Key Moments in Cheese History
By 
Sure, the Supreme Court is all in on using the Postal Service to suppress democracy.
But what about sending cheese in the mail, have we talked about this important issue lately?
A crowd had already gathered at the Hotel Julien in Dubuque on March 9, 1935, when two men arrived to fight an unusual duel with both federal rules and regional pride on the line.
On one side was John Burkhard of Monroe, Wisconsin. On the other: Warren Miller of Independence, Iowa. The site of the battle was chosen as a neutral ground, roughly halfway between their hometowns, and had a grandiosity fitting the occasion: a Beaux-Arts building on Dubuque’s Main Street, a short walk from the Mississippi River. Hotel Julien was known for hosting captains of industry and passing luminaries in its 168 guest rooms; in the 1920s, according to hotel staff, it was a favored hideout of Al Capone, whose heavily-armed entourage booked the entire eighth floor. There were probably some guns in the crowd on that March day in 1935—it’s hard to imagine no one was packing, given the era and circumstances—but the most pressing danger, depending on who you asked, may have been the twenty-five pounds of Limburger cheese that Burkhard had brought from Wisconsin. This was the chosen weapon for the duel.
Burkhard and Miller were the postmasters of their respective towns, with official responsibility for maintaining the safety and efficiency of the postal service and, just as important on this particular day, an unofficial but deep-seated obligation to uphold the honor of their respective corners of the Midwest. The cheese represented all of this, in various ways.
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This was the core of the original dispute: Could a block of Limburger be a threat to public health, a malodorous menace to society? More to the point, could you send it in the mail? Postmaster Miller said no, absolutely not, and compared the odor to “poisonous gas.” Postmaster Burkhard disagreed, vehemently.
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Postmaster Burkhard returned to Wisconsin a hero. He had defended their cheese, their honor. The U.S. Postal Service made it official policy that Limburger could go through the mail, if it was well-wrapped and, far more important for Monroe pride, all the attention helped boost sales for the local cheese industry.
On October 4, 1935, Cheese Day made its triumphant return to Monroe. Some 50,000 people showed up to watch the parade and eat copious amounts of the good—and stinky—stuff. Officials credited John Burkhard with the event’s success, and he was treated as royalty, a living legend among the revelers, accompanied by his equally popular guest of honor, Warren Miller, from Independence, Iowa.
A block of Limburger, sure. A vote, no.