The nationally syndicated, Peabody Award-winning talk program aired its last episode in fall 2025, but it will not be forgotten — ever. The show’s 2,000-plus episodes have been preserved in the American Archive for Public Broadcasting, a project of the Library of Congress. Fans like me always considered To the Best of Our Knowledge an American treasure, and now it’s official.

The show was an expression of its cocreators’ bottomless curiosity. Steve Paulson MA’83 and Anne Strainchamps were interested in, literally, everything, and they designed To the Best of Our Knowledge to inform and transform their listeners. Each hour-long episode was crafted around an intriguing theme, explored with multiple interviewees and storytelling techniques. Evocative audio snippets and music set the mood for an intellectual and emotional journey.

To the Best of Our Knowledge took the audience’s intelligence as a given, a mark of respect in an age of rampant dumbing-down. It gloried in the world’s great authors, per the commonly used acronym of the show’s name: TTBOOK. Paulson, Strainchamps, and their fellow interviewers were free to explore their personal interests in science, technology, philosophy, history, psychology, spirituality, politics, food, economics, sports, health, and the arts. And their passions became our passions.

Among their hundreds of internationally prominent guests, they spoke to primatologist Jane Goodall about her “mystical experience” with a favorite chimpanzee and to novelist Toni Morrison about “the tiny thoughts that skitter across the imagination.” They put together deep-dive series on the latest psychedelics research and the mind-blowing properties of time. In the best tradition of the Wisconsin Idea, they also featured UW faculty, beaming Madison expertise to the borders of the state and beyond.

Over 35 years, did IQs gradually tick up in the 200 markets where To the Best of Our Knowledge aired? I wouldn’t be surprised.

That’s not to say the show felt like homework. It was always full of laughs and surprises. As it grappled with cosmic questions and eternal mysteries, it also inspired a sense of wonder.

To the Best of Our Knowledge had its peers in the public radio pantheon, such as Fresh Air and This American Life. But it has never — to the best of my knowledge — been surpassed.

Wisconsin Historical Society

In our winter 2025 issue, “Lunch at Rennebohm Drug Store” paid tribute to a go-to gathering spot for UW students from the 1920s to the 1980s. The article spurred this outpouring of letters from fans of Rennebohm’s Bucky Burgers, grilled Danishes, and generous UW scholarships.

Preston Schmitt’s “Lunch at Rennebohm Drug Store” brought back a flood of memories.

As a student at Madison West High School, my friends and I would head to Rennie’s after school for grilled Danish and cherry sodas. If I remember right, the bill was probably under a dollar — and worth every cent. Yep, those Danishes are unforgettable!

Rennebohm’s was also where I had my first job, working as a short-order cook for $2.10 an hour. I especially loved the breakfast rush: there was something satisfying about turning out plate after plate of eggs, pancakes, and toast for the morning regulars.

Later, as a graduate student working at the old UW Hospital Service Memorial Institute building, I found my way back to Rennie’s yet again. My coworkers and I would cross University Avenue for lunch, and it became as much a part of our routine as the work itself.

Rennebohm’s wasn’t just a drugstore or a lunch counter — it was a thread that ran through different stages of my life in Madison. I still miss it.

—Robert Nadler ’77 MS’79

My memory of Renebohm’s is being a short-order cook at the Park Street location close to the Beltline. It was my senior year. I was married and starting as a catcher on the baseball team. (Yes we had a team then.) I don’t remember her name but the lady I worked with was great to me teaching me more than how to cook. A great experience.

—Mike Setzer ’69

In the spring of 1965, I was sitting at my kitchen table in Muscoda, Wisconsin, with both parents working on my budget for going to UW–Madison in the fall. I didn’t have enough money. My parents had none to help me. I had started a savings account at the local bank when I was 12 to start saving for college, but it wasn’t enough. I had some scholarships and qualified for work-study. I would be the first from the family. I couldn’t make the figures work.

I told my parents that unless I got the scholarship from Rennebohm, I would not be able to go. I had applied and was waiting for the result.

A few days later, the letter came from Rennebohm. I tore it open at the post office. I enrolled at UW and frequently ate at the drugstore because I owed them so much.

I’m an international human rights attorney now and hope that my work has repaid them and everyone else who helped me get through college. Thanks from the bottom of my heart.

—Dianne Post ’69, JD’79

Every Sunday at the Rennebohm store on University Avenue across from Liz Waters Hall, I got a grilled Elephant Ear and a large orange juice at the counter. Later in the day it was Paisan’s for a french fried shrimp early dinner. The rest of the week in the basement of the Methodist church, I had three squares, eating at $4.50 a week because I washed the pots and pans after dinner. Can’t beat that!

—Mike Gregg ’58, MBA’63

Memories of Rennebohm Drug Store: a banking window where I could cash a check for $20. Seeing the first copy of Playboy magazine. Having coffee in a booth with friends.

—John Manning ’55

Having been a most grateful Rennebohm scholar in my first two years as a first gen student studying physical therapy at UW, I enjoyed the On Wisconsin article on the Rennebohm drugstores that were everywhere during my time in Madison. This fall I enjoyed a tour of the beautiful new pharmacy building with other members of the Women’s Philanthropy Council. Happy to know it’s named for my benefactor, without whom I would never have been able to afford to attend UW.

—Suzann K. Campbell ’65, MS’68, PhD’73

I was last at Rennie’s on State on a cold December morning in 1979 for breakfast. Then I walked to H. C. White library where I wrote my master’s exam in English. Six and a half hours. I was so relieved after that, I must have broken every law about alcohol and highways getting home. Not proud of that part, but mission accomplished. I’m grateful for those days and the university that provided them.

—Todd Johnson ’73, MA’79

One sister is three years ahead in school and the other three years behind, so I overlapped with each one for a full year. It was great to have a sister on campus at the beginning and end of my college years. One tradition was going to Rennebohm and enjoying a bran muffin and coffee. I did this with both sisters. My younger sister and I did it almost weekly and we enjoyed peanut butter on our muffins too. It was a way to connect, and we loved the muffins and the atmosphere too.

—Maureen Gecht-Silver ’77

Having attended UW–Madison from 1958 to 1966, I often found myself in Rennebohm’s at Lake and State. But the day that will forever be imprinted in my memory is the Saturday afternoon in late May 1960 following a final exam in American history. Descending Bascom Hill, several of us headed immediately to Rennebohm’s for coffee and ice cream, there to discuss the final essay question on the test: “Discuss why members of the U.S. Senate opposed the Smoot-Hawley Tariff bill of 1929.” As we began our discussion, one fellow turned white and dropped his spoon. “Wait,” he cried, “are you sure the prof asked why members of the Senate opposed the legislation?” We nodded. “Oh my God!” he shouted. “I discussed why some in the Senate supported it.”

With that, he dashed out, shouting over his shoulder that he had to catch the professor and explain what happened. As it turned out, the professor found his essay worthy of consideration and gave him full credit. Our group passed the course with flying colors!

—Theodore J. Cohen ’60, MS’61, PhD’66

I worked at the Rennebohm lunch counter during my student days. On my usual late-afternoon and evening shifts, the atmosphere was always relaxed and cordial. While visiting with one of the pharmacists on his Bucky Burger break, I learned that he was my third cousin once removed. Badger football coach Milt Bruhn and Madison realtor and future Governor Pat Lucey were occasional customers. My grandparents, Chauncey and Mabel Wolferman, were church friends of Oscar Rennebohm, although I never met him.

Rennebohm treated their employees like family, and as lunch counter staff we were always allowed to consume as many grilled Danish, milkshakes, and anything else we wanted, without charge. Happy memories!

—Richard C. Haney, PhD ’70

I loved “Lunch at Rennenbohm Drug Store.” What a great flood of good memories! During my UW years, I was nearby as I lived at Lowell Hall when it opened as a dorm and then at 252 Langdon Street at the Sigma Delta Tau house. It was a frequent plan to say, “Let’s meet at Rennie’s for lunch.” It was always fun and delicious!

—Patty Eisberg Kaplan ’65

I remember my roomie and I going to the counter in early am to get 2 eggs and toast for 65 cents. Those were the days.

—Brian Weir ’79

Celina Vogt Current: “I remember presenting my first seriously melting banana split to an understanding customer with shaking hands.”

Wow, it was a flashback to see the picture of Rennebohm’s State Street store. I worked there between my junior and senior high school years in the summer of 1956. (I lived in Brooklyn and my girlfriend’s father knew Mr. Rennebohm.) Making Cokes with syrup and soda water and malted milks was a big step above babysitting for two 16-year-olds. On one Saturday morning, we were educated regarding the complexities of being a soda jerk. We were issued uniforms (see photo) and given a work location and a schedule. Little did I know what was coming. I became part of a community. We had our regular customers and really got to know people. It was influential in making me want to be a part of the university culture.

There were some uncomfortable moments. The manager of food services was a little scary, always frowning at us, and I remember presenting my first seriously melting banana split to an understanding customer with shaking hands. We used to joke that the statue representing “Forward,” on top of the capitol, was actually representing Mrs. Rennebohm pointing out the next location for a Rennebohm Drug Store. Happy days!

—Celinda Vogt Current ’61

I remember having a coffee at Rennebohm on State Street and seeing a picture in LIFE magazine of U.S. soldiers in body bags, piled up on a tank after the Tet Offensive in 1968. It is a sad and brutal memory that stays with me to this day.

—John Goodman ’69

Your article on Rennie’s was spot on! It was also one place that cashed student checks. You had to go to the back counter and weren’t required to purchase anything. The amount didn’t matter. For me, they cheerfully cashed my checks for $2, which could buy me eight small glasses of beer at the Pub! Money went a long way back in the day. Thanks for the memories.

—Stephen Halloway ’69

When my parents were dating and both attending UW Madison in 1956, my dad (Ronald Walz ’58) worked at Rennebohm on State and Lake while studying pharmacy. My mom drew a picture for their “Dating Days” scrapbook capturing my dad’s evening shift at the Rennebohm pharmacy counter.

My parents married in October of 1958 and settled in Milwaukee. My dad worked as a pharmacist for over 30 years. My dad would say his career in pharmacy began at Rennebohm!

—Susan Walz Berry ’83

I enjoyed your article on Rennebohm’s. The first I heard of Rennebohm’s was from my Ogg Hall house fellow telling us that it was really Mrs. Rennebohm atop the state capitol, pointing and saying, “Put another one over there!” And although I enjoyed a burger from Rennies, my main memory is a sad one. During my senior year we had a great party at our upper flat out on East Johnson. Most of our college friends were there, and I shot two rolls of film of everybody dancing and partying. I dropped the film off at Rennebohm’s, but when I returned to pick up the pictures it had disappeared, leaving the memories of that night to fade over time. So as an appeal to my classmates of that era, if you are holding on to a stack of pictures of people you don’t recognize, probably having a good time, reach out to me! I’d love them back!

—Gary Anderson ’79

One turbulent night in 1970, my friend John and I were out watching the antiwar demonstrations going on and found ourselves at the corner of Lake and State streets. Suddenly, a large group of demonstrators began throwing rocks. One hit me in the leg, and other rocks smashed the windows at Rennebohm’s. Police and demonstrators then appeared everywhere.

John and I ran up State Street and then down an alley. But the police must have thought we were part of the demonstrators and shot tear gas canisters at us in the narrow alley. I could barely see, and we ended up at a makeshift first aid station at the Hillel center.

We recovered, and a cute girl assured me I would not go blind. But Rennebohm’s never did recover. Ever since that night, the walls facing State and Lake were covered with concrete.

—Jim Hill ’71, MS’76

1. My mother worked at Rennebohm’s #1 (University Avenue across from what was then University Hospital) in the early 1950s. There she met a man. She thought he was the homeliest guy she’d ever seen. He thought she was the world’s worst waitress. So of course, they got married.
2. I worked at Rennebohm’s #10 — the one pictured in your article, at the corner of State and Lake — in the mid-1970s. There was a guy who came in regularly as a break from studying for his prelims. One day, when I was working the cash register in the cafeteria, he said to me, “Oh, it looks like you have something in your eye.” As he reached toward me, I closed my eyes and he stole a kiss. The next day when he came in, he asked if I’d liked it. I said yes. And about four years later, we got married.
3. A joke in my family went something like this: “Do you know who that is on top of the capitol building?” Most people would answer “Miss Forward.” We would then say, “No, that’s Mrs. Rennebohm, picking out the location for their next store.”

—Ruth (Witzeling) Flescher ’79

Interesting story about Rennebohm’s. I searched through some of my estate sale acquisitions from the past and saw that the regular menu had a daily supplement. It had to be typed up and actually dated for the day. Wow, what a buck could buy in 1946.

—Michael Kratochwill ’75, ’89

It was in 1960, with anticipation and trepidation, that I, a junior in the UW School of Pharmacy, reported for work at Rennebohm’s number one, Oscar’s first pharmacy at the corner of University and Randall. I knew that Rennie’s featured the Bucky Burger and grilled Danish as well as newspapers, cigars, and alarm clocks, but I didn’t know much else about retail pharmacy. That summer, I became an intern pharmacist, graduated in 1961, and became a registered pharmacist a short time later. I retired after 50 years standing behind the counters visiting with folks. Only good memories now remain of the corner pharmacy, its soda fountains, its remedies, and especially its customers.

—Ken Onsrud ’61

In the early 1960s, my girlfriend at the time worked as a cashier at Rennebohm. She moved from store to store as was needed. Familiar with the cost of many things, she noticed a significant price difference at the Rennebohm store nearest Sorority Row. Tampax, Kotex and other feminine products were priced higher at the store closest to the sorority girls. Rennebohm knew how to stick it to women.

—Ray Uhler ’63

Your article on Rennebohm Drug Store sure jogged my memory! The Pharm was a go-to place during my four years at Madison. In 1949 I had a lab mate who worked there, on the late shift. She mentioned to me that she was apprehensive going home alone at night, and that her boyfriend couldn’t walk her home as he worked a later job. I said she could call me and I would come over and walk her home. I lived in a fraternity on North Henry Street and was not too far away. She started calling me at the fraternity around 9:30 pm on our only phone, so whoever answered would yell my name and say, “Finke, some girl wants to talk to you!” I would get to the phone and tell her I was on my way. This went on for about two months, and then she said her boyfriend told her not to call me anymore!

And the lab course was ending. I never saw her again!

—Dick Finke ’52

Jeff Miller

Workers from the UW’s Physical Plant have restored the Bucky clock that now hangs on the building at 21 N. Park Street. Generations of Badgers will remember the clock hanging on a bank at 905 University Avenue, but when that building was demolished, the UW moved the clock to Park Street.

“It started in the midst of the pandemic, with people looking to find connections and a lot of that being done through online spaces,” says Safyr Barlow x’27, director of the Wisconsin Union Directorate (WUD) Games Committee.

The committee initially hosted events in online spaces, but students liked the game nights so much that when they returned to campus, they wanted to continue the events in person. Today the Sett — the term for a badger’s den — is a hub for student recreation at Union South.

Barlow says game nights are about more than friendly competition with peers — they’re about creating an inclusive environment, a space where anyone can try new games for free.

“There are a lot of barriers within the game space,” Barlow says. “The goal has always been to create a community where everyone is welcome, regardless of financial ability, regardless of skill level.”

With more than 100 options in its collection, WUD features video games, virtual reality games, and board games, with new additions arriving each month. The event is staffed with students ready to explain rules and guide groups along the way. Although attendance varies, some 50 students turn out for the event each week.

“You don’t have to know games, and you don’t have to have been in gaming spaces before. You don’t have to have friends that you’re coming with,” Barlow says. “It’s open to anyone who just wants to try a game out, or take a break, or just have fun.”

So as convenient as Walgreens may be, it will never fill the Rennie’s-sized hole in the hearts of UW alumni. Before being acquired by the national pharmacy chain in 1980, Rennebohm Drug Stores dotted seemingly every block of Madison, including the beloved campus location known as “The Pharm” on the corner of Lake and State.

Before being acquired by Walgreens in 1980, Rennebohm Drug Stores dotted seemingly every block of Madison. UW Archives

Owner Oscar Rennebohm 1911 was hailed as the textbook American success story. He grew up on a small farm in Leeds, Wisconsin, and purchased his first drugstore on University Avenue just a year after earning a pharmacy degree at the UW. The location largely served faculty and students. He turned that small-time operation into the largest chain in the city, with 15 stores by the 1950s and eventually double that (all under the Rexall franchise). Riding his reputation as a brilliant businessman, Rennebohm served as Wisconsin’s governor from 1947 to 1951.

Rennie’s, like many pharmacies of the era, doubled as a popular breakfast and lunch counter. In 1955, the soda fountains alone satisfied some 10,000 customers daily. The menu included a classic chili, ice cream concoctions, and freshy grilled foods — including the butter-dripped Danish dessert, the thought of which still makes long-ago customers drool.

In 1955, the Rennebohm soda fountains alone satisfied some 10,000 customers daily. UW Archives

The Rennebohm Drug Store name became so synonymous with the city that Walgreens kept it alongside its own for several years after the 1980 acquisition.

When the UW opened the Discovery Building on the spot of the first Rennebohm Drug Store in 2010, it paid tribute to the old pharmacy with a new Rennie’s Dairy Bar that served organic Babcock ice cream. But even that Rennie’s is no longer.

Still, the drugstore’s legacy lives on through the UW School of Pharmacy’s aptly named building: Rennebohm Hall. And the Oscar Rennebohm Foundation continues to support the university, including with an endowed scholarship for UW students — alas, sans lunch.

The original Rocky Rococo pizzeria opened in April 1974 on West Gilman Street, in a building as rectangular as its signature slice. Wisconsin Historical Society

A chapter of Madison history came to a close last December when Roger Brown, one of the founders of Rocky Rococo Pizza, sold his last restaurant. This wasn’t the pan-style pizza joint most Badgers will remember — it was on Madison’s Beltline highway. But it was a last tie to a pizza tradition that began at 411 W. Gilman, just off State Street.

You may be thinking, “I remember Rocky Rococo, and it wasn’t there. It was at …” Well, let your gluten relax a moment. The Rocky’s story is, if not rococo, certainly baroque.

In April 1974, Brown and his partner, Wayne Mosley, opened the first Rocky’s in the site of what had been Floyd Brown’s Restaurant (no relation to Roger). Rocky’s offered up three varieties of pizza — pepperoni, sausage, and mushroom — cut into rectangles and served in foil packets. (The iconic Rocky’s “This Box Rocks” cardboard container didn’t appear until 1976.) That fall, it won the Daily Cardinal’s annual pizza contest, knocking off such favorites as Gino’s, Gargano’s, and Pizza Pit. “Rocky Rococo’s victory was insured [sic] by a combination of a moist-deep crust and good spicing,” said the review.

The little pizza place slowly built toward success. In August 1975, it opened a second location at 651 State Street. Then came pizzerias in La Crosse, Minneapolis, and farther afield. By 1990, Rocky’s had 10 locations in Madison and dozens more around the country.

But pizza is a competitive business in Madison, and Rocky’s might have loaded a few too many pepperonis onto its slice of the market. By 2000, nine of those 10 locations had closed, including Gilman and State. Of course, three more had opened, the one nearest campus located at 1301 Regent Street. That location is now Fabiola’s Spaghetti House. The building that housed 651 State has been swallowed up by the sportswear shop Insignia. And since 2009, the West Gilman location has been home to Fugu Asian Fusion.

If you’re back in town and get a hankering for the Rocky’s deep dish you remember from your student days, don’t fear: Madison still has three locations, and they deliver.

The pep rally (shown here in 2024) is one of several enduring celebrations of Badger spirit. Andy Manis

The UW held its first Homecoming in 1911, making it one of the first institutions to adopt the popular tradition, alongside Baylor University and the University of Illinois.

Prior to that, the UW had informally invited alumni back for commencement, but organizers soon saw the wisdom of tying visits back to campus to a football game. More than 3,000 people attended the inaugural event, which featured speakers, doughnuts, cider, and cigars. A Homecoming Ball made its debut in 1919, and annual dances continued until 2011. Judges awarded prizes for the best house and float decorations, and a Homecoming king and queen reigned over festivities every year from 1937 until 2011.

Bonfires were considered essential to the fall ritual for decades, culminating in revelers snaking down State Street. They often crossed the line from exuberance into mayhem, rocking cars, throwing objects, and stopping traffic. After a bonfire sparked a State Street riot in 1946, city and university officials canceled that particular expression of school spirit.

During World War II, Homecoming celebrations honored the military. Concerts through the years have drawn national acts such as Tommy Dorsey, Ella Fitzgerald, Harry Belafonte, Simon and Garfunkel, and Dionne Warwick. Steve Miller x’67 headlined a scholarship benefit concert in 2017, and the student-led Homecoming committee continues to book popular artists today.

The Homecoming parade and pep rally, long essential events, are still highlights of what has become a week’s worth of activities.

In recent years, the Wisconsin Alumni Association began sponsoring a multicultural tailgate as well as the Multicultural Homecoming Yard Show, and the Block Party has become another popular addition. It features activities such as a silent disco, face-painting and crafts for children, fireworks, and yard games in Alumni Park. The week also includes Fill the Hill, a fundraiser that involves planting plastic flamingos on Bascom Hill to symbolize gifts made to the university, riffing off a beloved 1979 prank by the student-government Pail and Shovel Party.

Bucky Badger, who made his debut at the 1949 Homecoming game, will feature prominently this year. Fans will have a chance to learn what it’s like to play the beloved mascot at a showing of the PBS documentary Being Bucky. This year’s Homecoming events will take place the week of October 5, culminating in the football game against the Iowa Hawkeyes on October 11.

University Square as it looked in the 1980s, when its lineup included a B. Dalton bookstore and a copy shop. University Archives

In May 1975, the UW community became the center of Madison’s cinematic universe with the opening of the University Square Four: “Madison’s 1st Four-Theatre Entertainment Center,” according to ads. Patrons could go to just one address — the corner of University Avenue and Park Street — and have their choice of four different films.

A newspaper ad for the theater’s opening. University Archives

Or rather three films, on the day the theater opened. Screens one and two both showed Gone in 60 Seconds, while three had Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore and four had Chinatown. Not everyone was upbeat about the opening. Projectionists Local 251 picketed in front of the doors, asking for higher pay from U Square Four’s owner, American Multi-Cinema (AMC). AMC responded that U Square was fully automated and so didn’t need full-time projectionists. But in spite of the unpromising start, U Square Four lasted 30 years.

The University Square shopping center contained more than a movie theater, of course. Its single story covered 60,000 square feet, taking up much of the south side of the 700 block of University Avenue. It hosted the Discount Den (later just the Den); it was the original home for Madhatter bar; and it was the longest-lived of the many locations for Paisan’s Italian restaurant.

In 2001, U Square’s ownership announced a plan to redevelop the old shopping center, replacing it with a multistory structure that includes an apartment building (The Lucky) and UW offices. It took a few years for that plan to become a reality, but in 2006, U Square closed. The Den shut down in 2005. Madhatter moved to West Gorham, where it lasted another decade. Paisan’s moved to West Wilson, where it kept going until 2022.

But the theater had nowhere to go. Perhaps it was the revenge of Projectionists Local 251.

The film societies died out after video players became widely available, creating a void for movie nuts like me who craved a communal viewing experience with a sophisticated selection of films. Enter Cinematheque. Since 1998, the UW’s own cinematic paradise has offered free screenings for both students and the public, chiefly in the mini movie palace of 4070 Vilas Hall.

Staffed by experienced pros, Cinematheque is distinct from the Wisconsin Union Directorate’s film committee, whose student members program films mainly for their peers in other campus venues. The 170-seat Cinematheque venue advances the Wisconsin Idea by reaching out to the wider world of movie-goers who crave a big-screen alternative to the latest multiplex blockbuster.

“There’s nothing like this in the country: a thorough repertory cinema program where, on any given week, you can see up to three or four great movies that have been curated for free in a cinematic setting,” says Jim Healy, who became Cinematheque’s director of programming in 2010 after stints with the Chicago International Film Festival and other prestigious exhibitors.

Cinematheque outdoes the old film societies with comfy seats, a state-of-the-art sound system, and high-quality prints sourced from archives around the world. Along with offering digital projection, its custom-made 35-millimeter projectors give audiences the chance to see vintage movies in exactly the way they were originally screened. Well, almost exactly — you can sense Healy’s disappointment that antique carbon arc lamps are no longer available.

Attendance is strong at Cinematheque screenings — a testament to the legendary UW film culture, which has produced big-time writer-directors such as Michael Mann ’65, Errol Morris ’69, Jim Abrahams x’66, and David ’70 and Jerry ’72 Zucker. But Healy is especially proud of the program’s appeal to garden-variety movie fans. “It affects students and community members from all walks of life,” he says, “not just those interested in film careers.”

I’ll second that. My favorite Cinematheque experience was seeing Orson Welles’s Othello with my movie-obsessed teenager in 2015. After an immersion in the ravishing black-and-white images, we left 4070 Vilas Hall in a state of awe — and I’m happy to report that my back had never felt better.

When the Red Shed’s lease came up in 2023, owner Lynn Dieffenbach ’90 wasn’t ready for last call, so she made like a college kid and moved the Red Shed to its new home at 508 State Street. Dieffenbach met her late husband, Joel, at the Red Shed in 1990, when he was a bartender and she was a student at the UW. Joel worked at the Red Shed for 30 years before buying the business in 2019. He died of cancer in 2020, and in 2022, Dieffenbach retired from her job as a respiratory therapist to manage the bar.

“I feel like just a small blip in the Red Shed’s history, but it’s fun to hear people’s memories and, as an alum, to be part of the tradition of going to the UW,” she says.

Dieffenbach likens the Red Shed to “your uncle’s basement,” unfussy and unfazed by the passage of time. The worn-wood booths, neon signage, and iconic covered wagon from the original location are right at home in the new one. The TVs are few, and the tabletop games are plenty. Patrons have played checkers with bottle caps since the original game pieces went missing. And when it’s time for another round, the bar caters to every generation with trendy hard seltzers, timeless labels like Pabst and Schlitz, and the Red Shed’s signature mason-jar Long Island iced teas.

“You can gauge by what a customer is asking for, and what memories they’re bringing up, where they fall in the history of the Red Shed,” Dieffenbach says.

Like your uncle’s basement, the ties that bind Badgers to the Red Shed are less about a place and more about the people they shared it with. Photos that once plastered the beams of the old space fill an entire wall in the new one, a gallery of loyal customers sporting Red Shed T-shirts — at their weddings, underwater, on Mount Everest. At the center are two framed collages of even earlier patrons sporting the fashion and facial hair of the ’70s and ’80s.

It’s hard to forget a place that never forgot you.