Once a depressed area, Green County, Wisconsin became one of the wealthiest in the state. Roughly 125 years ago, Swiss immigrants arrived, bringing their cheese making skills with them. A local banker took the next step, asking the few families who were producing Limburger to stack slabs of their cheese in front of his bank.
Not surprisingly, the townspeople objected to the smell. "That's not a smell," he replied. "That's the aroma of prosperity." Within a few years, a 70-mile wide circle around Monroe, the county seat, was making and selling two thirds of the Swiss and 90 percent of the Limburger cheese produced in the United States. Town merchants held their noses while counting their Limburger-generated profits.
Green County did not escape the Great Depression but the cheese industry was an invaluable buffer. But in the winter of 1935, their distribution system was threatened. That sparked the Great Limburger Cheese War.
Over in Independence, Iowa, a physician added Limburger cheese to the diet of an ailing farm wife. She ordered some and Postmaster John Burkhard of Monroe accepted the package. Federal postal regulations said any package was acceptable if it "did not smell objectionable." The package did not. It had the delightful aroma of Limburger cheese.
Postmaster Warren Miller refused to accept the shipment. His rural mail carrier had taken one sniff and declared that being cooped up in his car with that smelly cheese would kill him. He reportedly claimed that the stink "could fell an ox at twenty paces."
That was an insult to their most treasured and valuable product. Postmaster Burkhard called his opponent. "I hereby challenge you to a sniffing duel," he said. Miller accepted the challenge and a neutral site was selected for the duel. They would meet in Dubuque, Iowa on March 8, 1935, and settle the affair like men of honor.
Newspaper editors have the ability to smell a good story and this one did not just smell, it reeked. Both AP and UP sent photographers and reporters to cover the olfactory duel.
Burkhard arrived carrying a clothespin and a gas mask for his opponent, in case he could not tolerate the aroma of a well ripened wheel of Limburger cheese. Then, while photographers shot pictures and reporters scribbled notes, Burkhard lifted the offending package. He sniffed it, and lovingly described the tantalizing aroma. He eulogized the medicinal benefits of Limburger cheese. After all, hadn't the war started when a doctor prescribed Limburger cheese for one of his patients? Finally, he raved about the exquisite flavor of his favorite cheese. A slice of Limburger and a mug of beer was the best snack on earth. That last statement would come back to haunt him.
Postmaster Miller picked up the package, and surrendered. The package would be delivered. Years earlier, something had destroyed his olfactory nerves. "I won't need that clothespin," he said. "I haven't any sense of smell."
Magnanimous in victory, Burkhard invited Miller to ride in Monroe's biennial Cheese Day parade, scheduled for October. That should have ended the war, but did not. Part II will cover the last battle of the Great Limburger Cheese War.
Writer's Comment: There is no recipe this week as I want to use this space to thank Anna Anderson and Katie Etter of the Monroe Welcome Center for their input. And a special thanks to Doran Zwygart of the Green County Historical Society for the documents he provided.
By Jeff Cheek
