New Haven, Iowa — Years ago, the saloons teemed with German and Irish farmers, who drank and fought so hard that this place was called “Hell’s Town.”
Today, New Haveners like Bill Huebsch live a more peaceful life. Only a few dozen homes remain in this rural community, where the wind blows snow across the prairies as far as the eye can see.
In this New Haven, on a day when it seemed like half the world was watching Iowa — and a few of Huebsch’s townsmen were attending a nominating caucus — the race for U.S. president seemed like it was taking place on another planet.
In this New Haven, “pot holes” are not a sign of urban chaos, but a tranquil tourist spot. The arrow on the sign (pictured at top of story) leads to a wildlife sanctuary, where a second sign explains: “Potholes takes its name from the fine examples of wetlands that dot the area.” Rabbit tracks lead to two miles of wooded trials.
Further down the Little Cedar River, Huebsch (pictured) was hard at work at New Haven Manufacturing, the only business left in town.
“We don’t get a lot of visitors,” admitted Huebsch, readily agreeing to lead two fellow New Haveners (albeit Connecticut New Haveners) on a tour of the shop. His business, he said, is not to be confused with Connecticut’s company of the same name — a semi truck once made that mistake, and ended up searching back and forth up lonely Iowa Route 9 in vain.
Huebsch is in the business of rodent-catching, most commonly, ‘coons. The family makes live animal traps designed to snare animal trespassers then release them without harm. His son Josh and a teenage friend let sparks fly from a soldering gun in a large workroom.
On the wall in the front lobby hangs a poster (pictured) of the main excitement in town, high school wrestling. Judging by the picture — Josh and the Osage Green Devils, flexing biceps before a burning bonfire — the sport is serious.
The young Devils’ fighting prowess recalls that of their ancestors, and the story of the town.
Hell’s Town
Those ancestors — two groups, Irish and German — first arrived at these wild prairies in the 1850s. They built log cabins along the river in two separate camps. The early immigrants had a few things in common: They worked hard. They drank hard. And they belonged to the Catholic Church.
The settlers put their ethnic differences aside and decided to build a place to pray. Together they hauled in rock from a quarry. In 1887, a new St. Mary’s Church stood proudly in the center of town.
Outside the pews, the farmers found brotherhood an elusive concept.
There were so many brawls between the German and Irish that, according to The Story of Mitchell County, the settlement was originally known as “Hell’s Town.” At one point, two rowdy saloons had to be shut down because of all the fights.
When peace finally came, the story goes, the name was changed to “New Heaven” — then to “New Haven.”
How was the peace accord struck? Don Sweeney, whose family owns a century-old farm on the outskirts of New Haven, offered his take:
“First they were fightin’, then they were fightin’ and drinkin’, and then they were just drinkin’,” Sweeney said. “All of a sudden they figured out they liked each other and they started marryin’.”
Out popped generations of people like Sweeney, who has both German and Irish blood.
Today the town feels a long way away from its conflict-filled past: Visitors spend morning on a town golf course. An Amish family has moved into the area, setting up a large greenhouse on a farm.
Part of the peace comes from a ghostly emptiness. A thriving Catholic school shut down in the 1960s after 65 years. The Three Horse Saloon lies vacant. Small family farms have given way to larger, more mechanized operations.
To make a living, Huebsch sends exports far and wide. The live traps get sent as far as Japan. He also raises capon chickens — birds that have been castrated and so produce elite meat.
Huebsch doesn’t eat the chicken himself. “It’s meat for the rich,’ he explained. “It’s so expensive, we gotta ship it out of state.”
Those who couldn’t make a living left en masse: A hundred years ago, nearly 700 people lived here. At the most recent head count in 2005, only 91 remained.
“The railroad tracks missed it. That was big,” said Huebsch, explaining the population flight. Other snubbed communities turned to ghost towns, he said. New Haven is still hanging on.
Melissa Bailey’s previous Iowa coverage:
New Haven Swings For Obama
Dodd Drops Out
Dodd Makes Closing Pitch
Can Firefights Rescue Dodd?
Dodd, Ignored, Picks A Happy Place