Milwaukee Moving Quotes

We have a new interchange near Milwaukee, where you can move from I-94 east to US-45 north. It used to be a godawful left exit, a sharp turn that slowed you down and then dumped you into fast-flying traffic with little time to merge.

He was truly a loner; in fact, phone company records showed that during the entire time he lived at the Oxford Apartments address, not a single phone call was placed to his residence. The more time I spent with him chronicling the facts around his activities, the more I felt sorry for him. He was a pathetically lonely and inept human being. He was unable to make a real connection with anyone and was totally self-absorbed. His lifestyle was a continuous hedonistic pursuit of pleasure. All his time, effort, energy, and money went to his overwhelming desire for a warm, compliant human body, with alcohol fueling his every move.

One of my most vivid memories is of coming back West from prep school and later from college at Christmas time. Those who went farther than Chicago would gather in the old dim Union Station at six o’clock of a December evening, with a few Chicago friends, already caught up into their own holiday gayeties, to bid them a hasty good-by. I remember the fur coats of the girls returning from Miss This-or-that’s and the chatter of frozen breath and the hands waving overhead as we caught sight of old acquaintances, and the matchings of invitations: “Are you going to the Ordways’? the Herseys’? the Schultzes’?” and the long green tickets clasped tight in our gloved hands. And last the murky yellow cars of the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul railroad looking cheerful as Christmas itself on the tracks beside the gate. When we pulled out into the winter night and the real snow, our snow, began to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild brace came suddenly into the air. We drew in deep breaths of it as we walked back from dinner through the cold vestibules, unutterably aware of our identity with this country for one strange hour, before we melted indistinguishably into it again. That’s my Middle West — not the wheat or the prairies or the lost Swede towns, but the thrilling returning trains of my youth, and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty dark and the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by lighted windows on the snow. I am part of that, a little solemn with the feel of those long winters, a little complacent from growing up in the Carraway house in a city where dwellings are still called through decades by a family’s name. I see now that this has been a story of the West, after all — Tom and Gatsby, Daisy and Jordan and I, were all Westerners, and perhaps we possessed some deficiency in common which made us subtly unadaptable to Eastern life.

Milwaukee used to be flush with good jobs. But throughout the second half of the twentieth century, bosses in search of cheap labor moved plants overseas or to Sunbelt communities, where unions were weaker or didn't exist. Between 1979 and 1983, Milwaukee's manufacturing sector lost more jobs than during the Great Depression - about 56,000 of them. The city where virtually everyone had a job in the postwar years saw its unemployment rate climb into the double digits. Those who found new work in the emerging service industry took a pay cut. As one historian observed, 'Machinists in the old Allis-Chalmers plant earned at least $11.60 an hour; clerks in the shopping center that replaced much of that plant in 1987 earned $5.23.

Ladies and gentlemen!” A loud, brash male voice rose above the din in the bar; it was bellowing and unmistakable. “May I have your attention, please!” Abe’s stomach tightened into a ball. After more than twenty years of listening to absurd nonsequiturs being bandied about during lulls in the office by the same voice, Abe knew who was speaking in an instant. His longtime business partner, CS Duffy, clad in his standard black Carhartt hooded sweatshirt and faded blue jeans, a Milwaukee Brewers cap on his head, was standing on a chair holding up his private investigator’s license folio as if it was some sort of officious piece of federal ID. “My name is Dr. Herbert Manfred Marx. I am with the CDC. We have an emergency situation.” The bar quieted nearly to silence. Abe started to move toward his partner. He had no idea what Duff was planning to say or do, but he knew it wouldn’t be good. Duff looked around the room, taking the time to make eye contact with the dozens of concerned speed daters. “The CDC has isolated a new form of sexually transmitted disease. We are calling it Mega-Herpes Complex IX. It is highly contagious and may result in your genitals exploding off your bodies in much the same way some lizards eject their own tails to confuse pursuing predators.” There were a few gasps from some of the women in the room and a round of confused murmurs. Duff continued unfazed. He unfurled a large, unflattering photocopy of an old photograph of Abe’s face. “We believe we have tracked Patient Zero to this location. If you see this man, for the love of God, do not sleep with him!” Abe walked up to Duff, grabbed his sleeve, and yanked him off the chair. Duff landed heavily. “Hey, Patient Zero! Good to see you.

Cara sits behind me, and Peter and Caleb move toward the back of the plane and sit near each other, next to the window. I didn’t know they were friends. It seems fitting, given how despicable they both are. “How old is this thing?” I ask Zoe, who stands near the front. “Pretty old,” she says. “But we’ve completely redone the important stuff. It’s a nice size for what we need.” “What do you use it for?” “Surveillance missions, mostly. We like to keep an eye on what’s happening in the fringe, in case it threatens what’s happening in here.” Zoe pauses. “The fringe is a large, sort of chaotic place between Chicago and the nearest government-regulated metropolitan area, Milwaukee, which is about a three-hour drive from here.” I would like to ask what exactly is happening in the fringe, but Uriah and Christina sit in the seats next to me, and the moment is lost. Uriah puts an armrest down between us and leans over me to look out the window. “If the Dauntless knew about this, everyone would be getting in line to learn how to drive it,” he says. “Including me.” “No, they would be strapping themselves to the wings.” Christina pokes his arm. “Don’t you know your own faction?” Uriah pokes her cheek in response, then turns back to the window again. “Have either of you seen Tobias lately?” I say. “No, haven’t seen him,” Christina says. “Everything okay?” Before I can answer, an older woman with lines around her mouth stands in the aisle between the rows of seats and claps her hands. “My name is Karen, and I’ll be flying this plane today!” she announces. “It may seem frightening, but remember: The odds of us crashing are actually much lower than the odds of a car crash.” “So are the odds of survival if we do crash,” Uriah mutters, but he’s grinning. His dark eyes are alert, and he looks giddy, like a child. I haven’t seen him this way since Marlene died. He’s handsome again.

MATHEMATICAL MIRACLE Some years ago, I heard a story which has been making the rounds in Midwest A.A. circles for years. I don’t have any names to back up this story, but I have heard it from many sources, and the circumstances sound believable. A man in a small Wisconsin city had been on the program for about three years and had enjoyed contented sobriety through that period. Then bad luck began to hit him in bunches. The firm for which he had worked for some fifteen years was sold; his particular job was phased out of existence, and the plant moved to another city. For several months, he struggled along at odd jobs while looking for a company that needed his specialized experience. Then another blow hit him. His wife was forced to enter a hospital for major surgery, and his company insurance had expired. At this point he cracked, and decided to go on an all-out binge. He didn’t want to stage this in the small city, where everyone knew his sobriety record. So he went to Chicago, checked in at a North Side hotel, and set forth on his project. It was Friday night, and the bars were filled with a swinging crowd. But he was in no mood for swinging—he just wanted to get quietly, miserably drunk. Finally, he found a basement bar on a quiet side street, practically deserted. He sat down on a bar stool and ordered a double bourbon on the rocks. The bartender said, “Yes, sir,” and reached for a bottle. Then the bartender stopped in his tracks, took a long, hard look at the customer, leaned over the bar, and said in a low tone, “I was in Milwaukee about four months ago, and one night I attended an open meeting. You were on the speaking platform, and you gave one of the finest A.A. talks I ever heard.” The bartender turned and walked to the end of the bar. For a few minutes, the customer sat there—probably in a state of shock. Then he picked his money off the bar with trembling hands and walked out, all desire for a drink drained out of him. It is estimated that there are about 8,000 saloons in Chicago, employing some 25,000 bartenders. This man had entered the one saloon in 8,000 where he would encounter the one man in 25,000 who knew that he was a member of A.A. and didn’t belong there. Chicago, Illinois

In Milwaukee, a city of fewer than 105,000 renter households, landlords evict roughly 16,000 adults and children each year. That's sixteen families evicted through the court system daily. But there are other ways, cheaper and quicker ways, for landlords to remove a family than through court order. Some landlords pay tenants a couple hundred dollars to leave by the end of the week. Some take off the front door. Nearly half of all forced moves experienced by renting families in Milwaukee are 'informal evictions' that take place in the shadow of the law. If you count all forms of involuntary displacement - formal and informal evictions, landlord foreclosures, building condemnations - you discover that between 2009 and 2011 more than 1 in 8 Milwaukee renters experienced a forced move. There is nothing special about Milwaukee when it comes to eviction. The numbers are similar in Kansas City, Cleveland, Chicago, and other cities. In 2013, 1 in 8 poor renting families nationwide were unable to pay all of their rent, and a similar number thought it was likely they would be evicted soon. This book is set in Milwaukee, but it tells an American story.

The college basketball coach Shaka Smart, upon moving from coaching at Texas to Marquette, in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, was asked if he was a cold-weather or warm-weather guy. “I’m a dress-for-the-weather guy,” he said.

In May 1990, Dahmer moved out of his grandmother's house for the final time and took up residence at the address that would later became infamous: Apartment 213, 924 North 25th Street, Milwaukee. Now

If you count all forms of involuntary displacement—formal and informal evictions, landlord foreclosures, building condemnations—you discover that between 2009 and 2011 more than 1 in 8 Milwaukee renters experienced a forced move.

The joke in our family was that when I made an out, he’d move to a new location. If I got a hit, he’d stay where he was. We laughed about that a lot because I said that he probably sat in every seat in County Stadium because I made a lot of outs in the big leagues.

Residential stability begets a kind of psychological stability, which allows people to invest in their home and social relationships. It begets school stability, which increases the chances that children will excel and graduate. And it begets community stability, which encourages neighbors to form strong bonds and take care of their block.7 But poor families enjoy little of that because they are evicted at such high rates. That low-income families move often is well known. Why they do is a question that has puzzled researchers and policymakers because they have overlooked the frequency of eviction in disadvantaged neighborhoods.8 Between 2009 and 2011, roughly a quarter of all moves undertaken by Milwaukee’s poorest renters were involuntary. Once you account for those dislocations (eviction, landlord foreclosure), low-income households move at a similar rate as everyone else.9 If you study eviction court records in other cities, you arrive at similarly startling numbers. Jackson County, Missouri, which includes half of Kansas City, saw 19 formal evictions a day between 2009 and 2013. New York City courts saw almost 80 nonpayment evictions a day in 2012. That same year, 1 in 9 occupied rental households in Cleveland, and 1 in 14 in Chicago, were summoned to eviction court.10 Instability is not inherent to poverty. Poor families move so much because they are forced to.

As the summer began, I moved to Milwaukee, a rusted city where I had nobody, parents two oceans away, I lay on the sun-warmed wood floor of my paid-for apartment and decided I would be a slut.

On November 22nd, 2018, my mother Vernita Lee passed away. I was conflicted about our relationship up until the very end. The truth is, it wasn't until I became successful that my mother started to show more interest in me. I wrestled with the question of how to take care of her - what did I owe the woman who gave me life, The bible says 'honor thy father and mother', but what did that actually mean? I decided one of the ways I could honor her would be to help care for her financially ... but there was never any real connection. I would say that the audience who watched me on television knew me better than my mother did. When her health began to decline a few years ago, I knew I needed to prepare myself for her transition. Just a few days before Thanksgiving my sister Patricia called to tell me she thought it was time. I flew to Milwaukee ... I tried to think of something to say, at one point I even picked up the manual left by the hospice care people. I read their advice thinking the whole time, how sad it was that I, Oprah Winfrey, who had spoken to thousands of people one on one should have to read a hospice manual to figure out what to say to my mother. When it was finally time to leave, something told me it would be the last time I'd ever see her but as I turned to go, the words I needed to say still wouldn't come. All I could muster was 'bye, I'll be seeing you' and I left for, ironically, a speaking engagement. On the flight home the next morning a little voice in my head whispered what I knew in my heart to be true: "you are going to regret this, you haven't finished the work". ... I turned around and went back to Milwaukee. I spent another day in that hot room and still no words came. That night I prayed for help. In the morning I meditated, and as I prepared to leave the bedroom I picked up my phone and noticed the song that was playing - Mahalia Jackson's 'Precious Lord'. If ever there was a sign, this was it. I had no idea how Mahalia Jackson appeared on my playlist. As I listened to the words, Precious Lord, take my hand Lead me on, let me stand. I am tired, I'm weak, I am worn Lead me on to the light, Take my hand, precious Lord And lead me home. I suddenly knew what to do. When I walked into my mothers room I asked if she wanted to hear the song. She nodded, and then I had another idea. I called my friend Wintley Phipps, a preacher and gospel artist, and asked him to sing Precious Lord to my dying mother. Over FaceTime from his kitchen table he sang the song a cappella and then prayed that our family would have no fear, just peace. I could see that my mother was moved. The song and the prayer had created a sort of opening for both of us. I began to talk to her about her life, her dreams, and me. Finally the words were there. I said, "It must have been hard for you, not having an education, not having a skill, not knowing what the future held. When you became pregnant, I'm sure a lot of people told you to get rid of that baby." She nodded. "But you didn't", I said. "And I want to thank you for keeping this baby". I paused, "I know that many times you didn't know what to do. You did the best you knew how to do and that's okay with me. That is okay with me. So you can leave now, knowing that it is well. It is well with my soul. It's been well for a long time." It was a sacred, beautiful moment, one of the proudest of my life. As an adult I'd learned to see my mother through a different lens; not as the mother who didn't care for me, protect me, love me or understand anything about me, but as a young girl still just a child herself; scared, alone, and unequipped to be a loving parent. I had forgiven my mother years earlier for not being the mother I needed, but she didn't know that. And in our last moments together I believe I was able to release her from the shame and the guilt of our past. I came back and I finished the work that needed to be done.

Milwaukee used to be flush with good jobs. But throughout the second half of the twentieth century, bosses in search of cheap labor moved plants overseas or to Sunbelt communities, where unions were weaker or didn’t exist.

Dahmer was a marked man from the day he entered the penitentiary. His murder in prison was inevitable, and Dahmer would have been told this prior to being moved out of solitary. His desire to be around other people must have outweighed his fear of being killed, or he simply didn’t care anymore.

only way he knew to dull the pain. He was disciplined numerous times before receiving an honorable discharge. After a short stint in Hollywood, Florida, where he drank away the remainder of his military pay, he returned to Ohio to live with his father and stepmother. By now, he drank every day, which caused a stir in the household. His father convinced him that he’d be better off if he moved in with his grandmother. She owned a large house in the Milwaukee area and lived all alone. He could be his own man there and look after his grandmother in her old age. Jeff felt this would be an opportunity for a new start and moved in with his grandma.

Come on, Jeff. Tell us. You’ve been eating these guys, haven’t you?” Dahmer pulled back in his chair with a look of terror. He studied my face intensely as if he were a child waiting to be reprimanded. I deliberately tried to keep an air of acceptance and calm as I spoke. “Jeff, it’s okay. We know. It’s going to be all right. Just be honest with us and tell the truth. That’s all we ask.” Dahmer leaned forward in his chair, dropped his smoke to the floor, and crushed it with his foot. With his head still lowered, he murmured a barely audible, “Yes.” Murphy didn’t move and remained in Dahmer’s personal space. “Jeff, what did you say? You’ve been eating them, haven’t you?” Dahmer leaned back. “Yes. I have. Well, I mean, not all of them. Just a few.” I again put my hand on Dahmer’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell us this before?” He looked at me pleadingly. “I don’t know. I mean, everything was going so smooth. I didn’t think it mattered so much for the investigation. Besides, it seemed like you guys really liked me. I didn’t know what you would think of me if I told you that. And then there is the whole thing with the press. They are going to make me out to be some kind of monster when they find out about this.

My senior year in high school, Mom and Dad went through a divorce. After I graduated, my mother took my brother and moved to Wisconsin. We had relatives there. My dad was always busy at work, and I was left alone most of the time. I had the house all to myself. I never really had any close friends in school; I was kind of a loner and pretty shy around people. My parents were not big drinkers, but they kept a fully stocked bar in the home. I was lonely and started to drink. It made me feel better; I could talk to people and fit in, but I wasn’t that good at it and I’d usually end up drunk and alone in my house. I’m sure it was at this time that I began to develop feelings of not wanting to be alone, especially at night. It seemed as if everybody was leaving me. My father had started a new relationship with my current stepmother and spent a lot of time at her house. He said that I was old enough to take care of myself, so I ended up alone. I hated it. I didn’t like sleeping alone in that big house. It made me angry. I started to have fleeting fantasies of killing someone. I don’t know where they came from, but they did. They were always intertwined, sex and killing. I tried to get them out of my mind, but the sexual fantasy was powerful and I masturbated for hours thinking about it. The fantasy was always the same. I met a good-looking man, brought him home, had sex with him, and then killed him.

Returning to Bath, Dahmer moved in with his father and stepmother. However, it was not long before his excessive drinking got him in trouble with the law. In October 1981, he was arrested for disorderly conduct and resisting arrest. His dad tried to get him some help and introduced him to Alcoholics Anonymous, but it didn’t take. Thoughts of his earlier deed refused to go away, and his drinking caused conflict in the home. To appease his wife, his father suggested Jeff move in with his paternal grandmother in West Allis, Wisconsin—a working-class suburb of Milwaukee. His father felt it would serve two purposes: Jeff could look after his grandmother, who was getting on in years, and with him gone, there would finally be peace in their home. Dahmer’s move to Wisconsin was the beginning of some real soul searching. His grandmother was a very religious woman. He loved and admired her and felt she could help him get control of his life. She was kindly, loving, and tolerant, and she had a quiet serenity about her that he craved. He felt that religion might provide a way out of his predicament. They discussed religious matters, and he began to accompany her to Sunday service and weekday Bible study. This kept him sober during the day, but when Grandma retired for the evening, he began to drink again. He knew he had an alcohol problem, but felt his need to drink arose from the horrible memory he carried with him. He could never get it out of his mind. No matter how hard he tried, the knowledge of what he had done stayed with him.

A critical time in Dahmer’s life often mentioned by family, high school acquaintances, and others who studied his upbringing was when his parents split up and divorced. Kennedy explained that when Dahmer was eighteen and living at the house in Bath, his father had moved out and already lived with his girlfriend, who later became his wife and Dahmer’s stepmother. His mother decided to leave Ohio and took Dahmer’s younger brother David with her. Because relations between Dahmer’s parents were strained, it seemed that each came and went without notifying the other of their plans. Dahmer was still completing his final year of high school, so he remained in Ohio. Dahmer was left in the family home alone for an extended period of time, and during this time, he committed his first murder. Much has been made of this period of so-called abandonment when Dahmer was on his own, but Kennedy said he never really bought it. “He was eighteen years old, for heaven’s sake. It wasn’t like he was a little kid unable to fend for himself.

Jeff, what I have here is a report from the medical examiner regarding the contents found in the freezer of your refrigerator.” Dahmer sighed and sank in his chair with his head down as Murphy continued. “It says here, Jeff, that they found a number of items in there that need some further explanation.” Dahmer continued to look at the floor, motionless and silent. Murphy opened the report and thumbed through a few pages before continuing. “It says, Jeff, that there were, inside your freezer, a number of individually wrapped, neatly stored body parts. Namely, some meticulously cut and trimmed biceps, thigh, liver, and heart. The biceps and thigh have very distinctive markings on them which correlate with the wooden meat tenderizing utensil found in your kitchen.” Dahmer remained motionless, his cigarette burning unattended in his hand. I reached over and touched his shoulder once more. “Jeff, you have to believe what I told you on that first night that we were together. There is nothing that you can tell Murphy or me that will change our opinion of you. We’ve gotten to know and accept you, Jeff. We realize that the drinking had a big part to play in what happened and that there are possibly some other problems that might be linked to your situation; we accept and understand that, but you have got to be completely honest with us if you really want to put this thing behind you and move on with your life. Besides, if you don’t tell us something and we learn about it from another source, then it leads us to believe that you have not been telling the truth all along. Don’t you see, Jeff?