 5-ft. sides. My mother sewed a kitchen tent during the winter in the attic of our home. Mother used any available pieces of canvas, some industrial grade, some awning weight, resulting in a colorful kitchen. Dad used a two wheel trailer to haul all our gear behind our Graham Paige automobile.

At Weborg Point, we could pitch our tent in any vacant area, as there were no designated camp sites. Eventually, the park manager would come by and register us. Many campers stayed all summer. Camping was primitive; there were no showers, electricity or running water. Our water came icy cold from a hand pump. We had an icebox with a removable ice container in which we kept perishables. Instead of ice, we used the cold well water and it was my duty to see that this was done.

There was a log cabin building, affectionately known as the cook shanty at the Point that contained a large iron wood burning stove. Pies were baked there, as well as some major meals. Other meals were prepared on a 3-burner Coleman stove that was a challenge to light. As the joke goes, a man was in a free fall from an airplane and passed another man on the way up. The first man shouted to the second, “do you know anything about parachutes?” The second man said, “No. Do you know how to light a Coleman stove?”

Nights could become quite cool, and although we had army cots, sleeping on just a blanket was not enough. My mother sewed some bags similar to a mattress and filled each with straw. The bag was placed on the cot and made our sleeping comfortable and warm.

The campers were a congenial group. Woe let anyone tinker with his automobile or tent to make a modification. This was like a magnet that brought on-lookers. Sometimes, this “committee” made a simple matter into a project as they scurried around in search of tools and materials.

Several of us boys picked cherries to make a little pocket money. We received four or five cents per pail. I usually could pick 10 to 12 pails, however, the migrant workers and their children would pick many more. I was able to talk the orchard owner into giving me several pails of “culls” and borderline fruit that could be baked in pies if used right away. I would sell these to the ladies at camp, sometimes for as much as 10 to 15 cents for a half pail, much more profitable than picking!

In 1935, my friend Terrell Mexdorf and I decided to hitchhike from Milwaukee to Fish Creek and camp until my parents arrived for their two week vacation. I was 16. Terrell was 17. We made Fish Creek in good time with three rides. Terrell had a small pup tent. We slept on cardboard and newspapers on the ground. Regularly, folks would bring us dishes of food or invite us to dinner. Nevertheless, we were glad to see the arrival of my parents.

A wooden bridge connected Weborg Point to a piece of land across the bay. This bay provided excellent swimming and bathing facilities. Many serious sunburns occurred while lying on the bridge too long!

The bonfire was the big event. Sometimes there were smaller ones during the week, but the big show was Saturday night. Entertainment was home spun but plentiful. There were violins, harmonicas, guitars and plenty of singing. I played the trumpet and would cross the bridge to the land on the other side to play several ballads. Indian Love Call was a favorite of my mother. I don’t know how far the music traveled, but I could hear the echo across the water. As the fire died down, it was not uncommon to stop at some neighbors for a freshly baked snack and refreshment. Then on to bed for a good night’s sleep as the air was cool, the waves splashed in rhythm against the shore and there was the faint smell of pine.

Later on in life, my wife Katie and I would stay at a number of places in the area, and especially the Homestead once it was built. We loved the bike trail. Both Katie and I enjoyed riding well into our 80s

Bill Funk recently celebrated his 90th birthday. He lives with his wife Katie in Oshkosh, Wisconsin. This story was excerpted from a piece Bill shared with Norm Aulabaugh for inclusion in a possible second edition of Norm’s book “The Park” – History and Stories about Peninsula State Park.