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.

Participants celebrate at the after-party for the 2024 Crazylegs Classic. Runner’s World magazine listed the perennial favorite in its Top 100 events. Bryce Richter

The Crazylegs Classic race is the brainchild of three running buddies who wanted to raise money for UW athletics and boost attendance at the spring football game. Tom Grantham ’61, Ken Sparks ’72, ’74, and Rich Backus, who were fans of then–Athletic Director Elroy Hirsch x’45, asked his permission to christen the race Crazylegs after the nickname Hirsch earned for his unique running style as a UW football player.

The first runners kicked up their heels in 1982, when the event drew 1,525 participants and raised $9,500. The 8K run, held on the last Saturday of April, starts on Library Mall and winds through campus. Organizers added a two-mile walk in 1987 and an 8K wheelchair race in 2005. Five years later, Crazylegs set a record with 20,415 competitors, but participants are now capped at 10,000, with athletes hailing from all over Wisconsin and, typically, about a dozen other states.

According to Shane Burgess, an assistant athletic director for event operations, each year some 30 to 40 teams made up of colleagues from various companies, organizations, and families compete, adding to the community spirit.

And that spirit prevails despite Wisconsin’s unpredictable weather, which saw runners facing high winds and sleet in 1988 and some seven inches of snow in 1994 and 2019. Not even the COVID-19 pandemic could stop the race, as close to 2,000 fans participated virtually in 2021. The event has drawn more than 354,000 contestants since its inception.

The 43rd Crazylegs this past spring marked a return to the football field at Camp Randall for the popular after-party, which had moved to the Kohl Center due to stadium construction.

Nick Pasquarello ’94, MS’18, director of the National W Club for athletics alumni, says that the race is one of campus’s most iconic events. “It’s a rallying point and a great opportunity to bring people back to Madison and back to campus to share Badger camaraderie.”

Burgess adds that the family-friendly event has become more than just an athletics fundraiser. It also has a big impact on the Madison economy, generating a significant chunk of the $462 million brought in annually by athletics department events.

In our summer 2025 issue, we mourned the closing of a campus-area institution with “Farewell to Paul’s Book Store.” The article spurred this outpouring of letters from heartbroken UW–Madison alumni.

I was profoundly grieved to read about the loss of Paul’s Book Store. As an English grad student in the 1960s-70s, I spent many happy hours pondering Paul’s wonderful collection. Where else could I find old editions of English poets as well as piano-vocal scores of arcane French operas? After a hard day in the UW Library, I would find unexpected treasures on Paul’s shelves. This is a tragic loss, but I have many fond memories.

—Byron Nelson PhD’83

My memory of Paul’s Books dates from about 1965, when I was 14 and allowed to take the city bus by myself from Madison’s west side downtown on a Saturday afternoon. I had chores to do all morning — chores I hated like baking, vacuuming, dusting. But usually by noon I was free. I soon discovered Paul’s and began to spend hours roaming the stacks discovering poets, history, biography — a favorite shelf — and those little books that fit in the pocket or the palm of your hand. I still have my copy of Twenty Years A-Growing by Maurice O’Sullivan from the U.K. World’s Classics series. From the same series, Sherlock Holmes Selected Stories. Both are six inches tall and beloved.

Over the years I began to say hello to Paul Askins, who of course greeted everyone warmly when he wasn’t too busy. I think he may have recognized me by the time I was an undergrad, but that may just be a customer’s vanity. The place was a refuge for all those years — from housework and drudgery, from high school angst, from boring textbooks.

But it became a significant refuge for me in the spring of 1970, when the campus was in turmoil with protests over the U.S. invasion of Cambodia. If I have my dates right, now 18 on an April afternoon, I was marching down State Street from the Capitol with a big group of protesters, heading for a demonstration and speeches at the Mall. The National Guard had been called up and they were advancing up the street. Marchers in front of me began to panic — we were squeezed by all the shops and unable to get out of their way. I ducked into Paul’s — they let me in — and we watched in silence as soldiers took over our streets with weapons held out before them.

I shall never forget the scene, or Paul’s shop and the love for books and quiet welcome he gave us for so many years. Heartfelt thanks, dear Paul and Caryl. I kept returning as if on pilgrimage until I left the Midwest in the 1990s.

—Jan (Schumacher) Lathrop ’91, MS’93

Dean Robbins’s article does justice to Paul Askins, who in his quiet way created a remarkable space. He was so well respected that, during the often violent anti-Vietnam protests, his bookstore was one of the few without broken windows. He was kind to student poets and writers. It was in that window that my first ragged chapbook appeared. The shop had a nourishing peacefulness that emanated from Paul. I cherish the memory of rainy afternoons when, with friends who also loved the place, we read for hours whatever took our fancy. The shop was both treasure house and the most refreshing, benign refuge.

—Margaret Benbow ’73

In 1975, Caryl Askins hired me as a part-time clerk at Paul’s Book Store. At last I could use my UW PhD. I had a second job as buyer at Discount Records, a few doors up on State Street. Plus, I was working at Joseph’s French Cafe on the Square. So I was downtown a lot. Books, music, bread: what more did I need?

Paul’s was a wonderful place to work. I was the new kid; Jim and Mark had worked with Paul Askins and knew about rare books, first editions, etc., while I handled the easy purchases. Caryl was in the store most of the time; plus, she ordered remainders and went to book sales. I did those three jobs for about eight years. And I started a show on WORT in 1975. The counterculture was still alive then.

FYI: there was a basement filed with books, magazines, etc. that few knew about. After I wrote a bread cookbook, Caryl would put a used copy in the front window. And later I could express my gratitude to Caryl by teaching her tai chi when she took my UW course for years. Having that 50-year friendship is a treasure and a privilege.

—Paul Novak, MA ’70, PhD’71

Dean Robbins’s “Farewell to Paul’s Book Store” was the saddest and best-written article I can recall reading in On Wisconsin. To be sadder would take something like losing Lecture Hall Room 125 in Ag Hall. The article could not have been better in capturing the flavor of Paul’s; same for the photo. He even mentioned (indirectly) my favorite place in the store, to the right when you enter, by the window, with the old ag and forestry reports.

—Thomas J. Straka ’72, MS’73

Amazing that Paul’s Books has survived all these long years. When I was an English graduate student during the early 1960s, Paul’s was a scruffy, street-level replica of a New York or Philadelphia secondhand bookstore, nothing like the spiffy photo in the magazine. Located midway between the corner hangout of Rennie’s on North Lake and the downstairs Italian Grotto just past Hawthorne Court, it was a kind of Shakespeare & Company for our crowd.

But the lasting memory, after more than half a century, is of the owner himself. Of modest stature, quiet and unassuming, it took small conversation to reveal his broad knowledge of the book trade. Yet what stands out vividly was his generosity. My dissertation was on Henry James, and Scribner’s was in the process of reprinting the original New York edition of James’s novels and tales. Paul Askins as a rule did not deal in new books, but he agreed to order the volumes as they were printed and to send me those that came out after I left Madison. In the end, I acquired the entire edition.

After four decades of teaching I have divested myself of most of the books in my university office. But I still retain the black-bound volumes with Henry James’s signature on the cover. And I am always reminded of their provenance.

—Barry Menikoff MS’62, PhD’66

I first encountered Paul’s Book Store in 1988 while shopping for a book to study in my graduate class on the 18th-century novel. Although I loathed the class, I found a copy of Ann Radcliffe’s The Italian, which I loved, and — more importantly, found myself surrounded by dusty old books. Thank you for the second home!

—Becky Jo Gesteland, MA’89

I was a grad student at UW–Madison in the 1970s, when I first became acquainted with Paul’s Book Store. I distinctly remember finding a copy of Robert Frost poems near the entrance to the store, a book that came with a small record of Frost recitations. My last visit to Paul’s was October 2024, where I discovered a photo album of old Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, architecture. My wife and I purchased it for my Brazilian godson’s father and mother (who still live in Rio), and gave it to them as a Christmas gift last December. I’m glad a piece of Paul’s is still in the family.

—Roger Volkema MA’73, PhD’81

Over the many years that I was at the UW–Madison, I spent a lot of time and money at Paul’s Book Store. Occasionally, I found some really interesting books, and one time I bought a real winner! Browsing the books on one shelf I saw the title For the New Intellectual by Ayn Rand, and I thought: “The new intellectual? C’EST MOI!” Of course I must buy it and did … for one dollar.

I got it home (and that may have been a house almost next-door to Paul’s in the epicenter of that block! You walked down this corridor just off State Street, and there at the end stood a two-story house without a lawn, surrounded by the backs of buildings on all sides. It must have been the quietest dwelling in town!) and proceeded to read the book, cover-to-cover … sort of. I read the front cover, and I read the back cover, and nothing in between! On one of the many times I’ve thought I really should read the book, I made two discoveries: 1) It’s a first edition; 2) it is signed by Ayn Rand! I’ve taken the book to several autograph specialists in New York City, and their estimates have ranged from $900 to $1,500.

But I am not selling it. I like the story too much. Besides, I haven’t read it yet!

—James P. Colias ’70

A trip down State Street would always start by perusing the sci-fi and fantasy section of Paul’s Book Store, where the books were half the cover price. Picked up the 1966 edition of Lord of the Rings for 50 cents apiece along with so many others. My years at UW fueled my love of reading and saw my paperback collection grow to 300-plus, thanks to Paul’s (and others). Just one of the many establishments that will be missed.

—Jim Pederson ’88

Whenever I revisited Madison after moving to the Pacific Northwest years ago, a walk along State Street was fun and nostalgic. Paul’s Book Store always seemed to draw me in like a magnet with its eclectic selection of books and the atmosphere. It was definitely a “state of mind,” as well as an important independent bookstore. Thanks for the article. It brought back fond memories.

—Kathryn (Steenson) Whitmer ‘59, MS’62

My husband and I graduated from UW in 1963 and 1964. We visited Madison many times over the years, and our last visit was in 2018 for the Party with a Purpose, the 1960s reunion. Going back to Paul’s was a given. While so much of Madison had changed, Paul’s was exactly as we remembered it.

—Steve and Robin Ungar

Paul’s was definitely my go-to place when I was a graduate student at UW in 1970–71. Many hours were spent browsing among (and occasionally purchasing — on a limited income!) the books, magazines, etc. Fifty-five years later I still have the bookmark I was given! Thanks for the memories in “Farewell to Paul’s Book Store.”

—Rebecca Brownlow Steinback, MA’71

The story and photo on Paul’s Book Store brought back the memory of a funny incident. It was on a bright, cool October morning in 1967. I crossed State Street to go into Paul’s. A moment later a Madison police officer came in and asked me for identification. I didn’t carry any ID back then, just a dollar or two and some change. He gave me a jaywalking ticket for crossing midblock. Apparently the Madison Police Department took jaywalking very seriously, because they would sometimes have a news story on WISM about someone who had been hit while jaywalking and received a ticket while in the hospital.

—Bill Olson ’73

For the last 44 years there was a photo near the register at Paul’s Books of several infants slouching on a couch; my daughter Elizabeth Maier ’03 is sitting in the middle and is the only baby looking at the camera. The photo was taken in February 1981, and the babies’ parents were all in my Lamaze childbirth class. One of the other babies (I can’t say which one) was Paul and Caryl Askins’s granddaughter, and that’s why the photo was in the bookshop. For years I’d stop in to see if it was still there and to show the photo to friends and family. It was always still there, right up to the end.

—Louise Goldstein

I majored in electrical engineering, but I minored in Paul’s Book Store.

—Terry O’ ’90

Washburn Observatory and environs achieved pop-culture immortality with the release of 1934’s “It’s Dark on Observatory Hill.” UW Archives

In the early 20th century, Observatory Hill was renowned in scientific circles as the site of UW–Madison’s Washburn Observatory. But in popular lore, it was known less for science than for seduction.

In the 1920s, an uptick in car ownership transformed once-quiet Observatory Drive into a lovers’ lane. Couples flocked to the romantic overlook on Lake Mendota, chugging up the hill in their Model Ts. Everybody had a good time — everybody but the UW astronomers, that is. The cars’ lights interfered with their celestial observations, and the noise (not to mention the necking) distracted from scientific research.

By the early 1930s, Observatory Hill had become nationally notorious, according to Chasing the Stars, a history of UW astronomy by James Lattis MA’87, PhD’89 and Kelly Tyrrell MS’11. Even conservative Time magazine referred to it with a wink and a nudge: “University of Wisconsin jacks and jills like to go up Madison’s Observatory Hill at night.”

Today, the song’s cloying lyrics are more likely to elicit a snort than a sigh.

In 1934, the site achieved pop-culture immortality with the release of “It’s Dark on Observatory Hill.” Describing “a stroll to the hilltop where college sweethearts go,” the song was written by Johnny Burke 1927 and Harold Spina and popularized by Bob Crosby and the Dorsey Brothers, among others. To the astronomers’ dismay, hordes of couples suddenly wanted to “look at the lights on the campus down below” while contemplating “what the stars do have in store.”

Faculty members complained, and by 1937 Observatory Drive had been rerouted away from Washburn Observatory. Finally, the astronomy department could chart the galaxies in peace.

Today, Observatory Hill is nothing if not respectable, but the once-racy song survives in multiple versions on YouTube. To modern ears, the melody is so stiffly metronomic that it’s hard to believe “It’s Dark on Observatory Hill” once titillated young lovers. And the cloying lyrics are now more likely to elicit a snort than a sigh: “They don’t have to know arithmetic / To figure why you and I would click.”

The Lettermen, Ray Conniff, and others continued recording the song into the 1960s, but only one interpretation hints at its potential. In 1953, Martha Tilton drew on her experience in Benny Goodman’s orchestra to loosen up the ticktock rhythms with languorous jazz phrasing (see below). Tilton also provided an essential ingredient lacking in the other versions: sultriness. “The moon may mean romance,” Tilton sings — and for once, you believe it.

Despite major changes to Madison’s transportation system, the good old 80 bus continues its traditional route through campus. Bryce Richter

Whether it’s to avoid walking up Bascom Hill, to evade the worst of Wisconsin weather, or to get home safely at night, one thing is certain: Badgers love to take the bus.

Nearly 30 percent of UW–Madison students report riding the bus to campus on nice days, and that percentage doubles during bad weather, according to a 2023 survey by Transportation Services. It’s hard to beat the convenience and cost: the four campus routes serviced by Madison’s Metro Transit — 80, 81, 82, and 84 — are free to use for all riders. Students can also acquire special bus passes, funded by segregated fees and other sources, that allow them to hop on other city routes at no additional cost.

On a university sandwiched between lakes, access to public transportation is all-important. There are only 13,000 campus parking spaces for some 80,000 students and employees (and even more visitors), which means that most students can’t keep cars.

The UW has been encouraging students to use other modes of transportation — including their legs — since at least 1924, when massive traffic jams behind Bascom Hall resulted in the university’s first parking restrictions. The rules forbade students from parking on campus east of the Stock Pavilion, freeing up space for faculty and visitors.

By 1963, campus bus lines were carrying more than 1.5 million passengers during the academic year. But UW students briefly revolted against their favorite motor vehicle. In fall 1966, the City of Madison converted University Avenue into a one-way street pointing west while allowing buses to use a “wrong way” lane heading east. A female student was soon struck by on oncoming bus. That spring, hundreds of UW students — already mobilized by the Vietnam War — protested the wayward lane by blocking an approaching bus with their bodies. The event led to a brief suspension of citywide bus service.

In the late ’60s, some feared that the city would lose its bus service altogether, with ridership rates dropping and the private Madison Bus Company nearing insolvency. The City of Madison purchased the business and formally took over the operation of the bus system in 1970.

Metro Transit has been a steady caretaker of the campus lines ever since. The unlimited-ride student bus passes arrived in the 1990s, and the campus bus routes became fare-free in the early 2000s.

Preparing for its Bus Rapid Transit program, the city launched a massive network redesign in 2023. Most of its routes were reconfigured and renamed with letters instead of numbers, but not the campus lines. So the 80 bus — reliably running every five minutes at peak times — lives on.

Paul’s was less a retail establishment than a state of mind. Musty literary classics and dusty bestsellers leaned every which way on the battered wooden shelves. Baskets on the floor might contain film stills, long-forgotten journals, or yellowed sheet music — you really had to get down on the linoleum and paw through them. Hand-lettered cards demarcated sections for “Fiction,” “Nautical Seafaring,” and, yes, “Books about Books.” Vintage records spun on a turntable behind the cluttered counter. Taped on the ends of the shelving units were archaeological layers of detritus: ancient postcards, magazine covers, business cards, obituaries, foreign currency, and pictures of both literary celebrities and unidentified people. Barnes and Noble this was not.

But who wanted it to be? Unlike the Starbucks across the street, Paul’s Book Store was not a corporate entity. It was a family-run operation with a human touch, founded by book lover Paul Askins and faithfully sustained by his wife, Caryl Askins ’51, after Paul died in 1975. The two met while working at an early incarnation of University Book Store and operated the shop in two other locations before settling into the long, narrow space near Library Mall, with its decorative tin ceiling. The homey display window beckoned pedestrians with plants, statuettes, and an always-intriguing selection of used books.

Paul and Caryl created an environment set apart from the required reading in UW classrooms: a place to get lost in the stacks, commune with obscure authors, and drink in arcane knowledge. A place where time stopped.

Reportedly, the store still did good business. I often had to flatten myself against the shelves to let other browsers pass in the cramped aisles. But 94-year-old Caryl felt ready to retire, and without an Askins, you really couldn’t imagine Paul’s.

It’s true that former customers can probably search online to find, say, the multivolume Smithsonian Institution Annual Report from 1880 to 1955. But anyone connected to UW–Madison knows that the experience of lazing away an afternoon in Paul’s Book Store can never be recaptured.

Doug Moe, left, chats with Leckrone about their new book on the 50-year evolution of UW bands. Andy Manis

The Wisconsin Alumni Association (WAA) hosted a special Wisconsin Idea Spotlight event in December featuring former UW–Madison director of bands Mike Leckrone and Madison author Doug Moe ’79, celebrating their new book, Moments of Happiness: A Wisconsin Band Story.

The event gave attendees an intimate look into Leckrone’s 50-year career and the evolution of the university’s bands, which the legendary director transformed into the celebrated institutions we know today.

The book’s title stems from Leckrone’s speech to band members before his first Rose Bowl (1994), encouraging them to cherish positive moments to help them through challenging times. “ ‘There are going to be some bad times, but think about the moments of happiness.’ And it’s just kind of stuck with me ever since,” he reflected. This philosophy, along with lessons learned from his father about pushing beyond perceived limitations, shaped Leckrone’s transformative leadership of the program.

That first Rose Bowl is among Leckrone’s most cherished memories. “It wasn’t just a moment. It was everything that was going on at that time. The whole state came together,” he remembered.

Leckrone explained that he credits his grandfather for part of his philosophy of life. “My grandfather used to say, ‘If you think you can’t, you can’t.’ And I firmly believe that, so I used that philosophy to push the kids.”

Throughout his tenure, Leckrone developed lasting traditions, including the band’s motto, “Eat a rock,” which emerged from an impromptu pep talk about toughness. Even during the football program’s challenging years, the band maintained its reputation for excellence and became a main attraction at games.

Now retired, Leckrone told the audience that what he misses most is daily interactions with band members, whom he still views as “kids” even decades after their graduation. “I still can see that kid in them, even if they come back and they’ve been out of the band for maybe 20 years,” he said.

Ted Odell stirs up a 250-pound batch of his cookie batter in this 1973 photo from the Daily Cardinal. UW Archives (James Korger)

UW–Madison graduates from the 1960s to the early 1990s might remember a hefty, healthy snack available in local food co-ops called the Guerrilla Cookie. When its eccentric baker, Ted Odell ’64, stopped making the treats around 1990 or 1991, zealous fans tried to re-create the recipe, which Odell kept a closely guarded secret. Most assumed he had taken it to his grave when he passed away in 2021.

Perhaps the most impassioned baker, Karen McKim ’75, MA’77, dedicated a blog to the topic and tried more than 75 recipes. Dave Denison ’82, a former employee of Odell’s (and, full disclosure, this writer’s brother), wrote a lengthy piece in the September 2023 Baffler magazine about the cookie, its creator, and a futile quest to find the recipe. Denison was surprised this past April to hear from someone who actually had the original recipe.

That someone was Steve Apfelbaum, president of the board of the Southern Wisconsin Land Conservancy. SWLC manages the nonprofit Three Waters Reserve, a natural area and event center in Brodhead, Wisconsin, which hosts events such as corporate retreats, parties, and wedding receptions to support conservation efforts.

When Odell passed away, he bequeathed his land to the reserve, which had once been his family’s farm before it was sold in 1925 and converted into a golf course. Odell’s lifelong dream was to see the land returned to a more natural state. He helped SWLC buy the property and quietly gave the reserve his coveted recipe about a year before he died. “He wanted the cookies to go to a good cause,” says Apfelbaum. “He was very mission-oriented, and he wanted them to go to a conservation/education mission.”

The reserve’s chef, John Marks, and his staff re-created the cookie, painstakingly determining the original brands of ingredients that Odell used. Three Waters began selling the original-recipe cookies, as well as some modernized variations, this past spring.

A hefty, healthy snack. Andy Manis for Wisconsin State Journal

“We’d love to sell a lot of cookies, because it will finance a lot of happy birds and happy plants and happy butterflies,” says Apfelbaum.

Inspired by the Guerrilla Cookie, Three Waters is also developing what it calls the Climate Cookie, which will use flour made from native grass seeds such as Virginia wild rye. The native perennial will not require tilling the soil, fertilizer, or pesticides, taking Odell’s environmental ethos to the next level. A national chain will stock it, and a portion of sales will generate royalties for conservation. “Ted was so excited when he realized that the Climate Cookie could start a whole new line of foods derived from native ecosystems,” Apfelbaum says.

In the Baffler article, Denison revealed that Odell’s original intentions for his bakery involved a center that would provide nutritional education to children and donate its profits to worthy causes. Sadly, many of Odell’s later years were spent in frustration because he couldn’t find anyone who shared his dream.

No doubt he is resting peacefully now that his vision is fulfilled at last — and on a scale even greater than he imagined.