The Wrong Side of the River

I’ve been to Milwaukee a couple of times, including a sight-seeing cruise around the harbor and a stay at a giant and very old-ish hotel in downtown. I’m not a Brewers fan, but my first MLB game was a Brewers game (albeit in Anaheim). And, of course, there’s the whole Bob Uecker story from last week. All that said, this may be my favorite story of the year… at least… so far…

The Milwaukee Bridge War of 1845 was not your typical civic dispute. It was an all-out brawl over infrastructure, fueled by ambition, greed, and a fundamental refusal to cooperate. The drama played out between three distinct settlements: Solomon Juneau’s Juneautown on the east side of the Milwaukee River, Byron Kilbourn’s Kilbourntown to the west, and George Walker’s Walker’s Point to the south. These communities had developed independently, each with its own layout, leadership, and economic interests, and they weren’t particularly fond of working together.

Kilbourn was the most aggressive of the lot, a man with a clear vision and an iron will to dominate. He went to great lengths to undermine his rivals, particularly Juneautown. When he laid out the streets for Kilbourntown, he deliberately ignored the existing street grid of Juneautown, ensuring that if any bridges were built, they wouldn’t line up properly. He also distributed maps that portrayed Juneautown as a barren wasteland and spread misinformation to travelers, telling them that Juneautown was nothing more than a fading fur trading post. His endgame was clear: isolate Juneautown economically and make Kilbourntown the uncontested hub of commerce.

Bridges, however, were a problem for Kilbourn. They connected the east and west, allowing trade and movement that weakened his plan for economic dominance. He fought against them at every turn. But the Wisconsin Territorial Legislature wasn’t having it. By 1840, the ferry system was proving inadequate, and the legislature ordered the construction of a bridge at Chestnut Street (now Juneau Avenue) to connect the two sides. This was a direct affront to Kilbourn, as it interfered with his ferry system and, worse, legitimized Juneautown as an equal player in the region.

Other bridges followed: one at Spring Street (now Wisconsin Avenue) in 1842, one at Oneida (now Wells Street) in 1844, and another linking Walker’s Point and Juneautown. Kilbourn opposed them all, claiming they obstructed river traffic. His real concern, however, was that they provided access to his competitors and diluted his hold on commerce.

Then came the final straw. On May 3, 1845, a schooner collided with the Spring Street Bridge, damaging it significantly. Rumors immediately spread—had Juneautown residents bribed the captain to sabotage the bridge? The whispers reached a fever pitch in Kilbourntown, where residents saw this as yet another east-side conspiracy to disrupt their way of life. Four days later, Kilbourntown leaders, still seething, convened an emergency meeting and officially declared the Chestnut Street Bridge a “nuisance” that needed to be removed.

When village trustees rejected their resolution, Kilbourn’s people took matters into their own hands. On May 8, a mob from Kilbourntown dismantled their side of the Chestnut Street Bridge, severing the connection between the two settlements. Not content with this act of vandalism, they also sabotaged the Oneida Street Bridge.

The response from Juneautown was swift and dramatic. The east-siders gathered weapons—some carried rifles, others grabbed whatever they could find—and, in a show of force, wheeled out an old cannon loaded with clock weights. Their target? Byron Kilbourn’s house. The cannon was set, the fuse prepared—but at the last moment, news spread that Kilbourn’s daughter had died the night before. Out of respect, the enraged east-siders held their fire.

The situation remained tense. The village trustees, desperate to maintain order, passed a resolution imposing a $50 fine on anyone caught destroying a bridge. They also ordered that the Chestnut Street Bridge be rebuilt and that the Oneida Street Bridge be abandoned, using its materials to repair the Spring Street Bridge. Kilbourn, despite his role in instigating the violence, actually voted in favor of these resolutions, likely recognizing that the situation was spiraling beyond his control.

But Juneautown wasn’t finished. If Kilbourn thought his rivals would simply rebuild the bridges he had attacked, he had underestimated their fury. On May 28, Juneautown residents struck back, demolishing the rebuilt Spring Street Bridge—one of the few bridges Kilbourn had not opposed because it gave his people direct access to government buildings on the east side. Not stopping there, they also destroyed the Menomonee River Bridge, severing Kilbourntown’s access to Walker’s Point.

For weeks, the city was in chaos. Anyone caught on the “wrong side” of the river risked being attacked. Suspicion and paranoia ran high, with reports circulating of mobs preparing to strike Kilbourn’s Milwaukee River dam. Armed guards were stationed at any bridge construction site to prevent further destruction.

Then, just as suddenly as it had erupted, the violence began to subside. Both sides realized that the infighting was making Milwaukee look ridiculous. The region was growing, but this was not the kind of reputation that would attract settlers or investors. By December, the village trustees had devised a plan: they would construct three new bridges—one at Cherry Street, one at the foot of Water Street, and a permanent replacement for Spring Street. More importantly, they would formally unite the settlements into a single city.

On January 5, 1846, residents voted on the city charter. The results were telling. Kilbourntown and Walker’s Point overwhelmingly supported the merger, voting 461 to 8 in favor. Juneautown, still resentful over taxation and the bridge war, was far more divided, voting against the charter 324 to 182. But the decision had been made. On January 31, 1846, the City of Milwaukee was officially incorporated, ending the era of divided settlements.

The legacy of the Milwaukee Bridge War remains visible today. Many of the city’s bridges cross the Milwaukee River at odd angles—physical reminders of Kilbourn’s refusal to align his streets with Juneautown. The sectional rivalry didn’t disappear overnight, either. Even after incorporation, the old divisions persisted in politics, infrastructure debates, and city planning. Milwaukee was now a single entity, but its identity had been forged in the fires of conflict.

In a way, the Bridge War was the birth pangs of a modern city. Out of the chaos of 1845 emerged a realization: Milwaukee couldn’t afford to be a divided town if it wanted to grow. The rivalries, the sabotage, and the threats of cannon fire—it was all part of a messy but necessary transformation. Milwaukee had fought itself to the brink, and in doing so, had finally found a way forward.