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• Since its debut in March, the “Plaster + Patina” podcast has inspired excitement in Green Bay’s Astor neighborhood.

• Residents have pitched stories about their historic homes to the podcast team and opened their homes to them. 

• The first season focused on homes between Monroe Avenue and the Fox River.  

• The team does extensive research and searches for interesting stories about the properties they feature.

Inside Skip Heverly’s modified Dutch Colonial home, five people thaw from the near-freezing November evening by a green-tiled fireplace. Between them, a coffee table is littered with loose-leaf newspaper clippings, notepads and snacks. 

The group members, all residents of Green Bay’s Astor neighborhood, are preparing to spend the evening trading bits of local lore and hatching ideas that could make for an interesting deep dive. 

The neighbors run “Plaster + Patina,” a podcast series that digs up long-buried — and sometimes spooky — tales tied to the historic homes in Astor, one of Green Bay’s oldest neighborhoods. Through the project, they hope to create a shared sense of wonder and community among neighbors while memorializing the area’s history.

“Slowly but surely, I think we’re kind of seeing how this is really helping to bring the community together,” said Morgan Fisher, podcast chief editor and treasurer of the Astor Neighborhood Association. Each person on the podcast team is also a volunteer member of the association, which advocates for the area to local government and organizes events. 

After debuting in March, the series has inspired excitement around the neighborhood, with residents pitching their own houses to be featured and opening their homes to the team. At the mid-November brainstorm, the group invited longtime local civic leader Jim Gucwa to share stories he’s collected and spark inspiration for a future episode. 

The first season of “Plaster + Patina” uncovered a forgotten spring water bottling business; examined architectural changes that speak to larger societal shifts; and told tales of ghosts, among other topics. 

Each person has a unique role in the process, from digging through yellowed archives to splicing audio. Several enrolled in nearby community college to learn the skills they use. The project doesn’t currently have sponsors or advertisers to generate revenue, or plans to do so. The team pools resources, leveraging each others’ connections, interests and skills. 

“That’s what a neighborhood’s about,” said Paul Jacobson, the podcast’s historian.  

Bringing people out of their homes — and into others’

Between the 1830s and 1920s,  a high, dry slope running parallel to the Fox River — colloquially known as “The Hill” — was an attractive place for doctors, lawyers and other businessmen to build their homes. 

Today, the houses in the affluent neighborhood still reflect the period in which they were constructed. A 1980 historic district designation, championed with Gucwa’s help, preserves the homes’ exteriors from being substantially altered, among other protections. 

Astor’s design encourages social connection. Homes with large front porches sit close to the sidewalks lining each street. Parks host an ice rink, a wading pool and a shell where local bands regularly perform. 

Despite this, the area hasn’t been immune to the social isolation that’s swept across the country in recent years. 

“People have kind of gone into their (homes),” Fisher said. “They’re not on their porches anymore. They’re not out meeting their neighbors as much.”

When the Astor Neighborhood Association coalesced in 1974, it started as a way to improve the area and combat crime. It now focuses on maintaining a sense of community among residents, Fisher said. 

To do that, last summer several neighborhood association members discussed creating something where people could walk around the area, learn the stories behind the architecture they see and feel more connected to its past and present.

“What better way to do that than a podcast?” Jacobson said. 

Tales of ghosts, lost springs and … alligators?

At first, the group was nervous about how the endeavor would turn out. But once they started chatting about history and architecture, old stories of folks from the area, “everyone just lit up,” said Heverly, the producer of “Plaster + Patina.”

The first season focused on homes nestled between Monroe Avenue and the Fox River.  

“It’s nice to stay within an area, just to kind of really lay out that area,” host Al Valentin said. “We want to create a visual while you’re listening to it of what the neighborhood looked like at that time.”

Once they choose a home, Jacobson digs up the stories behind it. He dives into a slew of online resources, including newspaper archives, historical atlases and — his favorite — fire insurance maps, which include detailed hand drawings of buildings in the area dating back to the 1880s. 

After Jacobson goes “down a rabbit hole,” they zoom out and choose the most interesting event or detail he found. “Otherwise, you could spend five hours on one particular home,” Valentin said. 

The team then drafts a rough script, a bullet-point list of topics they want to hit during the show. Finally, they record the episode for free in a studio at Northeast Wisconsin Technical College. They invite homeowners or people connected to the stories to appear as guests for a live interview. 

“We kind of shoot from the hip,” Valentin said. “When you hear us converse on the podcast, it’s pretty real, with our knowledge and expertise.”

Lastly, Heverly edits out “ums,” “uhs” and any mistakes made during recording. He learned the skill at NWTC, where he studied audio editing, video editing, social media marketing and how to use Adobe applications. 

Since March, the team has created eight episodes.

In one, Jacobson shared the story of a forgotten mineral spring he unearthed when scouring old hand-drawn maps. Residents bottled and sold the water, marketing it as a natural health remedy, he discovered.

In another, they explored how the neighborhood’s first backyard pool signaled the shift of leisure from front porches to more private backyards — and was once home to an alligator.

For a Halloween edition, Valentin interviewed a paranormal investigator who shared supernatural experiences at Astor’s Hazelwood House — including an apparition descending stairs, a baby cradle rocking on its own and echoes of drums played by the Native Americans who first called the area home.

Throughout the season, local support for the project has grown. 

Lawn signs advertising the show sprouted up in front yards across the neighborhood. People asked for their home to be featured. Residents opened up their homes to the crew, giving them tours to aid the podcast. 

“Especially in today’s world, we’re all looking for that connection. We want to be a part of something that’s bigger than ourselves,” marketing and writing director Maddy Szymanski explained in the podcast’s first episode. “When you live in an old neighborhood — or a new neighborhood, really anywhere —  you’re a part of something that is bigger than you. You’re a part of a community and you can build that connection.”

The team is currently producing a final episode before moving onto the podcast’s second season. Find the episodes here. 

Miranda Dunlap reports on pathways to success in northeast Wisconsin, working in partnership with Open Campus. Email her at mdunlap@wisconsinwatch.org.

Green Bay podcasters dig up long-buried tales in their own neighborhood is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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Laurie Doxtator starts each morning with affirmations.

“It’s OK to say no,” she thinks to herself while breathing in and breathing out, slowly grounding herself. 

“I’m proud of me waking up sober today.” 

“It’s a good day to start a new day.” 

The exercise plays an important role in keeping Doxtator clean from the drugs and alcohol that long controlled her life. She has built the routine through hard work, perseverance and the support of people around her — helping her stay alive. All the while she practices what she preaches to others seeking recovery: “Do this for you.” 

Doxtator, 61, grew up on the Oneida Reservation and spent time in California before returning to Wisconsin, enduring trauma along the way, including losing multiple family members. 

Three years ago, Doxtator realized she’d been using substances for 50 years, including drinking since age 8. “I realized it ain’t giving me nothing in life,” Doxtator said. “It ain’t gonna bring my children back, it ain’t gonna bring my mom back.”

She moved into a 30-day rehabilitation program but knew she needed more structure and time to heal. That led her to Amanda’s House, a sober living home in Green Bay for women and their children that allows them to stay as long as they need.

Doxtator spent most mornings at Amanda’s House in the craft room with her friend and fellow resident Ashley Bryan, carefully creating Diamond Dotz art pieces. 

Doxtator saw many people come and go during more than three years at the home, and she’s grateful to have felt their support. Bryan jokingly calls her “the OG” — a nod to Doxtator’s long tenure there.

Others call her “grandma” while asking how she’s doing. Doxtator enjoys the nickname, which prompts her to wonder what life would have looked like as a grandmother had her late sons raised children.

Jewelry on Doxtator’s hands and the tattoos spanning her arms tell pieces of her life’s story.

One ring belonged to her late mother, whose birth date is tattooed below a red rose on her upper right arm, which she calls her “memorial arm.” Doxtator still deals with the grief from losing her parents and regrets that she hadn’t sobered up when her mom was still living.

Another ring belonged to her older brother, Duane, who died this year on Mother’s Day. Below the rose of their mother, the tattooed words ROCK & ROLL memorialize Duane’s love of music.  

More scripted names and dates honor the children Doxtator lost — one in an accidental drowning and one to alcoholism. 

The turtle tattoos on Doxtator’s arm nod to her Oneida Nation membership and her family’s Turtle Clan history. 

Her newest tattoo, a hummingbird, represents the community she’s found at the Recovery Nest, part of the Oneida Comprehensive Health Division, which offers holistic healing and growth for those seeking recovery. Six other women joined her in getting that tattoo.

Even in sobriety, Doxtator struggles with the weight of her past trauma. 

She planned to die by suicide in July. But Bryan found out about it and intervened, prompting Amanda’s House Executive Director Paula Jolly to send Doxtator to Iris Place, the National Alliance on Mental Illness Fox Valley’s peer-run crisis center in Appleton, where she recovered. 

“I came out and they could tell the whole difference in me,” Doxtator said. “I needed that break.”

Trauma that unfolds early in someone’s life can affect them decades later — even when they don’t vividly remember, Jolly explained, citing research by psychiatrist Bessel van der Kolk.  

Doxtator’s visit to Iris Place reinforced the importance of daily routines and surrounding herself with supportive people.

She keeps a list of everybody in her life who might help her in different ways, organizing them by categories, such as “emotional support.” She keeps the numbers for a crisis center and her recovery coaches saved in her phone. At Bryan’s suggestion, Doxtator downloaded Snapchat, where women from Amanda’s House send funny selfies to each other. 

When other Amanda’s House residents leave for work, Doxtator spends time with her brother, Earl “Nuck” Elm, or visits the Recovery Nest. 

Doxtator spent much of last summer sewing a ribboned vest and beading a turtle pendant for this year’s KUNHI-YO’ “I’m Healthy” conference, sponsored by Oneida Behavioral Health’s Tribal Opioid Response Team. There, Doxtator was invited to walk in an August fashion show featuring people who attend the Recovery Nest. 

Ahead of the show, Doxtator was up at 4 a.m. due to her nerves. Bryan, who works as a hair stylist, was curling Doxtator’s hair in the Amanda’s House craft room. 

“Oh, you look so pretty,” Bryan exclaimed after finishing. 

“Oh no, Ashley no,” Doxtator said apprehensively. 

“You’re gonna be OK.”

“You sure?”

“You’re brave. You’ve done a lot harder things in your life. This is gonna be fun and you’re gonna enjoy yourself,” Bryan said before the pair hugged and said goodbye. 

Surrounded by friends and family, Doxtator heard cheering, clapping and a whistle as she walked into the show. Wearing her handmade outfit and her biggest smile, she waved to the crowd. 

Stephanie Skenandore, Doxtator’s lifelong friend and recovery coach, recorded a video on her phone from the side of the room after walking in the show herself. Skenandore, who has been in recovery for 33 years and shares the same recovery date with Doxtator, said she was proud of Doxtator for seeking her support when Duane died earlier this year. 

People in recovery often unhealthily dwell on their past mistakes — flaws that others can’t see, Skenandore said, connecting that process to the fashion show. It’s like focusing on a sewing imperfection that only the sewer will see.  

Recovery takes practice and creativity, she added. “There is no one specific way, and there is no perfect way.” 

When people like Doxtator first show up to Recovery Nest, Skenandore helps them set goals by asking them questions like, “How do you see a life looking into the future without the drugs and the alcohol? How do you want that to look for yourself?” 

She discourages people from viewing themselves as failures and helps them navigate life differently. 

Skenandore said Doxtator’s handmade vest and pendant illustrated her creativity. 

After the fashion show, event organizers played a prerecorded video in which Doxtator shared her life story. Doxtator watched at a conference room table with her brother. When Doxtator appeared on screen, she picked up a napkin to wipe away her tears. A woman clapped at the mention of Doxtator’s years of sobriety before walking over to give her a hug.

“I came from nothing and built a community,” Doxtator said after the video ended. “It wasn’t easy.” 

Doxtator moved out of Amanda’s House on Oct. 17. Nuck and her cousin helped take her boxes to a storage unit. 

Doxtator’s long hair was now cut shorter than it had ever been. “I’m going on a new journey out in the world, so I want to have a new style look,” Doxtator said. 

“When you start looking at it from the time she came to the time now, she’s grown so much,” Jolly said. “I don’t want her to leave but it’s time. We’re technically holding her back. It’s time for her to move on.” 

Doxtator said she’s in awe of her own progress but knows that leaving won’t be easy. The old forces of addiction lurk outside of the support of Amanda’s House and will try to draw her back in. 

She said she’s determined to avoid returning to drugs and alcohol — and becoming the “same old Laurie: stealing, lying.”  

“If I go back out, I know I’m gonna die, there’s no choice in the matter,” she said.

As she approached her back-to-back dates of her move and her three-year sobriety anniversary, Doxtator started researching Gamblers Anonymous meetings. 

“It’s hard for me right now, that’s one of my downfalls right now, gambling,” Doxtator said. “I used to be real bad before, but I know that I can (get through) it again.” 

As her recovery progresses, Doxtator has grown more comfortable in sharing her story, with the hope of helping others, including during a recent Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. When a newcomer visited, “we told her to keep coming back,” Doxtator said. “It works if you work it. We said we’re proud of you for coming in.” 

Jolly offered Doxtator a standing invitation to return to Amanda’s House to share her story with the next group of residents.  

In the meantime, saying goodbye was hard, Doxtator said. She has yet to unpack a pile of boxes at her brother’s house, where she hasn’t yet slept much. 

There’s so much to get used to. She knows it will take time. But she tells herself she’ll succeed as long as she keeps working on herself, remembering that every day is a new day. 

Need help for yourself or a loved one? 

If you are looking for local information on substance use, call 211 or reach the Wisconsin Addiction Recovery Helpline at 833-944-4673. Additional information is available at 211’s addiction helplife or findtreatment.gov.

If you or someone you know is experiencing a mental health crisis: call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 988 or contact a Wisconsin county crisis line.

‘I came from nothing and built a community’: After years of healing, woman takes next step in sobriety is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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• Pay raises and other efforts have done little to ease the 911 dispatcher shortage in Brown County: The county is short more than one in three of its needed dispatchers. 

• Boosting pay isn’t enough to attract and retain dispatchers, experts say – departments must boost morale, get creative with hiring and training and address the mental health toll the job takes. 

• Waukesha County officials made changes that show promise: The county’s 911 center went from over half-vacant to almost fully staffed in two years. 

• Furthermore, advocates support federal legislation that would reclassify all 911 dispatchers as first responders, which would allow dispatchers to access benefits like additional mental health resources.

For years, Brown County has struggled to hire people to answer 911 calls and coordinate responses to emergencies. Its emergency dispatch center was among many that grappled with worsened staffing shortages after the COVID-19 pandemic. 

But as the crisis eases nationwide, major shortages still beset Brown County’s 911 center. Despite past pay raises and other efforts, the county is missing more than one in three of its needed dispatchers. Industry experts say boosting pay isn’t enough to attract dispatchers nowadays. Departments must also boost morale, get creative with hiring and training and address the mental health toll the job takes. 

Waukesha County’s 911 center offers an example of how such measures can help alleviate shortages. It placed a laser focus on employee mental well-being and went from over half-vacant to almost fully staffed in two years.

The Brown County vacancies haven’t impacted how quickly dispatchers pick up the phone when residents dial 911 — employees still answer faster than the national standard recommends. But some county leaders are worried that mistakes will be made if the issue continues.

Only one of the five elected supervisors who helm a committee overseeing the county’s public safety operations answered calls and emails for this story. Supervisor Michael LaBouve, who represents most of the east side of De Pere, told Wisconsin Watch the county is following a plan to address the shortage and solving it is “going to take time.”

“I think we’re all seeing progress, so that’s all I have to communicate about that,” LaBouve said. “I feel good about what’s happening.”

But at 19 employees short, the center tallies more vacancies today than it did several years ago when the county first prioritized the crisis, and some are losing their patience. 

During a public meeting in late May, supervisors aired their frustration at the lack of progress. Dispatchers worked a combined 8,600 hours of overtime so far this year, the department said, and they’ve routinely taken to local government meetings to voice their experiences with stress and burnout. 

“Looking at us to go 60, 70, potentially 80 hours and being called in on the days off and 24/7 is just — it’s mind-boggling,” dispatcher Kirk Parker said during a May meeting. 

Money not the answer?

Staffing shortages have plagued the public safety communications industry for years, but the issue peaked during the COVID-19 pandemic. Between 2019 and 2023, about one in four dispatch jobs across the country were vacant, research by the International Academies of Emergency Dispatch suggested. 

There are still “alarming strains” on the industry, but there are recent signs of progress, said April Heinze, chief of 911 operations for the National Emergency Number Association, a national nonprofit of dispatch industry professionals. Research by NENA shows 74% of centers reported having vacant positions in 2025, improved from 82% in 2024. 

However, those improvements aren’t reflected locally. Brown County was short 19 staffers in early August, according to officials, leaving about 35% of the center vacant. 

“Like playing a game of Whack-a-Mole: as quickly as one issue can be addressed, another issue pops up,” Chancy Huntzinger, Brown County’s director of public safety communications, said in a statement to Wisconsin Watch. 

In 2023, in one of its first major efforts to attract and retain staff, Brown County’s Board of Supervisors voted to allocate over $400,000 for raises, retention bonuses and a starting pay boost. Pay now starts at $24.60 per hour, according to the department. 

But the raises haven’t attracted more staff the way county leaders hoped. The center is currently short more employees than when the pay bumps were approved.

“Obviously, pay is not always the most important thing,” Heinze said. Data from the study NENA completed in May showed the largest affliction for dispatchers across the country is burnout. 

Plus, the pay boost didn’t do much to make Brown County stand out to job seekers. The department’s minimum pay is middle-of-the-pack compared to other northeast Wisconsin counties.

Waukesha’s methods show promise

Roughly two hours south, Waukesha County’s 911 agency has made outsized progress in solving its dispatcher shortage. 

When COVID-19 prompted the “Great Resignation,” dozens of dispatchers left Waukesha County Communications Center for higher-paying, lower-stress jobs in public safety technology startups, utility company call centers and other nearby 911 centers.

By October 2023, the center was over half empty. Down over 20 dispatchers, senior staff were forced to pick up call-taking shifts. Staff worked during their time off. Employees regularly picked up back-to-back 12-hour shifts.

“People were starting to feel burnt out, and really it became a snowball effect,” said Gail Goodchild, the county’s emergency preparedness director. “We saw bad attitudes. People didn’t want to come into work. The culture was waning.”

Department leaders realized they needed “all hands on deck” to turn things around, Goodchild said — which they did. According to NENA, they had only two vacancies in July. 

The department did raise pay, bringing the starting hourly wage to $29.44 from roughly $27. This helped, but “wasn’t the leading thing that really turned us around,” Goodchild said. Department leaders also parted with staff they felt “didn’t contribute to a positive culture.” They revamped their hiring and training processes and eased the job requirements. And they introduced an intense focus on dispatchers’ mental health.

Waukesha’s hiring process once heavily relied on CritiCall, a software commonly used in 911 centers that tests potential dispatchers’ skills at multitasking, decision-making, map reading and more. It was determined the test was “weeding people out that would have probably been a really good fit,” said Chris Becker, Waukesha’s communications operations manager. 

“We looked at our numbers in that and determined that there was no correlation between our successful trainees and their CritiCall scores being high,” Becker said. “So we tossed that out.” 

Now, the hiring committee strictly focuses on if a candidate will fit the department’s culture. To ensure people learn the hard skills the exam measures, the department has refined and revamped its training. (Brown County candidates must pass the CritiCall exam to be hired, and the county has not considered changing that, Huntzinger said.)

Waukesha also removed its two-year work experience requirement from the job description to yield more candidates, a move it may soon reverse because it’s seen that having “some of that life experience” is good, Becker said. 

Finally, the county ramped up mental health support to dispatchers. In addition to regular benefits offered in the county’s employee assistance program, it contracted a local mental health provider specializing in first responders. Dispatchers now regularly attend mandatory, confidential 90-minute meetings with the providers, who help employees work through vicarious trauma, a type of trauma common among first responders that compounds when hearing, reading or witnessing distressing events. The grant-funded initiative costs roughly $16,000 for 18 months, Becker said. 

“In case our staff ever gets to a point where they need them, they feel more comfortable to reach out for that help, rather than living with it and burying it and then getting to that point of burnout again,” Becker said.

Brown County has not explored increased mental health support as a method of retention. Staff are encouraged to visit the Public Safety Communications director’s office if they have concerns, and they can receive counseling benefits through the county’s employee assistance program, Huntzinger said. 

“We’re listening to people’s worst days, right? We hang up the phone when the first responders get there, and then it’s left to our imagination to fill in the blanks,” Becker said. “But some of those traumatic calls just don’t go away, and they’ll pop up at random times, or a call three years later will remind you of a call that you took, and you’re right back to that place again. … It’s super important for our staff to have that outlet.”

Looking ahead

After bumping pay, Brown County’s Board of Supervisors requested an independent review of the dispatch center in 2024. The report, delivered in January 2025, made 65 recommendations on how the center could improve operations and its staffing. 

The department has made mixed progress on implementing the recommendations, which vary in complexity, and gives monthly progress updates to the board’s Public Safety Committee.

Per the advice of the consultants, the department introduced employee referral bonuses and now has candidates visit the call center before they interview, rather than after.

The department will also hire “traveling dispatchers” — temporary contractors who will work at the center for six months to cover some shifts, Huntzinger said. She did not answer a question from Wisconsin Watch about how much this will cost the county. 

Next year, the center will introduce a new shift schedule to help it operate more effectively with less staff, Huntzinger said. Though consultants recommended the county’s “unnecessarily complex” schedule be changed immediately, it was delayed following employee pushback. 

The report also suggested the county “substantially expand” partnerships with local education institutions to create a pipeline of candidates. Northeast Wisconsin Technical College, which offers workforce training in emergency dispatch, said it has not been formally assigned  recruitment efforts but it aims to support the region’s workforce needs. 

In the last four years, 84 students have completed programs that certify them in emergency dispatch. Twenty-seven of those included a tour of the Brown County Dispatch Center.

“One of the biggest barriers is awareness,” Jeff Steeber, the college’s associate dean of public safety, said of the struggle to get students into the field. “Many students enter our programs without knowing that emergency dispatch is a viable and rewarding career option.”

Industry leaders have spent years advocating for legislation they believe would change this. 

The federal 911 Saves Act, championed by both NENA and Waukesha leaders, would reclassify all 911 dispatchers as first responders for the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, which currently lists them as clerical or secretarial employees, alongside office clerks and taxi dispatchers.

This would allow dispatchers to access a slate of benefits, such as increased mental health resources, and it would reinforce the cruciality of the job, Heinze said.

“You hear little kids say, ‘I want to be a firefighter. I want to be a police officer,’” Goodchild said. “They don’t look at a 911 telecommunicator dispatcher as a career path. That hurts the industry, too.”

Eighteen states have passed their own laws reclassifying telecommunicators, but Wisconsin is not one of them.

“We’re hopeful this year that it is going to (pass), and it would help us, I think, very, very, very much,” Heinze said. 

Miranda Dunlap reports on pathways to success in northeast Wisconsin, working in partnership with Open Campus.

Brown County’s 911 dispatcher shortage is relentless. What will it take to fix it? is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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• Wisconsin Watch reporters joined more than 60 volunteers in Brown County’s summer point-in-time count last month — a one-night snapshot of the number of people experiencing homelessness in communities across the United States, including Wisconsin.

• Some volunteers had experienced homelessness themselves. 

• The volunteers officially counted 179 people experiencing homelessness. That’s seen as an undercount because volunteers do not count people who are sleeping or unable to respond to surveys. And some people don’t want to be found.

At  4:31 a.m. the first slivers of light peeked through dark clouds over Green Bay’s waters. 

Along the edge of Point Comfort in the town of Scott, a pair of volunteers surveyed the landscape for people experiencing homelessness as the summer “point-in-time” (PIT) count wound down in Brown County. 

One was Cody Oberhuber, a county economic support specialist. He has missed just one count since January 2022, initially working as part of his former job at the anti-poverty agency Newcap, Inc. His passion for talking to the people behind the numbers prompted him to return this year as a volunteer after switching jobs. 

“It gives you a fresh perspective of being boots on the ground talking to these individuals, you’re kind of looking at the humanity side of things,” Oberhuber said. “That’s what drives me, that’s my mission.”

Oberhuber joined 66 other volunteers between 11:30 p.m. to nearly 6 a.m. beginning on July 23, hitting spots where the group previously encountered people experiencing homelessness. 

The PIT count serves as a one-night snapshot of the number of people experiencing homelessness in communities across the United States, including Wisconsin. Wisconsin Watch in January followed the annual winter count in Jefferson County — examining why the data recorded in the process underestimate the true levels of homelessness in communities, especially rural ones. The  U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development mandates such winter counts. 

Wisconsin Balance of State Continuum of Care, which covers all 69 counties in Wisconsin besides Milwaukee, Dane and Racine, requires each county to also count during the summer, when the tally is typically far higher than winter, when freezing weather pushes more people to shelters.

The majority of Brown County volunteers most years work with direct housing providers or other housing-related programs, according to Meaghan Gleason, Newcap’s funder expert and the Brown County PIT count lead. 

But this year, almost half of volunteers had no association with housing providers, a record number of unaffiliated folks. Thirteen volunteers shared that they previously experienced homelessness in their life. That’s a point of pride for Gleason.

To address the problem of homelessness, she said, “we need to include the people who know what that experience is.”

The Brown County volunteers broke into groups to cover more ground. In the county’s northwest corner, a group searched for people sleeping in cars in the rural village of Pulaski. In the county’s urban center, volunteers counted people camping in Green Bay’s downtown parks. 

PIT counts often happen at night, when people settle into the places they sleep, Oberhuber said. This approach, he explained, prevents volunteers from simply assuming where someone stays. 

Volunteers usually see the most unsheltered people on downtown Green Bay’s east side, and that was the case this year. Several people sheltered in open spaces and under hooded structures, often surrounded by their belongings: bikes, coolers, wheelchairs, bags and blankets. Some slept on church steps or on park benches. Bugs swarmed in the humidity following recent rain.

A volunteer asked a man where he had gone earlier to stay dry. 

“Nowhere,” he replied. “I’m wet. I’m still wet.”

Others asked volunteers for food or dry tarps. Volunteers handed out gift cards and asked people to take a brief survey to shed light on what resources might help.

The surveys included questions such as: Have you served in the active duty or other armed forces of the U.S.? Are you fleeing or attempting to flee domestic violence, dating violence or stalking? Have you ever been in the foster care system? Is this the first time you’ve been homeless?

Some people answered questions they were comfortable with. Others thanked the volunteers and declined to participate.

“I’m going through enough as it is,” one person told the volunteers.

When people are found sleeping, decline to participate in the survey or are in locations volunteers can’t safely access, their presence is documented through observation forms. Although the official count tally excludes those observations, they paint a broader picture of the unhoused landscape. Outreach workers sometimes later follow up to verify their status and connect them with services. 

Brown County’s official tally this year: 179 people experiencing homelessness. That included 100 single individuals and 25 households with children. The official unsheltered count has increased each year since at least 2022, when 89 people were counted in July.

Northwest of Brown County, Newcap’s Northeast Coalition counts unsheltered people in mostly rural Florence, Marinette, Menominee, Oconto and Shawano counties. The summer count recorded 36 people. 

“That may not sound like much,” Gleason later wrote in an email. “But it is the highest count I have seen out of the last eight counts.”

In Brown County, volunteers tallied zero people in the rural areas Wisconsin Watch observed. But Oberhuber knows people are experiencing homelessness in communities like Pulaski, based on previous counts and conversations with police. Those people might not want to be found, Oberhuber said. They might intentionally set up camp outside of town or in the woods, where PIT count volunteers won’t look.

“That’s the difficulty with the rural count,” Oberhuber said. “There’s people out there, we just struggle to find them.”

Gleason said a “happy accident” prompted her to work in housing services after having volunteered at a shelter in college. She wouldn’t give up her position as the PIT count lead for Brown County even if someone told her to. 

She knows it’s impossible to count every person. But that’s what drives her to improve each count. Yes, homelessness is increasing, she said. 

“But if we can also increase our efficiency and our ability to capture that data and connect with those people, then that’s the best we can do in that moment.”

Homelessness is increasing in Brown County. These volunteers traded a night’s sleep to document the challenge is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 2 minutes

Change is hard, and exciting. 

That’s what I tell myself as my family and I prepare to move across the state. 

We currently live in Superior, but we’ll soon lay roots in Door County, where I grew up. I’m a little over a week into my role as Wisconsin Watch’s regional editor for northeast Wisconsin. 

The journey so far

I grew up in Egg Harbor and graduated from Sevastopol High School before attending the University of Wisconsin-Madison. There, I earned a bachelor’s degree in journalism and English. 

I’ve spent the majority of my career in Wisconsin: first as an education reporter in Watertown, then reporting and editing in the Fox Cities and Superior. 

My most recent role was managing editor for Project Optimist, a nonprofit news outlet that reports on greater Minnesota (everything outside of the Twin Cities metro area). 

When I saw Wisconsin Watch post this job, I knew I had to apply. Several friends and former colleagues worked as Wisconsin Watch interns. They spoke highly of their experiences, and they’re some of the most talented, hardworking journalists I know. 

Furthermore, I published Wisconsin Watch stories as an editor for the Superior Telegram. I know firsthand how vital the organization’s coverage is to news outlets throughout the state. 

What we’re up to

The NEW News Lab launched in 2022. Wisconsin Watch joined the collaboration along with five media organizations, Microsoft, the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay, the Greater Green Bay Area Community Foundation, and the Community Foundation for the Fox Valley Region. 

The effort puts in-depth local journalism front and center, and it gained traction. We’ve collaborated to explore solutions to a range of challenges that affect northeast Wisconsin families — from unaffordable housing and child care to dangerous conditions at nursing homes and the region’s labor crunch.  However, Wisconsin Watch hasn’t had staff in northeast Wisconsin until now. 

The northeast Wisconsin newsroom is our way of crystallizing our commitment to the region. We want to build on the partnerships forged through the NEW News Lab and strengthen them. I believe journalists serve communities best when we set competition aside and put readers first. 

Fellow Door County native Jessica Adams is our director of partnerships for the northeast region and has been helping us learn about what people want and need from local news. Over the past several months, she held listening sessions at public libraries and met with stakeholders. If you want to let Jessica know your thoughts, you can take her online survey here. 

Miranda Dunlap is our first reporter in Green Bay. She’s focused on pathways to success – a beat I’m thrilled to lead. Learn more about it from Miranda here. 

I’m excited to meet new faces, connect and see where Wisconsin Watch fits into the local media landscape.

Have a story idea? Email it to jzvandenhouten@wisconsinwatch.org.

Meet Jen Zettel-Vandenhouten, our new northeast Wisconsin regional editor is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 7 minutes

Click here to read highlights from the story

• Northeast Wisconsin Technical College is part of a growing trend of technical colleges moving to shorter courses, and it’s among few to offer classes almost exclusively in an eight-week semester model.

• Administrators and instructors say the intensive pace helps students perform better and prevents them from dropping out when they face hardships outside of school.

• NWTC’s retention and graduation rates have improved since the college began offering shorter courses.

Halfway through his Monday morning class at Northeast Wisconsin Technical College’s Green Bay campus last month, Patrick Parise instructed his Introduction to Ethics students to hold up their fingers: one if they’re confused about the lesson, 10 if they’ve mastered it. When met with a sea of “jazz hands,” he moves on to review the next chapter.  

The students will take their final exam several days later, after absorbing major ethical theories and key philosophers’ views in just eight weeks — half the length of the traditional 16-week college course. 

That’s because NWTC leaders have overhauled nearly every course in recent years, accelerating them to move twice as quickly. Administrators and instructors say the intensive pace helps students perform better and prevents them from dropping out when they face hardships outside of school.

NWTC is part of a growing national trend of colleges moving to shorter courses, but it’s one of fewer to offer eight-week classes almost exclusively. Many others have recently flirted with the idea by piloting a smaller share of shortened course options. 

“Everybody wants shortened learning. Nobody wants to be in a class for 16 weeks anymore. That’s not the pace of learning,” said Kathryn Rogalski, the college’s vice president of academic affairs and workforce development. “That faster pace, that more intensive time together, I think, is making the difference.”

The schedule at NWTC splits the traditional semester in half — for example, rather than taking four classes over the course of 16 weeks, a student would complete two speedier classes in the first eight weeks, then complete two more in the latter half of the semester. 

Proponents of the approach say juggling fewer classes allows students to focus better while some worry the brisk pace makes it easier to fall behind. 

The transition required a heavy lift, which came with challenges. Some students say the swift pace required a learning curve, and administrators acknowledge that starting a new slate of courses every eight weeks can be intense. 

But data suggests the switch has brought positive change to the 23,000-student college. Retention rates are up, meaning fewer students are dropping out. Students are earning higher grades on average. More are graduating on time. 

Parise, who has taught at NWTC since 2007, says his students engage more in shorter courses. In the 16-week model, he would have taught the ethics students once a week. Now he sees them twice weekly, which reduces the material students forget between classes and strengthens relationships, he said. 

“I find classes develop a far better sense of a learning community,” Parise said. “That’s huge … in the classes that I teach, creating an environment where students feel safe and comfortable and share ideas and ask questions — I don’t know that you can teach somebody ethics without having an environment like that.”

Shortening courses to limit ‘stopping out’

In 2018, NWTC leaders contemplated how they could reduce the number of students who were “stopping out,” or withdrawing from their studies with the intention of returning later, at the six-week mark. 

At least one in three NWTC students rely on federal financial assistance to afford college costs, and many have jobs and families — meaning nonacademic challenges can easily derail the semester.

College leaders wanted these students to be able to “take a break when they needed to, but then not have to be gone a whole semester or a whole year before they could start back,” Rogalski said.

Breaking the semester up into smaller pieces could help, they realized. National research and data from a few short courses they already offered suggested students persist better in accelerated courses. Meanwhile, the eight-week course model was beginning to gain momentum at community colleges in Texas, showing promising results. 

“If (students) are in week six of eight, they can figure out those last two weeks of, ‘How do I figure out that child care? How do I find some transportation?’ And they can finish the courses that they started,” Rogalski said. “If they’re in week six of 16 weeks, it’s really hard for 10 more weeks to figure out how to make it through.”

So NWTC leaders went all in. By 2020, they shifted roughly half of classes to the model. By 2021, 93%. The college exempted select courses, such as clinical rotations in hospitals for nursing students, but otherwise asked all instructors to get on board. 

That sweeping overhaul across nearly every program is vital to seeing results, but it’s a feat few colleges have accomplished, said Josh Wyner, vice president of education nonprofit The Aspen Institute.

“That’s really one of the things that we’ve appreciated about Northeast Wisconsin for years, is that they went to scale when they found something that worked,” Wyner said. “If the data show that students will benefit, they ask themselves the question … ‘Why would we continue to offer things in other formats?’”

Overhauling courses isn’t easy

Accelerating college courses comes with speed bumps. 

A sick student absent for a week misses double the instruction. Financial aid payment schedules must be retooled. Some high schoolers taking dual enrollment classes must manage the condensed schedule. Instructors must revamp their courses. 

Many colleges make the mistake of “simply trying to take 16 weeks of coursework and squeeze it into eight weeks,” Wyner said. 

“It can’t be the same class when it was in 16 weeks as it is in eight weeks. It has to look different,” Rogalski said. “I don’t think any college could be successful at this if they just shrunk their curriculum and just did exactly what they were doing, but did it twice as fast.”

When Nick Bengry transferred to NWTC from Lawrence University in Appleton to save money on tuition, it came with a learning curve. The university used a lengthier semester schedule, so he worried about the transition to more rigorous courses at the technical college. In the last year he’s found “some (classes) that are a little bit rougher” than others in the eight-week format, but feels like the workload ultimately “ends up being similar.” 

“Some classes like, the medical terminology class, were really fast-paced because of the way they were designed,” said Bengry, who plans to transfer to the University of Wisconsin-Madison next year and eventually become an emergency room doctor like his father.

He also finds it easier to schedule the requirements he needs for his biomedical engineering major while juggling a job at Bellin Health. 

“It makes it easier to fit the courses you need into your semester,” Bengry said. “Each course being only half the length means that if I need to fit a course into this semester, there’s more spots — it could be the first half or the second half.”

When students do struggle with their coursework, college staff has half the time to get them back on track before their class ends.

For example, in Kristin Sericati’s developmental reading and writing class, which helps students with lower literacy skills, “resource navigators” visit the classroom during the first week to meet one-on-one with every student and advertise services like tutoring or financial assistance. The college also has an “early alert” system that enables staff to intervene with helpful resources immediately if a student isn’t showing up to class or scores poorly on an assignment.

“A student is not waiting two weeks to have some sort of support that they need, which is now a quarter of their learning experience in that class,” Matt Petersen, NWTC’s associate vice president for ​​institutional research and strategic analytics, said. “We just can’t afford that. Our students can’t afford that.”

As they’ve worked out the kinks, NWTC leaders have returned some classes to 16 weeks. One microbiology class changed back when eight weeks wasn’t enough time to grow the bacteria needed for the students’ research. Now, about 86% of courses are accelerated, fewer than the share in 2022, and administrators say they’ll continue evaluating what works best. 

Boosting retention and graduation 

Seven years after leaders conceived the overhaul, data shows it’s paying off. 

Retention for full-time students, or the share of students who stay enrolled or finish their program from one year to the next, has shot up by 19 percentage points since 2018, when the college introduced eight-week courses. Now, 77% of full-time NWTC students continue in their studies, federal data shows. Nationwide, full-time community college students had an average retention rate of 63% in 2023, according to the National Student Clearinghouse. 

Retention rates for part-time students have shown smaller growth, rising from 56% to 59%. Part-time students regularly have lower retention rates than full-time.

In addition, the share of NWTC students who graduate within three years of enrolling has risen 3% to 46% since 2018. That’s well above the national average of 35% — and a tough data point to budge, according to The Aspen Institute.

Petersen said the change also correlates with an improvement in students’ grades, with hundreds more students now receiving a “C” or above in their courses. 

Plus, students who do have to temporarily withdraw are having an easier time getting back to their studies, said Sericati, the developmental writing instructor. 

“Before, if a student is in five classes and they come up against a life issue in week six and drop out of all of their classes, they now are on (academic) warning. They failed all of these credits,” Sericati said. “Now, if a student comes up against a life issue, they likely can complete those two courses that they’re in and not have that issue when they rejoin us again in another eight-week session.” 

As colleges like NWTC share their success with shorter classes, the model is building momentum, said Karen Stout, CEO of Achieving the Dream, a nonprofit focused on community college success. For example, Western Technical College in La Crosse began transitioning to seven-week courses in the summer of 2024. 

“It is such a relief, actually, to see that this made a positive difference,” Rogalski said. “Students who probably never imagined that they could be successful in college …  They haven’t aspired to complete a degree or go on to a university, and now we’re seeing that these students have this hope that they didn’t have before. And within eight weeks, they’re seeing that they have been successful.”

Miranda Dunlap reports on pathways to success in northeast Wisconsin, working in partnership with Open Campus.

This college’s strategy for preventing dropouts? Classes half as long is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 2 minutes

If you live in northeast Wisconsin, I want to hear about your experience forging your path to meaningful, family-sustaining work.

But first, let me introduce myself. I’m Miranda Dunlap, and I’m Wisconsin Watch’s new reporter covering pathways to success in the region. That means I’ll write stories about how local people prepare themselves for their dream jobs and what roadblocks stand in the way. 

I’m a native Michigander, and I previously spent two years reporting on community colleges and K-12 education for Houston Landing in Texas. I’ve spent countless hours learning about the experiences of people pursuing affordable education and training to change the trajectory of their life. That was after community college opened doors in my own career. Completing a year’s worth of credits at my local institution helped me afford enrolling at a university and shaved thousands of dollars off my total student debt. 

I’m Wisconsin Watch’s second pathways to success reporter but the first journalist hired specifically to serve northeast Wisconsin. My colleague Natalie Yahr covers pathways from a statewide perspective, and I’m focused on reporting for Brown, Calumet, Door, Kewaunee, Manitowoc, Marinette, Oconto, Outagamie, Shawano and Winnebago counties. Based in Green Bay, I hope people will see me as more than a trusted source of information, but also their neighbor — someone who will ensure Wisconsin Watch’s work reflects the perspectives of local residents.

My goal is to produce journalism that confronts your challenges, highlights resources and opportunities for economic mobility and answers your burning questions.

You can expect my stories to explore barriers that prevent them from finding sustainable employment, and I’ll examine whether leaders and higher education institutions are investing in solutions and tools to overcome these obstacles. I’ll do it all with an eye toward the unique identities of northeast Wisconsin communities. 

As I dig into this beat, I’m particularly interested in hearing from people with nontraditional routes to the workforce — or those who face added barriers to success. That might include incarcerated or formerly incarcerated people, those from low-income families, folks living in rural, under-resourced communities or workers returning to education to switch careers. 

I hope you’ll point me in the right direction by answering some of my questions. 

What do you think I need to know about northeast Wisconsin to understand the challenges that people and communities here face when it comes to economic stability and mobility?

What are your career dreams — to fulfill your own professional goals and support your family? What, if anything, is standing in the way? 

Have you attended a community or technical college in the region, such as Northeast Wisconsin Technical College or Fox Valley Technical College? If so, what was your experience?

Are you a local employer struggling to find skilled workers to fill your jobs? What would help?

Do you know of an organization or institution successfully guiding people toward the skills and information they need to succeed? 

Your insights and experiences will shape my reporting. You can share them with me by filling out this form.

Miranda covers pathways to success in northeast Wisconsin in partnership with Open Campus. Reach her via email at mdunlap@wisconsinwatch.org.

Help us report on local workforce challenges and opportunities in northeast Wisconsin is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.