The House on the Rock
5754 Hwy 23
Spring Green, WI
by James A. Teitelbaum ©2004
v 1.2
The House on the Rock is one of those things that you'll constantly hear about if you live in the midwest, and that you may or may not ever make the time to go see. Given it's location an hour west of Madison, Wisconsin (nowhere near an Interstate), and the $19.50 admission fee to get in, the trip to the House isn't exactly a mission to be taken lightly. Therefore, many people may not put it high on their to-do list.
This ambiguity is something that needs to be corrected.
The House on the Rock is a must-see.
Plenty of House history is available on the web, so I'll keep the details short. From the House on the Rock web site: "During the 1940's, a man named Alex Jordan discovered a 60-foot chimney of rock in the beautiful Wyoming Valley. It was then he decided to build a house on the sandstone formation called Deer Shelter Rock. Jordan built the house as a weekend retreat and never intended it to be a tourist attraction. However, people kept coming to see the architectural wonder they had heard about. Jordan eventually started asking for 50 cent donations. That was only the beginning."
What this blurb fails to mention is that Jordan was a complete lunatic with no architectural background. This labyrinth of a home (for which no blueprints were ever drawn; he made it up as he built) feels part art nouveau, part Japanese, and part asylum. None of the ceilings are much over six feet high. The place was cobbled together with no rhyme or reason. Little conversation nooks with benches and fireplaces are scattered about seemingly at random, and some seem to have been designed (or not designed) with complete disregard to actually making them comfortable or usable.
The House itself can be toured in under an hour, but visitors will want to budget at least four hours - probably longer - to their visit. The House itself is just the beginning. Stretching off across several acres of land attached to the House are several more buildings, and they are full of things.
In addition to being the builder of the House, Jordan was a collector of things, and was enough of a collector of things that his things eventually took up more room than the house could hold. So annexes were built. These annexes are of zero architectural interest, and are essentially gigantic pre-fab storage sheds, some warehouse-sized. One will find that this doesn't matter in the slightest, since it is the contents of these buildings (as opposed to the buildings themselves) that will keep the curious rapt for days.
The first in this collection of collections can be viewed in the main house. Alex Jordan owned a prodigious array of late 19th century automated music machines. Real musical instruments were set up on metal frameworks, and were designed to be thumped, strummed, and plucked by proto-robotic clockworks controlled by holes punched into big metal discs.
I am sure that 100 years ago, they actually worked quite well as examples of the technology of the era, and to this day they plod along nicely for a few minutes at a time if you insert a token (available on premises). A few of them are clearly just going through the motions of wiggling their parts around while a pre-recorded piece of music plays from a hidden speaker (a modification which the staff will stubbornly deny), but they are amusing and sometimes amazing nonetheless. The machine titled "Moon Over Manakoora" is my favorite; it plays a record of Martin Denny's version of Harbor Lights while century-old marimbas, exotic gongs, congas, and other exotic instruments sequestered in a big pit (complete with a giant Chinese dragon) engage in their own peculiar Milli Vanilli routine. A few of the bongos occasionally beat in time with the record.
Smaller variations on the theme consist of nothing but a pair of violins. The other end of the spectrum is buried deep within the maze of sheds: the astounding Mikado room, where red-lit Manchurian mannequins posed among a vast array of Oriental artifacts perform your favorite faux-Asian Gilbert and Sullivan tunes. The only thing better? How about a vast room in which you'll find a full orchestra of mannequins posed with their instruments, but with the requisite clockworks doing the plucking and strumming while mannequin arms hang limply to the side. A record plays warped marches as the various sections of the orchestra stop and start working more or less on cue.
There are several dozen of these machines at fairly regular intervals throughout the property. They range from single instruments to full orchestras. The ones without mannequin musicians are kind of cool (especially in trying to figure out how they work, and in figuring which ones actually do work for real). The ones with mannequins are just creepy.
The main House is also full of Asian artifacts of all description. The Asian theme was apparently a great passion for Jordan, as it runs through many of the buildings adjacent to the House. Some of the collected artifacts are quite beautiful and appear to be of great antiquity, and others give off an air of cheesiness, as though they were procured from a street vendor in Chinatown.
This leads us to the first of the great mysteries of the House on the Rock. It is said that Alex Jordan had no job, and completely financed the House from proceeds collected from visitors. In addition to the actual real estate, and the cost of building the House, and the cost of the expansions, one can't help but to marvel at the sheer amount of stuff on display. Several museum's worth, indeed. Conspicuously, none of it is labeled, so the visitor to the House has no context in which to place any of the objects in the collection. Age, origin, and value are all ignored, leaving the question of kitsch or art open and debatable on a case-by-case basis for each of the thousands upon thousands of items displayed. Treasure and trash are unapologetically displayed side by side, defying the viewer to determine which is which.
The sheer number of things, and the sheer cost of procuring it all must surely be in the tens of millions of dollars (a carousel is one of the only items for which a value is listed: this item alone is valued at $4 million). But for all of the items which are clearly valuable antiquities, there are clear shams too: a velvet case full of gemstones claiming to be diamonds weighing several karats each is protected only by a Plexiglas window, with no cameras or guards in sight. Surely, these are phonies? So where is the line drawn between treasure and trash? More importantly: does it matter? This irrational assemblage of kitsch that is the Alex Jordan collection will boggle the most jaded mind, and whether the baubles on display are truly works of art or are ersatz gems from the dime store is moot: the awe is in literally wandering through the mad genius's personal mania.
Still, it can be a little frustrating to spend (at least) an entire day wandering among all of the things with no information or context provided about what is being observed.
Did I say at least an entire day? I did. One can whip through the seemingly endless warren of buildings in an absolute minimum of about three hours. Any remotely curious visitors will need four to five hours, and most people will find that a second visit will be needed to observe all that was passed over for reasons of sensory overload, or a cheez-factor burn-out near the end. Just when you think you have seen "it all", and things couldn't possibly become any larger, weirder, or different, something completely new and bizarre awaits - usually on a massive scale.
Give yourself five hours the first time you visit, and expect to be mentally fried after three to four hours. Give the rest of the place the once-over, and focus on the second half of the collection during your second visit.
After several hours of wandering, you'll meet the Organ Room. It is a dark warehouse-sized room containing a half dozen mammoth pipe organs, hundreds more pipes than are needed to make the organs work, and a complex series of ramps and bridges that snake up, among, and around the organs, up to twenty feet in the air. Clusters of red glass globes light the room in an erie red glow, and hundreds of ceramic moonshine jugs line the walls in rows and columns. The meaning of the 19th century jugs amng the organs? Ask Alex. Staircases go literally nowhere, terminating into the sides of walls or the black ceiling itself. It is only after spending time in the Organ room that you'll feel like you've seen it all, and that your mind has been thoroughly blown.
You're only half way done.
You still have to get to the carousel room, with almost 400 antique carousel animals mounted on the walls. More mannequins (this time in flimsy pastel gowns from the 1970s) hang from the ceiling, their fishing line supports obscured by cotton angel wings.
The carousel itself (mentioned earlier as being rather expensive) is run continuously by an employee who is forbidden from allowing passengers to ride it: too valuable. Apparently, no one is ever allowed on it. I pressed for details: "the boss's kids on their birthday?" got a negative, "charitable contributors at the annual fund-raiser?" are also forbidden, "and employees on a dare" was denied with particular vehemence.
Like every other object in the House, large or small, not much history is given about the carousel.
If it was built especially for the House, it seems a waste that it should be built and continuously operated for no one's pleasure but for the ghost of Alex Jordan. Sure, the animals on it are antique and of rare beauty, but perhaps they could be removed, mounted on the wall with their 400 brethren, and replaced with modern ones, so as to make the carousel usable. It must be frustrating for the thousands of kids (and adults) who trudge through this room every year to have to stand there and watch the thing go round and round, knowing that no one will ever ride it. Kinda like those action figure collectors who never take their Chewbaccas out of the package.
On the other hand, if the carousel itself is an antique, bought from some long-forgotten carnival or amusement park, it may be too fragile to withstand the wear and tear of people trampling all over it day in and day out. This makes the rider ban understandable.
With no info available on the carousel (other than it being the world's largest - and apparently most expensive), we are content to ponder the reasoning behind the ban on riders.
Moving beyond the carousel, things continue to get weirder.
The Doll room contains two giant multi-tiered platforms, like 15-foot high ziggurat wedding cakes, covered with dolls. Ramps snake up around and between them. The platforms are covered with dolls, but also with bizarre figures that seem to be a cross between Greek mythological figures and something dreamed of by H. P. Lovecraft. Life-sized fully nude women with goat's heads playing fiddles, for example. These will distract you from the baby dolls on the giant rotating ziggurats. Not enough? How about life sized carving of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse charging down at you from a corner of the ceiling? Was Alex Jordan on drugs? No, he was just insane!
And where did he get the money to have a life-sized model of a 40-foot whale battling a giant octopus (while swallowing a rowboat) built in the three-story tall single room that houses his collection of model ships and exquisite scrimshaw? All from visitors? That's a lot of tourists!
You know, this description is just scratching the surface. I haven't even touched on the medieval suits of armor (including a set for an elephant) arranged into bloody battle dioramas (as opposed the the stiff single mannequins it is always displayed on in museums). Or a couple of hundred very cool dioramas built for jewelry stores (apparently from the 1940s or so) collected by Jordan. Or the vast array of dueling pistols (including one designed to be hidden inside of a woman's wooden leg). Or the Tiffany glass. Or the complete reproduction of a 19th century commercial boulevard. Or the series of giant iron urns on the road leading to the property, each covered with great dragons and lizards. Or the 19th century arcade novelty machines (in addition to the musical ones). Or, the newly acquired collections of model planes and (real) classic cars. Or a model circus that seems to take up several acres. Or... just go see it.
Other stuff nearby:
Nearby at 115 Main Street (near the corner of Fairchild and in the shadow of the state capital building), is the Tornado Room, a supper club and bar opened in 1997. The restaurant remains largely untouched from it's previous incarnation as Cranley's, open from 1958 to 1985. A few businesses came and went between Cranley's and Tornado, but all of them had the miraculous good sense not to remodel. A pricey but very cool spot for steaks and martinis.
Three doors down is the Slipper Club, which hosts live music, and features a retro cabaret show on Thursday nights at 10 PM for $5.
Madison also sports the requisite college shopping neighborhood. The western end of State Street is home to restaurants (including more than decent Mediterranean chow at the Kabul Restaurant at 541 State St.), several record stores, some noteworthy book stores, vintage and new clothes, bars and clubs, etc. Badger Liquors on State and Gilman marks the entrance to the neighborhood. You'll want to scope out their nice vintage neon sign, and their legendary hand-written posterboard signs which keep pedestrians entertained with slogans and poetry. The Orpheum Theatre near the corner of State and W. Johnson is a gorgeous old movie palace (in need of a new coat of paint and a carpet steamer) that has a cafe in the lobby open to those with or without movie tickets.
Okay, let's back up a bit, and start over:
Moving in the opposite direction from the House on the Rock, south on Wisconsin Rt. 23, and away from Spring Green and Madison, look for the Don Q restaurant. They have an airplane parked in the field in front of the barn-shaped building, a six-foot tall wooden martini glass stapled to the side of the building, and some creepy damp stone tunnels leading from the restaurant to the adjacent hotel. An array of theme rooms keep the honeymooners and vacationing families coming back. This one warrants further exploration in the future. Almost across the street is Thymms "come as you are". Nice neon sign, skip the restaurant.
Head east on Wisconsin Rt. 11 to Monroe, a town with a strong Swedish theme in the architecture (check out the Goetz Theatre and the surrounding area) and some great vintage buildings in the east part of the downtown area. Avoid Bullet's pizza and their limp shredded-iceberg salad bar (1301 15th Ave).
Continuing east on Wisconsin Rt. 11 through Beloit will take you past the 88 Tavern (nice building, scary bar) and some thrift stores and restaurants. You'll eventually hit I-90 just a few miles from the Illinois border, and it's a quick jump to Rockford and then an hour to Chicago.
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