“The snakes are allowed the liberty of the store and are quite friendly, gliding slowly up to a person to be stroked.”
A odd-duck druggist with outré taste in collectibles had his prized possessions profiled in a story in the Milwaukee Sentinel, which was republished in the April 12, 1885 Brooklyn Daily Eagle. The piece in full:
“The private collection of curiosities of Doctor Louis Lotz, 615 Galena Street, is considered one of the best and largest of the Northwest. It represents an accumulation of years, and is so extensive that to inspect it thoroughly would require several days. Among the most noteworthy curiosities in the collection is a Roman coin of silver, made when Christ was upon earth. It is about the size of a half-dollar of the present day, but thinner. Upon its face is a Roman head, surrounded by a wreath and some Greek letters, while upon the reverse side is an embossed tree. The coin is highly prized by the Doctor, and occupies a central position in the large number of old and curious coins of every nation, of every size and shape, and ranging in intrinsic value from one-quarter of a cent to $20.
Indian relics and curiosities occupy a separate case, and embrace everything from a scalp to a war club. Arrow and spear heads of flint and agate are arranged in rows, according to size, and make an attractive collection. Tomahawks and axes are numerous. The beholder cannot but wonder at the mechanical ingenuity of the red man, as he gazes upon these implements of warfare. Pottery and jewelry found in Indian mounds form a conspicuous portion of the department.
A flint-lock pistol recalls to mind the days of long ago, when our forefathers retired by the light of a candle dip, and the telephone and electric light were unknown.
The doctor does not keep his entire collection at his residence. His store at Chestnut Street is a perfect curiosity shop, and resembles in many respects a tropical garden, containing, as it does, large tropical plants and animals. In a large tank near the stove in the center of the room reposes an alligator, Hans by name, and a young one. Hans is now 9 years old, and has been in its present quarters many years. The animal is very docile, and is handled and fondled by Dr. Lotz with as much freedom as a babe is handled by its mother. To one unaccustomed to the sight a cold shiver is apt to pass along his spinal column as the Doctor kisses the repulsive looking reptile, which is about four feet in length. The small one–but a foot long–is also tame, but will not permit itself to be touched by any one except Dr. Lotz. Bread and milk, with an occasional bit of meat, constitute the food of these reptiles. Two large snakes occupy a small case near the alligators’ quarters. This case is not closed, and now and then a rustle will be heard in the palm standing near, and before one is fully aware of what is going on a pair of bright eyes will look into his and a forked tongue will dart out in apparently glad surprise. The snakes are allowed the liberty of the store and are quite friendly, gliding slowly up to a person to be stroked. The doctor handled them, and they in return nestled down in his pocket. To an observer the practice seems fraught with danger, but Dr. Lotz places great confidence in his peculiar pets and caresses them with impunity. Snakes and insects are preserved in bottles and arranged on shelves, and the whole scene reminds one forcibly of a room of a professor of the black art, such as seen in some spectacular plays.”