John "Ben" Bolerud, Mayor of Mineral Point

 By Bruce Shawkey

This is a story illustrating how so many lives can intersect and what a small world it is. This is a story of my dad, a high school classmate of mine and his grandfather, and a former mayor of Mineral Point, a city in iowa County, Wisconsin.

John "Ben" Bolerud was of Norwegian descent and was elected mayor of Mineral Point in the 1950s and '60s. He road around town on a mule, presumably because of the hilly terrain of this former lead mining town with a history dating back to the civil war (lead shot for rifles).

This is how a local paper remembered him:

Tuesday evening, Benjamin Bollerud, former Mineral Point mayor, area historian, and traveler passed away at his home on Meeker Street. Bollerud's death marks the end of an era.

In Mineral Point history. Bollerud's colorful dress, speech, actions and style was of another era that some may remember but few have lived. This week, the Democrat-Tribune has gone back into previous issues to give our readers a perspective of Benjamin Bollerud.

Born of pure Norwegian ancestry west of Hollandale in 1893, he moved to Mineral Point in 1931. His great grandfather was one of two men who entered Andersonville Prison when it was opened and walked out when it was closed.

From 1952 until 1960, Bollerud was mayor of Mineral Point. Accomplishments during his eight years include street markers, municipal sewage and improvements to the cemetery.

In an interview, here are a few of Bollerud's quotes:

"I was born in Hollandale, but I didn't stay there. In 1909, when I was 15, I traveled all over the west. I was just seeing the world, I guess. The grand tour. Nothing spectacular about that, except that I didn't belong there at age 15. I rode the train. Sometimes I'd buy a ticket, and sometimes wouldn't. When I went to Colorado, Oregon and Washington, I had to ride the train. It was altogether different than it is now. I thought I'd try an experiment . Might as well do it now as later, and see about this 'riding the freights.' 

"I got the freight all right. And I rode maybe half way to Cheyenne. And a brakeman put me off. Well, I got out. And there I saw a big sign. It said "Watch Nunn Grow." Nunn was one of those one street western towns with a depot and a few stores. I watched it. Didn't see it move. I recall I went around the depot and got a drink of water from the pump, and Nunn still hadn't moved. So off I went up the tracks."

Bollerud is one of the best read men in Mineral Point. I asked Bollerud who, living or dead, would he ask to dinner, if he could ask anyone he wished. "Most men would probably say Taft, or somebody like that. These men of considerable importance, I would pass on them. There was this man in Hollandale by the name of Coulahan. He went to Oxford, highly educated, and a periodic alcoholic And every day you would see him go to the post office and get the mail, which would include the New York Times, the Toronto Globe, and more mail than anybody in Hollandale. He wasn't well dressed. He tended his horses, and he tended his dogs, and tended whatever needed to be tended. I believe I'd have dinner with Coulahan. Yes, I'd rather talk with him."

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Now, enter my dad, Howard R., who in the '50s worked for the Leach Company, selling garbage trucks and street sweepers. He and a co-worker traveled to Mineral Point on a Sunday and swept the Main Street in downtown, no charge, in an effort to sell a street sweeper to the city. The effort was in vain. Bollerud was a staunch conservative and would not put the city into debt by buying a street sweeper.

Fast forward to the 1970s. My high school friend, Danny Clark, and I traveled to Mineral Point in my mail truck to go camping on his grandfather's farm. I cannot remember his name, but he was a kindly man, and he had vivid memories of Ben Bolerud traveling around town on his mule. 

We had a marvelous time. Danny's grandpa told us stories and jokes. I honestly believe Danny was closer to his grandpa than he was his own father, who was a truck driver and was on the road quite a bit.

Sometimes, simple memories are the best.