The Metropolitan Block Building Fire was a dramatic blaze
that started on a Saturday Morning in December and
continued throughout the day.
While the building had some historical significance, we
never had any delusions about the building: It was pretty
cheesy. But it was also cheap, centrally located (when that
was a good thing), and had 24-hour-a -day access, which was
also important, given our deadline-oriented work habits.
The building-- 1012 North Third Street-- was occupied by
unions, importer-exporters, and other small businesses. On
the first floor was Reimers Photo, Roman's Bar, and
Wisconsin Cheese Mart. Usingers, next door, was still
making sausage at that site (now they just sell it there).
We had taken over four office areas by the time of the big
fire. That included our $20,000 viewing room, offices,
audio studios, and a fair amount of audio, slide, and
camera equipment.
We were young, strong, working 20 hours a day, and loving
it. Roan's Bar downstairs provided ample diversion when
necessary, including decent pinball games and plenty of Tab
soda (I was perpetually on a diet).
We had made a name for ourselves, first through the arts,
and the work we did for them, and then through some high
profiler accounts, like the aforementioned Milwaukee
Journal, Schlitz, TV6, Boston Store, and more.
The state of the art was from one to 15 slide projectors,
unreliable control equipment to tell what slide to be where
when, 4-track tape decks from Flanner and Hafsoos, a couple
of old typewriters, and Ric's camera equipment. Film and
processing was our only outside expense, except for the
occasional narrator fee from Steve Lutomski, or Ed Hinshaw.
That year we sent out a Christmas card featuring an
original watercolor drawing by Dave Sorgel, our artist,
featuring a darkened Metro Block Building-- dark, that is,
except for the lights burning in our second story windows.
Companies have various personalities throughout their
existence-- especially small companies. They are defined by
memorable groups of people, key projects they were working
on, or some defining or special moment.
We had all three on December 20, 1975.
In the above article, Rob Riordan (he of the press family)
gives good quote, saying "It's like seeing everything
you've worked for go up in smoke". And he was right.
Everything was working at that point in time. We were a
family. We all knew our jobs. There were no sibling
rivalries. We were on the way up. And we were having fun.
Rob quoted our monetary loss as "$300,000". That might have
been a stretch, but we were insured for $40,000, which we
quickly collected. No arguing with frozen gear, in smoky
frozen waters. We were totaled. Not burned out, but frozen
out. The fire had stopped on the third floor, and all the
firewater had frozen on the second floor.
It turned nasty cold that Sunday. When we were finally
allowed in, through the fire escapes, to try to retrieve
"business records", everything in the office was frozen in
place, memorialized in ice, like trees that have been
frozen in sleet.
Actually, that worked to our advantage, since we later
found out that some of the "totaled" gear still was
operational, for a while anyway.
The work in progress-- the Journal Company Sales
Extravaganza-- was to feature hundreds of historical
photographs from their library, which we had just borrowed
for the weekend to shoot for the show.
We chipped them off the icy copystand, and the Journal
Marketing Department sighed collectively.
It was a remarkable time, because friends came out of the
woodwork. Competitors, suppliers, clients all had something
give. USAV-- our dreaded competitor-- dried photos and
mounted slides for us. Raintree Publishing-- a client for
whom we were doing filmstrips-- gave us space in the
Steinmeyer building down the street to base our temporary
operations. Our bank-- M&I was more than understanding.
Our suppliers gave us grace periods on our bills.
And our families gave us strength.
My mother had passed away just the year prior. This was to
be the first Christmas my father, brother, sister and I
would spend in New Jersey together, without her. They
surprised me by showing up in Milwaukee after I told them I
couldn't make it to Jersey.
After a few weeks in the Raintree space, we got enough of
our acts together to notice that there was space available
in the Steinmeyer building at, shall we say, competitive
rates. We took over the old Heart Association space on the
third floor, as "was", so to speak, and set out to get
ourselves back on track.
Dave Sorgel with help from Ric built furniture and work
platforms to act as room dividers and work surfaces. There
would be no closed studios now. We did our soundtracks
using earphones, while 20 feet away, Ric edited slides on
light tables made from upside down florescent fixtures.
Linda bought a new coffeemaker, the Wisconsin Cheese Mart
relocated downstairs, and I bought my first can of coffee
with chicory.
We delivered the Journal show. Everything would be alright.
g
Brien interviews photographer Greg Latsch in our new audio
"unstudio".
Ric and Brien shake hands in the front of their new digs at
205 West Highland Avenue (Steinmeyer Building).
Rob Riordan describes the first of many master plans to
land the elusive Miller account.
Arthur Godfrey. He has nothing to do with anything.
Respectfully Submitted,
Brien Lee