In 1866, a Detroit capitalist namedEber Ward launched the Milwaukee Iron Co. in Bay View. Having alreadyestablished works in Detroit and Chicago, Ward chose Milwaukee because of itsshort distance from Iron Ridge in nearby Dodge County, where there were beds ofiron ore that, when mixed with softer Lake Superior varieties, yielded an ironof unusual strength. The site on the shores of Lake Michigan could accommodateships carrying coal from Pennsylvania and orefrom Michigan.More importantly, Milwaukeewas the nerve center of a growing regional railroad that demanded railroadrails.
Only four years afterproduction began at the mill, it was the second-largest manufacturer of railsin the nation, and its labor force exceeded 1,000 men. As John Gurda, author ofCream City Chronicles, paints it, theskilled workers who tended the massive blast furnaces routinely enduredtemperatures exceeding 160 degrees. Working bare-chested and wearing Turkishtowels around their necks to soak up the sweat, they worked 12 hours a day, sixdays a week producing caldrons of liquid iron, without so much as a fan. Theywere paid $5 a day without benefits. The unskilled workers down the line whowere rolling hot ingots into rails, or stacking them, earned only $1 or $2 fortheir 12-hour day.
When the Eight-HourLeague movement swept the nation in 1886, Milwaukee’swork force was all ears. Most Milwaukeeemployers resisted the demand for a shorter day, especially without a cut inpay, setting off a string of strikes. On May 3, 1886, an unplanned generalstrike brought the entire city to a grinding halt. A tidal wave of factoryworkers surged through the Menomonee Valley, intent on shuttingdown any plants that were still open. One wouldn’t heel: the massive iron plantin suburban Bay View, then called the North Chicago Rolling Mill Co.
On May 4, nearly athousand laborers, most of them Polish immigrants, met at St. Stanislaus Churchto march on the lakeshore plant. The mill’s laborers walked out when themarchers arrived, but the skilled workers, who had just recently ended a longstrike, continued to work. When the company showed no sign of closing theplant, the marchers sent a delegation inside to chat with the mill executives.Meanwhile, Gov. Jeremiah Rusk called on the state militiaas they beganarriving at the mill, shortly after the workers, they were greeted with a stormof stones and garbage. When the meeting inside proved futile, the strikerswarned that they would be returning.
The next morning, May 5,the Poles regrouped at St. Stanislaus. Lined four abreast and numbering 1,500,they marched to the mill. When Rusk was informed by telephone that a largecrowd was headed toward Bay View, he allegedly said, “Very well, sir. Fire onthem.” The captain of the Sheridan Guard, a primarily Irish militia company,ordered his troops: “Pick out your man, and kill him.” As the strikers turnedsouth on Bay Street,the militia commander, Maj. George Traeumer, ordered them to disperse. From adistance of about 200 yards, it was doubtful the strikers saw him, let aloneheard him. When they continued to advance, Traeumer ordered his troops to openfire.
The crowd simultaneouslyhit the ground when the bullets began to fly. When the militia ceased firing,the uninjured retreated, leaving at least five people dead or dying in the dirtroad, including a 12-year-old boy and a retired millworker. The precise numberof fatalities remains unclear. County death certificates say five, butpublished estimates place the number as high as nine. The Bay View Massacreended the eight-hour campaign in Milwaukee forthe time being, but it galvanized Milwaukee’sworkers to elect a number of labor-oriented politicians to office.
