The spectacular tale of Lou T. Fisk, which played out on the pages of The Forum in 1987, bears the hallmarks of many of Western civilization’s greatest stories.

There’s an “Odyssey”-like journey, intrigue straight out of Macbeth and a fish out of water far bigger than Bilbo Baggins.

Our tale begins in the small town of Madison, Minn. where the shine had barely dimmed on its 28-foot-long, five-year-old fiberglass cod statue, lovingly named Lou T. Fisk.

In case you didn’t catch it, Lou’s namesake is lutefisk, the “delicacy” “enjoyed” by “many” Minnesotans.

And Madison? Madison billed itself Lutefisk Capital USA.

A journey begins

Across the country in another Madison (Madison, Conn.), the Madison U.S.A. Society was looking for ways to show its love of founding father James Madison, and planned a bicentennial-year birthday bash for him. They reached out to their fellow cities of Madison for a hand.

Steve Townley, Madison, Minn., city administrator and civic booster, obviously acutely aware of the debt our country owes to the famed federalist whose name his town bore with pride, suggested they put Lou on a flatbed and drive him to the East Coast, stopping in other Madisons along the way and taking a turn down Madison Avenue in New York City.

“... I think they think it’s just another group of nuts coming through town,” Townley said.

A March 11, 1987, Forum article said Lou and his human entourage made it to Madison, Wis., and were feted by that city’s mayor, who declared that lutefisk “... creates a spiritual and physical reaction in the body which is unequaled in any way.”

There were challenges to overcome. On March 13, The Forum reported that the Fellowship of Fisk was turned away on an Ohio turnpike and had to find an alternative route. But with the help of some helpful truck drivers, Lou made his next public appearance in the nick of time. The journey, it seems, would be a success.

But then, a challenger arose …

Et tu, Glenwood?

Lou’s physical journey behind him, a new challenger arose to knock him off his pedestal.

In a letter to Madison, Minn., John Caskey, the head of the chamber of commerce in Glenwood, Minn., said something was fishy about Madison’s claim of being lutefisk elite.

“Dear Sir,” the letter said, “I read, listen and see with some amazement that you have declared yourselves to be the lutefisk capital of Minnesota. I can certainly understand that Madison would like to lay claim to being something, anything!”

Ouch.

Caskey continues by pushing his city’s own claim to the crown of reconstituted cod, saying that then-St. Paul Mayor George Latimer had bestowed the honor of Lutefisk Capital of the World on Glenwood when he ran for governor.

“If you promise not to bring lutefisk into St. Paul,” Latimer wrote, “I promise not to campaign in Glenwood.”

Popular media, that fickle kingmaker, did nothing to help Lou’s case. The bruise of Glenwood’s searing vilification still fresh in their minds, Lou and his hometown seemingly caught a break.

“Fiberglass codfish lands on national TV,” The Forum’s headline said on May 6, 1987.

Lou’s exploits on the East Coast, it seems, caught the eye of the “Today Show,” which zeroed in on his story for a May 20 broadcast from Minneapolis.

If you’re looking for vindication for Lou T. Fisk, however, you won’t find it here. Although Lou’s exploits hooked “Today,” national audiences mainly heard about the dust-up between the two towns. Lost in the statewide scuffle, Lou was in danger of being a mere footnote in local lutefisk lore.

Swimming upstream

The summer of ‘87 was giving way to fall and the organization We the People 200, in charge of the national bicentennial celebration, had expressed interest in having Lou in its Constitution Day parade in Philadelphia.

Townley and Madison, Minn., were ecstatic, organizing a bus tour to Philadelphia and picking out some proud residents to accompany Lou. But, as an Aug. 14, 1987, Forum story reported, Lou had to swim upstream one more time.

Parade organizers had told Townley that Lou could be pulled by horses in the parade’s third and final section. As preliminary attendance figures started to climb, however, those rules had to change.

“They said we can only bring Lou if we pull him,” Townley said at the time, meaning that they would need to pull the plastic lunker by hand. “We can’t pull him. He’s 1,200 pounds and his trailer is another 1,000 pounds.”

Ever the stoic Minnesotan, Townley said he didn’t bear a grudge toward the organizers.

Lou seemed destined to live out his days in quiet anonymity.

Alone.

Unbuttered.

Moment of glory

But then a glimmer of hope, like the sheen on a church lutefisk dinner plate, could be seen in a Sept. 11, 1987, Forum article.

Parade producers learned Lou wouldn’t be able to march in the parade. Probably figuring no celebration of this country’s founding documents would be complete without 2 tons of fake fish, they reissued the invitation and included an honorarium of $500 to help with expenses.

There’s a kicker, too. On the way to Philadelphia for the parade, Lou was to be part of a national Scandinavian celebration with Swedish Prime Minister Ingvar Carlsson and Swedish tennis star Bjorn Borg.

As if drenched in a bath of lye, Lou had been resurrected for a moment of Scandinavian splendor.

Epilogue

Lou T. Fisk is still a proud resident of Madison, Minn. In 2003, he was given a facelift and a new paint job. In 2008, Lou triumphed again over adversity after being knocked off his pedestal by 100-mph winds. After six months of rehab, he was returned to his perch as an ambassador for the city of Madison.

Madison stands by its claim of Lutefisk Capital USA and appears to be unchallenged by Glenwood.