[Congressional Record Volume 167, Number 164 (Wednesday, September 22, 2021)]
[Senate]
[Page S6620]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




              150TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE GREAT PESHTIGO FIRE

  Ms. BALDWIN. Mr. President, I rise today to recognize a grave day in 
Wisconsin's history, the 150th anniversary of the ``Great Peshtigo 
Fire.'' On this sesquicentennial anniversary, we remember the great 
city of Peshtigo, WI, that was completely destroyed on October 8, 1871, 
in the largest fire in U.S. history.
  A community surrounded by dense forest, the city of Peshtigo was 
first settled in 1838. Located off the western shore of Green Bay in 
Marinette County, the area was first inhabited by Menominee and Ho-
Chunk Native Americans. Sustained by lumber, shipping, and railroad 
interests, by the end of 1871, it was the tenth largest city in 
Wisconsin.
  Historians and survivors of the fire theorize that the blaze was 
started by railroad workers who were cutting trees and burning debris 
outside of Peshtigo. A combination of a prolonged drought, a heavy 
reliance on wooden buildings, and 100-mph winds aligned to create a 
firestorm that reached 3 miles across and 1,000 feet high. Over the 
course of the night, the fire scorched over 1.2 million acres and 
caused an estimated $169 million in damages. Between 1,200 and 2,500 
people lost their lives. The fire's complete destruction of local 
records prevented an accurate death toll. An estimated 350 victims lie 
in a mass grave in Peshtigo, victims who could not be identified 
because they were either burned beyond recognition or because those who 
could identify them perished, too.
  Although the Great Peshtigo Fire has been well documented, little has 
been written about the crucial role Native Americans played in 
preventing further loss of life among European settlers. One of the 
most compelling stories involves Abraham Place, who traveled on foot to 
Wisconsin from Vermont in 1837 to build a homestead in the Sugar Bush 
neighborhood just outside of Peshtigo. He married a Menominee woman, 
and together with their children, they tended one of the largest farms 
in the area. While marrying a Native-American woman was socially 
acceptable when Place first settled there, attitudes had changed by 
1871, and he was scorned by his fellow settlers.
  The Native Americans he regularly welcomed to his home warned him of 
the impending danger of fire after months of little to no rain and 
helped him create a 3-foot-deep firebreak around his farm. His European 
neighbors dismissed his precaution as the actions of a crazy man who 
had married a Native American. Mrs. Place's in-laws then spent hours 
placing dozens of wet blankets on the roof of their house to prevent 
its destruction. Their home was one of the few buildings still standing 
on the morning of October 9.
  Many of the same neighbors who had ridiculed them ran to their house 
or died trying. Survivors found the bodies of 35 residents who never 
made it to the farm. The hundred or so refugees who arrived safely at 
the Place home found a make-shift hospital where they could nurse their 
wounds and recuperate. Some stayed for weeks, their earlier disdain 
cured by necessity.
  In the days following the Peshtigo fire, survivors emerged from the 
Peshtigo River and other safe havens untouched by the flames to look 
for missing loved ones and to begin to rebuild their lives. As word of 
the devastation spread, donations of food, clothing, and money poured 
in from across the State, the Nation, and several foreign countries. 
This selfless, unified show of support empowered the people of Peshtigo 
to rebuild their homes and restore their community.
  Occurring on the same night as the Great Chicago Fire, the Peshtigo 
fire has been largely forgotten, even though the Wisconsin death toll 
is estimated to be seven times that of the Chicago tragedy. That is why 
I join Peshtigo residents in remembering the time when prejudices that 
turned neighbors into enemies were set aside in the midst of 
unimaginable hardship. And I applaud their efforts to pause this 
October 8 to remember this inconceivable catastrophe, commemorate its 
victims and honor the resilience of those who worked so hard to rebuild 
this city from the ashes of total devastation into the tranquil 
community of today.

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