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MEDICAL TECHNOLOGY A HUNDRED YEARS AGO: Dr. Elms and His Electro-therapy Bath

July 1, 2015 admin 3 Comments

In April 2015, Dr. Elms' house was torn down. In this photograph, ca. 1890s, the home is closest the the camera, set back from Union Street (far right). — In April 2015, Dr. Elms’ house was torn down. In this photograph, ca. 1890s, the home is closest to the camera, set back from Union Street (far right).

by Julie Schopieray

The recent demolition of a once lovely, large house on S. Union Street, kindled the desire to investigate the history of the home. Built before 1888, it was first the home of George E. Steele and located in the south side subdivision known as Fernwood.

In 1888, Steele sold it to real estate dealer Philip Lang. After Lang’s sudden death in 1890 (he shot himself in the basement of the home), his widow Anna married Dr. Julius K. Elms, a homeopathist and surgeon, who came to Traverse City in 1881 and practiced medicine in various villages in the Grand Traverse area. By the mid-1890s, Dr. Elms had a well established practice with an office on the upper floor of the Markham block at 129 E. Front St. A capable physician trained in Chicago, he successfully tended to the needs of the community, but, by 1898, was struggling to make ends meet, having made a risky investment which may have doomed his career in Traverse City.

On February 8, 1898, Dr. Ludwig Von Dolcke and his female assistant, Miss Hattie V. Hadley, arrived at the Park Place hotel. The doctor immediately began to run ads in the local paper, obviously written by himself, carefully worded to lure curious and desperate patients to try his treatments. “Dr. Ludwig von Dolcke, the eminent inventor of the electro-theropeutic cabinet bath, and who is termed “nature’s doctor,” is …in the city and he will be pleased to give free consultation to a limited number during the remainder of his stay at the Park Place which will not be long….” Von Dolcke had patented his version of an electric bath cabinet in 1884.

These devices were first invented in the mid-1870s, so Von Dolcke was not the first to patent one- his was an “improved version.” It was basically a large lidded wooden box with a stool and wiring connected to “electrode sponges” which were placed on the part of the body to be treated. Powered by a battery, a patient could be given various levels of electric current from mild, to as strong as desired. Holes in the cabinet allowed for employing vapor ( Russian bath) or hot air (Turkish bath) depending on the type of bath requested. The treatments were said to increase circulation, help symptoms of Brights Disease, rheumatism, dropsy, eczema and other skin affections, gout and many other maladies.

Dr. Von Dolcke’s presence in Traverse City seems to have stirred some suspicion, however. Local physician Dr. H.B. Garner had likely heard of his reputation, and questioned whether Von Dolcke had registered to practice medicine during his electric bath sessions in town. Von Dolcke was charged five dollars for violating the state law, and did register a couple weeks after arriving, claiming ignorance about having to register to practice medicine in the county.

For nearly fifteen years Von Dolcke had traveled the Midwest selling his inventions to small town doctors. A flamboyant character often seen wearing odd costumes, his credentials were sketchy at best–one article stated his medical training was earned at the University of Iceland, and another said it was in Sweden. After inventing his first electric therapy bath in 1884, he opened the Electro-Hygenic Institute in Cincinnati where he trained people (usually women) to use the devices, sending them out to sell them across the country.

He had gained a reputation across the country for making wild medical claims. He charged outrageous amounts for his electric bath cabinets, and was sued numerous times for various reasons–including practicing medicine without a license, refusing to testify in court about the death of a young woman after a botched abortion, and in 1891, inventing a scheme (which was widely covered in papers across the country) to move the entire population of Iceland (the place he proclaimed to be his homeland) to Alaska where he claimed to be working with capitalists.

Dr. Von Dolcke stated he’d traveled the world and even treated Queen Victoria and other European notables, bragging that he, himself, was a descendant of Danish nobility. In fact, no trace of the man’s heritage can be documented, nor his existence under that name before 1882. Unbelievably, in one interview he claimed he’d come to the country in 1844 as a “commissioner” to select the land in Dakota territory where a colony of 6,000 Icelanders would eventually settle. The problem with that claim is that he would have only been about two years old in 1844. His reputation was well known in Michigan since he had established practices in Grand Rapids and Detroit (and had been sued in both cities). It was no surprise that some people were wary of his intentions when he arrived in Traverse City.

The ads the Von Dolcke placed in the newspapers paper during his visit in 1898, made claims for all sorts of cures from his treatments, just as other “doctors” did with these machines since they first appeared about 1874. The most famous physician in Michigan during this time was Dr. John Kellogg of Battle Creek, whose successful sanitarium drew sufferers from all over the country. The notoriety of Kellogg, who also used a version of electric bath therapy, may have added to the surprising success of Dr. Von Dolcke’s invention. During their time in Traverse City, Von Dolcke’s female partner ran the treatments for women. Ads boasted of the success she was having with the ladies of Traverse City.

“Miss Hattie V. Hadley, came to this city a few weeks ago to introduce the bath which was entirely new to Traverse City people but it is already becoming widely known as those who first tried its health giving properties were so pleased with its success, that the good word had passed along until now Miss Hadley had nearly every hour taken with ladies seeking relief from ailments which have become chronic. Among her patients are ladies who have already experienced marvelous changes in their physical being and they cannot commend the method enough. [Traverse City Evening Record Feb. 13, 1898]

Dr. Elms seems to have been completely taken in by Von Dolcke’s free demonstrations and within a month, the paper announced that he had purchased the electric bath cabinet from Dr. Von Dolcke, who then left town as quickly as he had appeared. By April, Dr. Elms began to run ads of his own, describing the various kinds of therapies he was now offering.

Dr. J.K Elms has made complete arrangements in his rooms in the Markham block for treatment of patients with an electric bath cabinet. Men as well as women and children may have baths given them from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. Russian, Vapor, Turkish, Turko-Russian and medicated baths given to suit the patient. Mrs. Elms is in attendance and will care for ladies. The virtues of this electric method are wonderful and rheumatism and chronic diseases are banished through its influence. –Evening Record 9 April 1898.

Another article described each type of therapy offered by Dr. Elms, reassuring potential patients that each sex would be attended to by an attendant of the same gender “with the greatest possible delicacy.”

According to the Traverse Bay Eagle, Dr. Elms offered the electric bath, a Turko-Russian bath which was “equal degrees of dry hot air and pure warm vapor”, a Roman Bath “wherein the patient is exposed, first, to a gentle lubricating… warm vapor, then receives a sponge bath…followed by the stimulating and toning effect of the hot dry air bath and the various medications.” There were perfumed baths “wherein many different oils are used… oil of rose, jasmine…violets, mustard, cloves, cinnamon, etc.” There was a medicated Turkish bath “wherein the hot dry air is incorporated pregnated, charged or comingled with fumes of certain pure and specific medicinal agents, as salts, sulphur, tannin, etc., etc., which are burned, the fumes being absorbed through the pores of the skin while these are dilated by the hot air”. The Eagle cautioned readers that the baths are only administered upon the advice of and by prescription of a physician.

The Turkish bath had been practiced in the Middle East for hundreds of years and gained popularity in the West during the Victorian era. Many were established around Europe, but the kind offered in Dr. Elms’ office were obviously on a much smaller scale.

Dr. Elms’ electric bath therapy seems to have been short-lived in Traverse City. There is no mention of it after November 1898, but wouldn’t it be interesting to know how many Traverse City people tried the treatments?

Perhaps his somewhat controversial medical practices were the reason for his financial woes and frequent moves, documented in the city directories. By June 1898 he had closed his office in the Markham building and turned his Union St. home into a sanitarium, moving his electric and Turkish baths to this location, still offering the therapy sessions. In different years his offices were in Grawn and Monroe Center, but in 1900 he again returned to Traverse City and established an office in the new Wilhelm Block, on the NW corner of Front and Union Streets.

Traverse City "Record Eagle," May 1903. — Traverse City “Record Eagle,” May 1903.

By May 1903, he had even more financial troubles. His property on S. Union and 16th was repossessed and went up for sale. By 1905, Elms had permanently left Traverse City. After that time, the house must have sat unused for a number of years. In 1910 it was rented by the county to use as a temporary poor house. A new facility was in the process of being built south of town (the Boardman Valley Hospital). The Elms property offered the ideal temporary location until the new one was finished. “This building will make the most excellent and comfortable quarters for the county’s poor, as the structure is fully equipped with electric lights and a furnace and has sufficient room to care for the inmates in a proper manner.” [ Traverse City Evening Record, 24 Oct. 1910]

After the new poor farm was completed, the Elms house was sold and once again used as a residence until it was torn down in early April 2015.

By 1907 had Dr. Elms had permanently settled in Nebraska near a brother who was also a physician, and continued his practice for another twenty years. He died in 1938 at the age of 90. His life was both long and colorful.

Who was Von Dolcke?

Dr. Von Dolcke married twice, once in Canada in August 1890, then to another woman in Detroit in June 1891. Each marriage certificate listed different parents’ names for Dr. Von Dolcke. What happened to the first wife is unclear. She seems to have returned to her maiden name after 1890, and lost custody of the son she had with her first husband. She had been running a boarding house in Grand Rapids (where Von Dolcke had lived) with her husband and son, prior to marrying the doctor.

The doctor had three children with his second wife, Rose. His first child’s name was entirely fitting– Electra, born in 1892, was an aspiring opera singer but without much success. She married twice and lived in Detroit. Another daughter, Ann, married and resided in Detroit as well. His son Arthur, born in 1893, married a northern Michigan woman whose parents owned the popular Beach Hotel in Charlevoix.

In 1929 Arthur sold to a New Orleans collector of antiquities, a cane he supposedly received from his father. “…S. J. Shwartz…purchased Lincoln’s cane recently from Arthur L. Von Dolcke, of Charlevoix, Mich. Dolcke had received it from his father, who in turn had got it from a Negro janitor of Ford’s theater. An affidavit accompanying the cane relates that the janitor found it in the theater box the night Lincoln was shot and had given it to Dr. von Dolcke of Washington.” If one believes Von Dolcke’s obituary, he hadn’t even arrived in the country until the late 1870s, so he could never have been Lincoln’s physician. The description of the cane makes it extremely doubtful that it actually ever belonged to Lincoln. The features on it are suspicious and it is most likely a fraud. Lincoln artifacts were highly sought after and many fake items were purchased by gullible collectors. “The cane is a straight, black ebony stick curiously carved and inlaid and was treasured by the president as a gift from a group of friends. Just below the handle behind thick glass is “Abe Lincoln” then a carved heart and “rail splitter.” next are nine square dots representing the nine states from which slavery was abolished. Beneath is a miniature carved log cabin, a likeness of Lincoln’s birth place” (Trenton Evening Times Dec. 13, 1929). It would be interesting to know where the cane is today!

In 1909, After being charged in Ohio for practicing without a license, Dr. Von Dolcke moved to Mt. Clemens, Michigan with his wife and three children. He died of an intestinal obstruction in Detroit on August 24, 1912. His death notice in a Detroit area paper was short, but expressed his continual claim of royal heritage. “Born in Iceland, the son of a Danish earl and connected with families of the bluest blood in Europe, Ludvig von Dolcke died in his home in Detroit after a short illness. He was 70 years old” (The Yale Expositor, Yale, St. Clair County, Michigan, 5 September 1912).

Julie Schopieray is a regular contributor to Grand Traverse Journal.

History

Privy Excavation Reveals life for Old Mission family, 1860-1930

July 1, 2015 Amy Barritt

Warne, November 2014, describing the excavation of the privy site. Warne is also involved in the more recent excavation, in June 2015, undertaken by North Central Michigan College professor Kerri Finlayson and her students. — Warne, October 2014, describing the excavation of the privy site. Warne is also involved in the more recent excavation, in June 2015, undertaken by North Central Michigan College professor Kerri Finlayson and her students. Image courtesy of the author.

Nancy Warne’s interest was piqued. While undertaking her volunteer duty of raking the grounds behind the house and buildings of the Dougherty Home on Old Mission Peninsula, she would find an assortment of debris, mostly broken glass and pottery. Her suspicions were further raised, after having watched a program on excavating a historical outhouse site.

What else could be found under the myrtle in the Dougherty/Rushmore backyard? What might be found at the suggested site of the Rushmore outhouse?

A brief, but relevant, digression: Peninsula Township purchased the Dougherty Historic Home Site property in July 2006, in collaboration with a number of concerned organizations on Old Mission Peninsula. The Site is home to the original 1842 structure built by Reverend Peter Dougherty, a Presbyterian minister and missionary. The Mission House “is believed to be the first post and beam house in the lower peninsula, north of Grand Rapids”. (1) Solon Rushmore purchased the property from Rev. Dougherty in 1861, and it remained in the Rushmore family for 100 years. (2)

An archaeological study of the entire home site was commissioned by the Peter Dougherty Society, the organization responsible for restoring the buildings and grounds on the property. When that gridded search came up empty, the Society members figured there simply weren’t any buried treasures to uncover. So what was Warne uncovering during her raking stints? Random refuse? A possible location of an old outhouse?

There was nothing for it: Warne had to know.

Rather than searching blindly, which could compromise the integrity of any historical dig sites found, Warne had some help. Nancy (Rushmore) Hooper, the grandchild of William and Minnie Rushmore who had run the Mission House as a summer inn for visitors until about 1915, knew where the Rushmore privy was located. She had used it as a child during her summers in Old Mission. She recalled during inclement weather running through the house into the summer kitchen and out the door of the woodroom directly to the outhouse.

warne-privy — The outhouse was restored in 2009 by dedicated Society volunteers, and other than the roof and 4 inches of treated wood at the base of the outhouse, most of the wood is original. Needed replacement wood was obtained from a collapsed 1870s barn near Bowers Harbor. Original wooden pegs in the window framing and 5 different sized square steel nails from the roof were reused in the reconstruction. The lids are original, as is part of the seat. Sorry folks, this three-holer is for display only. Image courtesy of the author, October 2014.

Understandably, after the Rushmore family purchased the home from Dougherty and eventually turned it into an inn, the first order of business was to move the Dougherty outhouse from direct view of the dining room window and orient the door to face south for additional privacy. That new location was the one Hooper remembered and the one that was excavated. The Mission House was not graced with a full bath until some time between 1930 and 1950. In the 1950s after the site was sold to Virginia Larson, the outhouse was moved to the cement slab where it now stands.

Once plumbing went in to the Home, the privy holes were slowly filled with household refuse. After the outhouse was moved in the 1960s, the holes were further filled with dirt, and myrtle gained a footing, creeping over the site and providing effective camouflage.

Society members are fully aware of what it takes to properly dig a site and restore any findings, so after making an initial, inches-deep search of the spot Hooper identified, Warne called upon experienced archaeological students and Society volunteers who were excited to begin digging. They began digging August 23, 2012, and lasted through the month of October. On that first day, nearly 60 bottles were found. Warne says that, initially, the items were merely cataloged based on where they were found in the dig site, but quickly a more rigorous procedure was developed, as follow-up research would clearly need to be done to do the excavation justice.

The results? Three to four tubs of disintegrating metal, mostly cans; some intact pieces of metal, including an 1869 shield nickel, a small child’s sterling silver ring, a shotgun barrel; dishes, mostly broken that are being lovingly reconstructed; a Kewpie doll and clay marbles; and most significantly, 280 intact bottles.

After the thrill of excavation, Warne got down to the nitty-gritty of her research. What were these bottles, and what would they tell us about the Rushmore family?

A sample of Warne's work on identifying and dating the bottles found during excavation. Image courtesy of the author, October 2014. — A sample of Warne’s work on identifying and dating the bottles found during excavation. Image courtesy of the author, October 2014.

An introduction to glass bottle manufacturing in the United States, ca. 1860 to 1930, was the first step in dating the bottles. Warne’s primary dating method deals with the seam present on machine-made bottles, which ran up the side and over the rim of the bottle; a bottle-making machine was invented in 1895, and in wide use by 1910. Many of the bottles had manufacturer’s marks on the bottom. With that information, Warne was able to date most of the bottles, the majority of which are machine made. Some of the oldest items were canning jars, dating from the 1870s, complete with common imperfections of the time, such as bubbles in the glass.

One of several displays for the August 2012 privy excavation. Image courtesy of the author, October 2014.

Some of the bottles are of brand names we would recognize, “Colgate,” “Hires Root Beer,” “Listerine,” Alka-seltzer”, “Heinz Catsup”, “French’s Mustard”, “Bromoseltzer”, Carter’s Ink” Ultimately, Warne divided up the collection into Food, Personal Use, Household, Medical (which turned out to be the bulk of the collection), and Miscellaneous. An important local find were bottles from the American Drug Store, Traverse City, Michigan.

When asked if anything really stood out to Warne, she pointed to her favorite bottle, “Mascaro Monique for the Hair” (pictured above), largely for the history of the woman behind the hair tonic. Warne also noted that there were “lots of laxatives. Take that for what it is.”

Warne’s find has been on display in the “kitchen” of the Mission House for the past three years, and as she told me, “seeing this many bottles on display really gives you a sense of the numbers, including the number of hours I spent cleaning and identifying them!” As the restoration of the Home continues, the vision being to restore the interior and exterior back to between 1850 and 1915, Warne’s find is no longer safe in its current space, and will be put into storage. She anticipates that one-third to one-half of the collection will be put back on permanent display, once the restoration has finished. She also curates two annual displays, at the annual Log Cabin Days on the last weekend of June at the Dougherty Home Site property, and at the Woodmere Branch of Traverse Area District Library, usually in August.

Warne, here piecing together pottery found in the June 2015 excavation, in much the same way as the August 2012 finds. Image courtesy of David C. Warne, June 2015.

Warne stresses that the restoration of the Home has truly been a dedicated group effort by all the Society members. “We have experts come in, but most of the work has been done by retired businessmen, teachers, farmers… just people who are really handy.” (3)

This summer of 2015, a licensed archeologist, Kerri Finlayson and her student crew from North Central Michigan College have been digging in the suggested area of the original Dougherty outhouse. Hundreds of small artifacts have been found from a depth of one foot to nearly 20 feet, including an arrowhead, buttons, ink bottle, shoe polish jar, toothbrush, pipe stems, animal bones, chards, etc.

The Peter Dougherty Society continues its work to restore the Home. Many of their restoration projects to this point have been on outlying buildings, including the outhouse, ice house, and summer kitchen. You can help the Society complete the restoration of the Home and establish it as a museum! The Jeffris Family Foundation has awarded the Society a challenge grant of $157,000, to be provided on a 1 for 2 match basis and has kicked off a three year Capital Campaign to raise $314,000 to complete the restoration of the Mission House and establish it as a museum. Fundraising for the matching grant must be completed by December 31, 2015, so no time like the present!

For additional information or to donate, contact www.oldmissionhouse.com, Peter Dougherty Society, PO Box 101, Old Mission, MI 49673 or call (231) 223-8778.

Amy Barritt is co-editor of Grand Traverse Journal. Nancy Warne, interviewed for this article, has been an active member of the Peter Dougherty Society since 2005. In addition to discovering lost privy holes, Warne is also responsible for filming much of the restoration projects underway, as well as all pre-restoration documentation, “to record the way everything looks before they tear it all apart,” as she says.

Special thanks to David C. Warne for introducing the Journal to Nancy Warne and her fantastic work, and for the photograph included in the article.

Dougherty Historic Home Site. History. Accessed 15 June 2015. http://www.oldmissionhouse.com/mission
For more information on the “Old Mission” in what is now Grand Traverse County and the “New Mission” in Omena, Leelanau County, check out “History of the Grand Traverse Region,” by Dr. M.L. Leach, from your local public library!
Nancy Warne, Personal Interview, October 2014.

Then and Now

New Book by Benzie Author reveals Crystal Lake History

June 1, 2015 admin 3 Comments

Your Editors at Grand Traverse Journal look forward to publications of local interest, and 2015 has kicked off with a winner in Dr. Stacy Leroy Daniels’ The Comedy of Crystal Lake.

The Comedy of Crystal Lake is the type of regional history we long to read, filled with descriptions of true characters that cultivated our immediate surroundings. Perhaps you too have driven through the quaint village of Beulah and wondered, “Who is Archibald Jones, and why does he deserve his own day?” Or, having read the 1922 account of The Tragedy of Crystal Lake, you were left saying, “If you ask me, it’s the present asking prices of homes on the shore that are the tragedy, not the rapid lowering of the lake level way back when.”

This tome answers a number of these questions and curiosities of life on Crystal Lake, and to our joy, Daniels’ robust scholarship more than stands up to scrutiny. Within, you will find a number of contemporary accounts that introduce you thoroughly to the people and their thoughts in 1870s Benzie County, as well as historical records, some of which were found hilariously serendipitously! Your Editors would reveal more, but instead, we encourage your patronage of local authors of history: Pick up your copy today! ~Amy Barritt, co-Editor

Dr. Stacy Leroy Daniels presented the following summary of his work to Grand Traverse Journal, at the request of Your Editors. Information on purchasing your own copy is found at the end:

Shortly after settlement in the 1850s, Michigan’s peculiar travel needs were apparent: to improve the land-locked entrances of drowned river mouths along the eastern shoreline of Lake Michigan by creating “harbors of refuge” for shipping, and inland waterways to access the interior of the State. Many natural river outlets were straightened and new channels dredged to navigable depths to connect nearby inland lakes by “slack-water” canals to Lake Michigan. These included: Saugatuck, Holland, Grand Haven, Muskegon, White Lake, Pentwater, Ludington, Manistee, Portage, Frankfort, Charlevoix, and Petoskey. The attempt to connect a canal from Frankfort Harbor to Crystal Lake proved to be the most ambitious of its kind.

Published earlier this year, The Comedy of Crystal Lake, by Dr. Stacy Leroy Daniels, details the real-life drama of the lowering of Crystal Lake (Benzie County), which resulted from an attempt to build a slack-water canal to nearby Lake Michigan. It is a sequel to “The Tragedy of Crystal Lake”, a classic pamphlet by William L. Case (1922).*

Daniels covers this part of Benzie County history with a focus on Archibald Jones, “the man who (allegedly) pulled the plug at Crystal Lake.” Jones founded the Benzie County River Improvement Company in 1873, to improve waterlots on Crystal Lake, remove obstructions and construct slack-water canals between Crystal Lake and Lake Michigan, and build a steamboat to facilitate shipping of settlers and goods to and from the interior of the County to the nearby port of Frankfort.

Crystal Lake outlet dam with three people standing in the lake (ca. 1920). Image courtesy of History Center of Traverse City.

By Jones’ maneuverings, the level of Crystal Lake was dramatically lowered in an attempt to construct a slack-water canal between it and Lake Michigan in 1873. Most other canals had differences in level of only a few feet; The original level of Crystal Lake was 38 feet above Lake Michigan which made it especially attractive for a canal. Unfortunately, the whitecap waves of Crystal Lake washed out a temporary dam before a permanent canal could be completed. The level of the Lake dropped precipitously by 20 feet and 76 billion gallons of water poured down its outlet.

Although a canal system was never realized, the lowering of the Lake exposed a 21-mile perimeter of sandy beach where none had previously existed. This made possible: the founding of the Village of Beulah, the coming of the railroad, installation of telegraph and telephone lines, development of lakeside resorts, construction of 1,100 cottages, all connected by an infrastructure of perimeter roads and trails.

Such is the “Comedy” of Crystal Lake – an epochal event with unintended consequences which has evolved from perceived “failure” of an “ill-conceived” project by an apparent scapegoat, to unqualified “success” by a visionary celebrated as a local hero!

Copies are available for purchase at BaySide Printing, Frankfort; The Bookstore, Frankfort; Cottage Book Shop, Glen Arbor; Horizon Books, Traverse City; Benzie Conservation District; Benzie Area Historical Museum; Benzie County Chamber of Commerce; Frankfort-Elberta Chamber of Commerce; partial proceeds to local nonprofit organizations.

You may also purchase copies direct from Flushed With Pride Press, PO Box 281; Frankfort, MI 49635; 989-750-2653; flushedwithpridepress@gmail.com. 496 pages; 46 chapters; 16 appendices, 200 illustrations, maps, timelines, & sidelights. $49.95 + $3.00 sales tax (+ $10.00 shipping and handling if mailed).

Author and Archibald Jones-reenactor Dr. Stacy Leroy Daniels.

Dr. Stacy L. Daniels (PhD, UM 1967), has been a practicing environmental engineer in industry (Dow Chemical Co.), academia (University of Michigan), small business (Ingenuity IEQ, Inc.), governmental agencies, and nonprofit organizations (Crystal Lake & Watershed Association, CLWA) since the 1960’s. He has observed, participated, and directed many studies of Crystal Lake and its Watershed, and has published a new book, “The Comedy of Crystal Lake (2015). His activities with the CLWA have included: chair of the Education & Communications Committee, editor for the newsletter and webpage, and coordinator for the Crystal Lake “Walkabout”. He has been a member or chair of several national science advisory committees, and has authored/coauthored over 300 papers and presentations. He runs the Crystal Lake Team Marathon, enjoys reading history, and writing serious (and humorous) environmental poetry.

*Several editions of “The Tragedy of Crystal Lake,” by William L. Case, as well as copies of “The Comedy of Crystal Lake,” by Dr. Stacy Leroy Daniels are available for circulation at Traverse Area District Library, Benzie Shores District Library and Benzonia Public Library.

Header image of Crystal Lake courtesy of Delta Whiskey, https://flic.kr/p/9AgJme

Mystery Photo

Roadway Marker at the Edge of Traverse City

June 1, 2015 Richard Fidler

This monument located at Garfield Township Hall on Veterans Drive in Traverse City calls up a number of questions. Who was Hamilton? Why is his name associated with better roads? Why was it placed there? Any correct answers to the above questions will win you instant fame as a contributor to Grand Traverse Journal !

History

Darwin’s Finches of the Great Lakes: Whitefish before and after commercial fishing

June 1, 2015 admin 1 Comment

By Stewart A. McFerran, Benzie resident and instructor of The Natural History of Great Lakes Fish for Northwestern Michigan College’s Northern Naturalist Program.

Nets, nets and more nets. Image courtesy of the author. — Nets, nets, and more nets. Image courtesy of the author.

I took a job as a deck hand for Lang Fisheries of Leland Harbor. Ross Lang operated the Joy and the Frances Clark, both commercial fishing boats. As one might expect, a commercial operation means catching fish for profit. Unlike charter fishing operations, we worked until the ice clogged the harbor and the steel hull could no longer break a path through ice packed into Leland Harbor.

The Frances Clark was a classic high-decked Great Lakes fishing tug. Everything inside was dedicated to the lifting of nets. Nets could be set in the deepest part of the lake. When the net came in through the side near the bow, fish were taken out and put in boxes. The net was carefully stacked in a different kind of box ready for “set back” out the back of the boat.

"Lifter," equipment used in Michigan tugs to pull up nets full of catch, sometimes going down several hundred feet. Image courtesy of the author. — “Lifter,” equipment used in fishing tugs to pull up nets full of catch. Image courtesy of the author.

The crew, Ross and I worked at a table near the “lifter”. Ross steered and I stacked the net in a box. On days when there were lots of chubs in the net, it was slow going, sometimes taking from first light until the afternoon to lift. The chubs, or Coregonus hoyi, are part of a genus including whitefish, cisco and lake herring. There were days we caught over a thousand pounds. I was a novice fisher but had the advantage of never getting sick.

We fished from Northwest of North Manitou Island to Platte Bay, some of the same waters that Magdalene (Lanie) Burfeind fished in 1869. She kept her boat at Port Oneida and sold her catch to the crews of the steamers that stopped at Port Oneida. In this description of seventeen-year old’s Lanie’s fishing methods, written in 1869 and published in The Evening Wisconsin newspaper in October of that year, she had:

been the master of a handsome craft and a set of ‘gill nets’. She puts them out early in April and continues them till late in the Fall. She is out every day at daylight and again in the evening in all but the roughest weather. She takes a younger sister with her to help set and draw the nets. She often brings in a couple of hundred fine lake trout white fish… Her white mast and blue pennon is known by people far along the coast. Boats salute her in passing.*

At the time Lanie Burfeind fished, there were ten known species of Coregonus living in different parts of the lakes. Miss Burfiend may have caught and sold coregonids that were never described and included in the genus.

Bloater, Coregonus hoyi. "Coregonushoyi". Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Coregonushoyi.jpg#/media/File:Coregonushoyi.jpg — Bloater, Coregonus hoyi. “Coregonushoyi”. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons – http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Coregonushoyi.jpg#/media/File:Coregonushoyi.jpg

Coregonus hoyi and culpeaformis were the fish Ross and crew caught in the Manitou Passage more than 100 years later. As the net came in so did other fish and objects from deep dark places 300 feet down. A cod relation, the “big, bad” Burbot, also known as “lawyer” came in over the side with the hoyi catch. Spiky Stonerollers, stream boat clinkers and the occasional trout came in with the chubs but often nothing else but Coregonus hoyi. They had the deep dark lake to themselves. On bad days Ross sped up the lifter and the net came in empty. In 1984, a net could stand on the lake bottom and catch nothing. Not so today; Bushels of quagga mussels foul nets as they filter the same zooplankton preferred by coregonids.

Chubby Mary at The Cove in Leland. Yum! Image courtesy of Scott Schopieray, https://flic.kr/p/6H96j2

After months of releasing “chubs” from the net I began to be aware of the variation in color and shape. There were very slight differences in hue in the silver of the sides. Sometimes I wonder if I was witness to the last of a species of Coregonus that was sold as a “Chubby Mary” at the Bluebird in Leland. It is my understanding that the popular drink is no longer made with C. hoyi but with C. artidie. Not having a degree in mixology I can’t be sure.

(Editor’s note: Upon further inquiry, the “Chubby Mary” is still available for consumption at the Cove restaurant in Leland. Described as “part appetizer, part drink,” Chubby Mary is made with the house blood mary mix, a pickle, two olives, and lemon garnish to accompany the fish, a smoked chub served with pita chips. The servers were unsure what species of Coregonus is now used.)

The US Fisheries Commission reported in 1890 that whitefish and lake herring, (both within the group Coregonus), accounted for 58% of the commercial catch in Lake Michigan. At the time there were eleven commercial fishing boats operating in Benzie County and eleven in Leelanau. None in Grand Traverse. The Booth Company was developing a wide network to exploit fisheries and fishers in both American and Canadian waters.

Standard modern fishing tug, "Kathy," docked at Leland Harbor, May 2015. Image courtesy of the author. — Standard modern fishing tug, “Kathy,” docked at Leland Harbor, May 2015. Image courtesy of the author.

Coregonus nigripinnis was found in great abundance in the deep waters of Lake Michigan in 1890. Blackfin whitefish were “sought mostly in steam vessels and are taken in gill nets set 60 to 110 fathoms deep.” The longjaw whitefish (C. zenithicua) lived at similar depths but did not have black markings on the fins.

The Manitou Islands have little in common with the Galapagos Islands other than the fact that a unique group of species evolved over time in isolation. Diving in the Galapagos I saw many fish and I talked with fishers unloading shark fins. I saw finches flitting about under the table of the café at Puerto Ayora. As a coffee drinker I could not miss them under foot as they evolved a taste for biscotti. It was fascinating to see that same assemblage of species that Darwin had so famously observed.

As the ice receded from the Great Lakes the coregonids were at the margin 10,000 years ago. Like Darwin’s finches they were separated into different populations as the lakes rose and fell. Each group changed as the ice continued to melt. The populations responded to local conditions and donned different colors and shapes. Deepwater blackfins became the dominant planktivore in the fathoms of Lake Michigan. The pelagic longjaw coregonids are hard to spot in the deep remote places of the big lakes, but, like the finches, changed in response to the environment.

While inhabiting remote niches and not making big splashes, the Great Lakes coregonids are a group of fish with many names that reflect the wide distribution and importance of the group. Other species of Coregonus are: kiyi, bartletti, johannae, reighardi and hubbsi. Hoyi are thought to still be present in Lake Michigan and sometimes called “bloater chub”. The blackfin and shortjaw can still be found in Lake Superior. Coregonids evolved the ability to move in the water column by regulating buoyancy as they fed on zooplankton.

Fishing tug on display at Glen Arbor by the National Park Service. — Fishing tug on display at Glen Haven by the National Park Service. Image courtesy of the author.

Over time the Great Lakes fishing tug was perfected to a point where fish numbers were threatened. The “Lifter” was developed to pull nets from the deep regions of the lakes. The covered decks on the tugs allowed the fishing operations to continue into bad weather. One such vessel is on display at the Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore in Glen Haven near where Lanie fished.

When the steamer Normon lay wooding up at Port Oneida in 1869, it was recorded that Miss Burfeind had delivered fish: “The clerk at the office tipped his hat to her as if he was in the presence of a Duchess. ‘That’s the smartest girl in Michigan,’ said the engineer as she passed out the gangway. The girl gave no heed to admiring glances and compliments that followed her, but straightaway sought her little fish cabin where she was mending nets, by the shore.”*

The decline of coregonids took place over many years. The introduction of chemicals and invasive species changed the ecology of the Great Lakes. Tiny eggs of C. kiyi and C. hoyi left to drift in the water column were gobbled up by unwanted intruders. The free floating C. zenithicus eggs were acted on by numerous kinds of chemicals. Ecological change has come to that water column in ways that biologists are still trying to understand, but it is clear that the diversity of the Coregonus group has been reduced since 1869.

It is unfortunate that the group has been so reduced. More than any other assemblage of organisms they evolved in the Great Lakes and represent the lake environment as true natives, just as finches represent the Galapagos Islands.

Stewart Allison McFerran has a degree in Environmental Studies and worked with Frankfort students on a robotics project. He led an Antioch College environmental field program to the Great Lakes and worked as a naturalist at Innisfree. He worked as a deck hand for Lang Fisheries and currently is an instructor at NMC Extended Education program. He lives on a Benzie stream. He did graduate studies in science education and was a Research Associate at the Lawrence Berkeley Laboratory. He grew up on a Lake in Michigan where he caught and released many turtles from his rowboat “Mighty Mouse”. McFerran is a regular contributor to Grand Traverse Journal.

*Article on “Lanie”, Semi-Weekly Wisconsin (Milwaukee, Wisconsin), Sat, Oct 16, 1869, Page 3

Celebrate the People

WALKING IN the FOOTSTEPS OF THE PAST: Life in Benzie County by Freshman Bruce Catton Award Winners

June 1, 2015 admin

By Shianne Knoch (left), Second Place winner in the 2015 Bruce Catton Awards

There was nothing on my mind that summer morning except going to the beach. It is a few days after the fourth of July, and the town is almost tourist free. I walk down my short road known as Corning Avenue and hear the normal sounds of my neighbors’ dogs speaking back and forth to each other. I get closer to the end of the road and see some of the younger boys at my school playing basketball at Market Square Park. They yell my name and wave a hello before continuing their game. I take a left and head down M22 and walk under the big, oak trees, while being passed by people on bikes and children with ice cream running down their faces and hands, trying so hard to get the last bits of the mouth-watering ice cream. I get to the end of M22 and turn down Main Street. I walk down the uneven sidewalk and pass by Mineral Springs Park; I hear the normal sound of children yelling and screaming with joy. I leave the park behind and continue down Main Street in the little town of Frankfort. I’m greeted by many of my friends and adults. Living in a small town, you learn to know everyone and they learn to know you. I smile at every one I pass while walking and just enjoy the many sights and sounds, and even the smells that Frankfort, Michigan has to offer. I finally make it past the people and the stores overflowing with people, and as I get closer and closer to my goal, I walk that twisty sidewalk that will take me to the pier. But, I have no intention of walking down the pier.

I turn right and land in the soft, white sand. I sit and dig my feet deeper and deeper into the sand, feeling the little rocks and shells tickle my toes. I lift my head up to the sun and let its warmth consume me. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing there, but I awaken to the sound of Davy, a local man who lives in Frankfort. I hear him singing to himself while he picks up the cans and bottles that were left behind form the fourth. I smile to myself, knowing how happy he is. I turn away from Davy and look at the still water. It’s just sitting there waiting for someone to come and play. But I refuse its offer to come and play; and I head down to the water.

Shianne Knoch: 2nd Place, Genevieve Pomerleau:1st Place, Sam Buzzell: 3rd Place

Once you get past the first turn, and you can no longer see the pier, the beach becomes a magical place. It’s so open and untouched. It’s so alive and beautiful that you can’t look at one thing for too long, or you might miss something else beautiful. I pull up my pants so that I can walk with my bare feet in the water. As I get further down the beach, I see an opening between two trees, and in the middle, I see – a chair. I walk faster and head for the strange chair. When I approach the chair, I notice writing on every inch of the chair. There are names, dates, initials in hearts. On top of the chair, there is a date that reads 2003. Here I am in 2014, looking at a date from 2003. This chair is falling apart; it almost looks like it is weeping. One of the legs is almost torn off, and the paint is chipping. I run my fingers over the different names. As I move my hand down the chair, a piece of the arm falls off, no bigger than my fingernail. I pick up the tiny piece of wood and place it in my pocket. The wind starts to blow and I hear the whines and the creaks of the chair as the wind blows through it. I sit there for some time reading all the names. After my legs grow numb from being still for so long, I stand up and spot a marker. I put my name and the date on the chair that day. I think to myself of how crazy it is to be writing on this chair. Someone could have written on this chair this same day in a different year. I was walking in their footsteps. I leave the chair behind with my mark on it.

I went back, looking for the chair, the next year, but the chair was nowhere to be found. Instead in that same clearing, there was a small sand hill with rocks piled up on it. There were names on the rocks, and in a tree branch hanging down was a bag with a notebook and markers. Inside the notebook, were writings from people. There were dates and names just like there had been on the chair. But some people also wrote their thoughts down, leaving them for someone to find. As a tradition, I wrote my name in the notebook and signed a rock and put it with the other rocks. I noticed some names of my classmates and some local people, as well. I stepped away from the grave of the former weeping chair. I felt something poke me, and I cringed at the pain and felt tears cloud my eyes. I put my hand in my pocket and felt for the item that is bringing me pain. I pull out the piece of wood-chip. I had forgotten I had brought it with me. I look at the chip and realize what I must do. I picked up and moved some of the rocks and started to dig a hole. After the hole is deep enough, I put the last remaining piece of the chair in the hole, and I cover it with sand. I put the rocks back in their original places, and step back.

I turned around and left; looking back once as a farewell and a promise to be back next year. I’ll never forget that weeping chair and of the history it held.

Congratulations to Shianne Knoch for her excellent essay, and her second place finish! We look forward to reading more from Shianne.

Grand Traverse Journal will publish the first place winner’s essay in the July issue.

Celebrate the People

Almost Captured: Memories of John Conroy, WWII Veteran, North African combat

June 1, 2015 admin 2 Comments

John Conroy’s story as related in interviews with Peter Newell, February 2015

This month’s “Celebrate the People” honors John Conroy, US Army 1st Armored Division and longtime resident of the village of Kingsley. Conroy’s reminiscences focus on his years of service in World War II. Few of those who served remain to tell their stories; 2015 marks the 70th anniversary of the end of that conflict.

While Grand Traverse Journal typically features stories concerning our local region, we recognize the importance of recording and publishing the stories of our residents, both for future generations and for the catharsis it gives those who have served.

johnconroy25 — “I was 25 years old when drafted in 1941. Now, I am 97 and ready to re-up.”

WWII ended almost 70 years ago, so I don’t remember most of the bad stuff, but I will tell you all that I can. General Robinette’s strategies, as reported in Old Ironsides, the battle history of the 1^st Armored by George F. Howe, and assignments were at the center of coming critical battles. I was proud to serve as a sergeant in Combat Command B under his command. When he was a colonel, he often rode in my command tank on short reconnaissance missions. Young officers were lucky to serve under our experienced commander early in the war. Lieutenants like mine were being cycled through different detachments for field experience. Most had had only 90 days training as officers and were brave with hopes of glory, but were brand new to North Africa.

The Germans were about to teach all our ranks hard lessons. We had only been in battle a little more than 9 weeks, while the North African Panzer division that we would soon face had years of battle experience. Their tank armor could pierce anything we had. We were only just receiving 75mm armor piercing to replace our training shells. Only a few of us had ever worked armor in terrain that had mountains, valleys, and desert plains. Good roads with major junctions crucial to military success were formed by many impassable wadis, rivers, and soft soil. When it was dry, dusty clouds gave away troop and armored movements which was good for my reconnaissance missions and bad for infantry. Terrain knowledge, battle experience, leaders, armor, and especially armor piercing ammunition led us to terrible losses through February 1942.

After our landing near Oran, Algeria in November 1942, the following January and February 1943 held dark days for us. Faid and Kasserine Passes were two important gateways through Tunisia and would fall to the Germans. We had fought our way east into southern Tunisia only to face Germany’s best desert division, Rommel’s 21^st Panzer Division. Before those important battles, my lieutenant, with only 90 days training, commanding mine and two other light tanks, was sent to assist a small engineering troop that was repairing a bridge near Sbeitla. My rank as staff sergeant gave me no inside information to Gen. Robinette’s plans, but repair to a strategic bridge at Sbeitla made perfect sense. It is a small village halfway between the mountain passes at Faid and Kasserine. The repair of the bridge had to be strong enough to support our heavy armor that had to cross a small river bed that was more swamp than a flowing stream, called a wadi. What happened during a little skirmish was only the beginning of a series of disappointments and made me question my own value as a soldier.

As we approached the wadi, we saw a German Tiger Tank of the 21^st Panzer Division, the most feared tank in North Africa, and what looked like a full platoon of German infantry on the opposite side, which gave them about 10 to 1 odds against us. Information of Panzer movement was important to our command, but our immediate concern was the tank armed with a 75 mm cannon. While an 88mm cannon was more powerful and would pass clear through even our heaviest tank, the 75mm would pass through one armored side then rattle around and do worse damage to everything and everyone inside.

Compare the cannon bore of our Light M3 Tank on the left with the bore of the 75mm Tiger on the right. Wider track and raised cleats gave the Tiger better traction. The solid armor of the Tiger easily deflected our 37 mm cannon shot. Superior speed was our best defense.

My lieutenant was quick to order two of our light tanks straight ahead toward the Germans and closer to the wadi and then attempted to turn around in the soft sand on the side of the narrow road. Seconds later, they were both bottomed out, off the road, and stuck. His command of the situation disintegrated. With more courage than sense, the lieutenant ordered his command tank to fire two 37mm shots at the German Tiger Tank, even though neither shot had a chance of penetrating the front armor of a Tiger tank. To this day, I thank God that the German tank never returned fire.

I asked the lieutenant “Do you want me to put the grousers on the stuck vehicles?”

Grousers would improve the traction of rubber cleats in soft sandy conditions.

His next order completely baffled me and my driver as he looked at us, he said, “No. Just get the hell out of here.”

I have never before or since received an order like that. The other lieutenant also ordered two of his engineers to leave with us. Then, both lieutenants left with the rest of our men and went toward the wadi before flanking left into old and scrubby olive trees that reached a couple feet higher than our light tanks. That was last I saw of 12 lightly armed men and two lieutenants, most of whom I knew. Same outfit, same platoon, you get to know all the guys one way or another.

Instead of running away immediately, I disobeyed a direct order. I and my men waited for some sign of those who had just left. Nothing. Complete silence. We waited, watching and listening for footsteps, crackling brush, shouts, gunfire, anything. A few minutes later Germans begin to appear on our side of the wadi directly from the direction that our people had disappeared. With the enemy now flanking us, we were learning, first hand, how good the Germans were at warfare. We hit the ditch on the left side of the road and followed it toward a nearby mountain about ¾ mile away. It lay in the general direction that led back to bivouac, and had the best cover for escape. It would add days of walking, but the other options were open road or open desert. With only rocks and sand for cover, and about 30 minutes to clear the area before being captured, I chose the longer route. I figured if our buddies were still alive, we would make contact with them, because they were somewhere in the same cover we were in. 30 minutes later, we found no joy in making it safely through the undergrowth to the base of the mountain. There was no sign of our friends. Twelve good men and two lieutenants with more courage than sense were missing, and I knew that, at best, they had been captured. I never saw them again.

My medals read left to right: EFFICIENCY, HONOR, FIDELITY; AMERICAN DEFENCE; WORLD WAR II, (silver upper right) designates driver/mechanics badge, (small pin button) discharge free ride for vets or commonly called “RUPTURED DUCK MEDAL”; AMERICAN CAMPAIGN, and AMERICAN MIDDLE EASTERN CAMPAIGN. — My medals read left to right: EFFICIENCY, HONOR, FIDELITY; AMERICAN DEFENSE; WORLD WAR II, (silver upper right) designates driver/mechanics badge, (small pin button) discharge free ride for vets or commonly called “RUPTURED DUCK MEDAL”; AMERICAN CAMPAIGN, and AMERICAN MIDDLE EASTERN CAMPAIGN.

I had rank on the three men who followed me, so I was the one most responsible to get us all back to bivouac alive. January nights get cold in the Central Tunisian desert, so we were grateful to find a stack of straw to burrow into for the night. We needed rest to continue our march that could take days with limited rations. There are no straight roads in the mountains, so an hour’s travel by tank on flat ground would take us nearly three days hiking. No rank below lieutenant was given maps for fear of being captured with explicit information, so I had to guide us by point to point navigation, the same as I used growing up in rural Kingsley, Michigan.

On the second day of our march, we were still on the mountain, skirting a flat open area, when my driver spotted two men walking in nearly the opposite direction of our path. As they drew closer, we could see that they wore American uniforms. One was a ranking officer, colonel or major, accompanied by a private. I talked with him a little bit about our situation.

The officer said, “ I can’t see sending my troops into the mess that you have left just to get my men killed.”

He looked dead serious however impossible his thinking was.

I thought, “Here is this officer and a private on the flat open area of a mountain taking a Sunday walk.”

I didn’t see any of his troops, nor would he give me any more information about why they were there. He didn’t say how long he had been walking or the circumstances that got him isolated from his command. It sounded like he had pretty much lost his mind. They didn’t want to join us in getting back. It was the craziest thing I had ever seen, and I couldn’t figure out what to do with them. I didn’t have rank to countermand any real or imagined mission he had. We went on our own way. They went theirs and we never saw them again. On the third day, we found a unit of American 105mm artillery and caught a ride with them back to bivouac.

"This $5.00 bill contains the names of nearly all the villages in central Tunisia where I reconnoitered. Among them are Oran, Kasserine, Sbeitla, and Faid." — “This $5.00 bill contains the names of nearly all the villages in central Tunisia where I reconnoitered. Among them are Oran, Kasserine, Sbeitla, and Faid.”

My First Armored division had darker days ahead at Kasserine and Faid Passes. At Kasserine Pass, I was part of a reconnaissance unit that watched from the heights of a nearby mountain while Combat Command C suffered huge losses. They didn’t have anything for protection in open desert caught between two mountains with deadly German artillery concealed in rugged slopes over a mile away, but that is another story. And another story is about being pinned down at Anzio more than four months, where winning the war became more remote and less important than surviving each day.

Nature

In Search of the American Chestnut

June 1, 2015 Richard Fidler 13 Comments

In my spare time I read field guides—books that help me identify flowering plants, ferns, salamanders, fossils, and insects. It has always been so—going back to my grade school years—and I make no apologies for it. Such a hobby, while unpromising as a source of wealth or useful knowledge, has no downsides as far as I can see. And frequently it leads me onto pathways of delight, whenever a fringed gentian in a marsh comes to my attention, a fossil crinoid discovered upon the beach, or an ant lion pit dug along a sandy trail. Field guides make such delights possible.

So it was that I picked up Barnes and Wagner’s Michigan Trees to spend a profitable quarter hour before bed. The page opened to the American Chestnut and there on page 208 the following passage appeared:

A plantation of chestnut trees, established in 1910 in Benzie Co., gave rise to a stand of several thousand offspring (Thompson, 1969).

Checking the source (Thompson, 1969) at the back of the book, I discovered that an obscure Michigan journal, the Michigan Academician, published the original paper describing the plantation. Could I get a copy of it and find out if this mysterious grove of chestnuts still existed, disease-free?

European Chestnut leaves, image courtesy of the author.

Here it is necessary to provide background for my curiosity. The American chestnut, Castanea dentata, was a grand component of the eastern American hardwood forest throughout the nineteenth century. In Michigan it naturally penetrated as far north as St. Clair county and was locally abundant in Monroe and Wayne counties in Southeastern Michigan. Beginning about 1900 the tree suffered the attack of a vicious fungus, Cryphonectria parasitica, likely imported from Asia, which destroyed American chestnuts everywhere. By 1940 the tree had largely disappeared from American forests, though suckers from dead trees continued to sprout for years afterwards, only to die upon reaching maturity.

The American chestnut should be distinguished from the horsechestnut, Aesculus hippocastanea, a tree commonly planted around homes. That tree, a permanent resident arrived from Europe after white settlement here, displays candelabras of white blossoms in June, finally producing inedible nuts that resemble chestnuts in appearance. Contrary to expectation, it is not enjoyed by horses, neither the leaves nor the nuts, though folklore insists it cures COPD in those animals.

American chestnuts were planted in the Grand Traverse area from early times. I had seen individual trees planted near farms on Old Mission peninsula and had heard stories of trees planted elsewhere nearby. But had a whole grove of them survived, a grove planted in 1910? If they still lived, the trees would be more than a hundred years old. They would be magnificent.

The Grand Traverse Conservancy provided the key that would unlock the mystery of the hidden chestnut grove. In response to my query, Conservancy staffer Angie Lucas, plant expert extraordinaire, e-mailed me the Michigan Academician article. And there it was: the information I needed to find the chestnuts:

The grove, owned by James Rogers, is located at Chimney Corners (SE ¼ Sect. 35, T27N, R16W) at the top of the Point Betsie Moraine, a massive 300-foot glacial ridge which flanks the north shore of Crystal Lake.

I live in Traverse City and am scarcely familiar with Crystal Lake, but I had a human resource that would guide me to the proper coordinates: Dan Palmer, resident of Leelanau county, knowledgeable in forestry, brought up in Frankfort, and familiar with the back trails of Benzie county. We would explore the north of Crystal Lake and find these trees hidden in Chimney Corners.

To those who know Benzie County, Chimney Corners is hardly obscure. It is a venerable resort with roots going back to the early twentieth century. The lodge stands now as it did in 1908, its stone fireplace dominating the space as you enter, grooved beadboard woodwork, electric lights from an earlier time, collections of beach reading from the fifties, and the grit of sand on hardwood floors. The proprietors kindly allowed us to walk the ridge to see the chestnuts: Just follow “chestnut trail,” they said.

The three-hundred foot moraine was surmounted with breathlessness as our party proceeded up the trail. It was a steep climb through a maple, beech, and basswood forest of moderate age, but there was no sign of the sharply toothed leaves of Castanea dentata. Were we in the right place?

Then, up ahead, a clue, though not a felicitous one. An enormous white skeleton of a tree stripped of its bark with many of its larger branches fallen roundabout stood out in the shade of taller trees. It was long dead, likely a chestnut, given its size and location. My hopes dropped: They were gone, all of them.

European Chestnut bur, image courtesy of the author.

Still, we kept walking and along the trail were more dead trees, but some of them had suckers at the base that brandished the green leaves of living chestnuts. The forest floor, though, was not littered with the burs that encased the shiny chestnuts. Reproduction was not happening here: the shoots would live for a decade and die before flowering. The chestnut grove was doomed.

As we walked out of the forest, there were more dead trees, but as we came into a sunnier place, the chestnut suckers—offshoots–were more robust, as much as five inches in diameter, some of them reaching twenty-five feet or more into the sky. Green spikes of flowers appeared at the end of twigs, vague promises that chestnuts might be found in autumn at this place. We found a few burs from last year, the chestnuts missing from inside, either because the trees had not enough energy to make the nuts or because squirrels had devoured them.

Cankers caused by Cryphonectria parasitica appeared on the small stems of the chestnut suckers: the trees were unhealthy and would not live much longer. It would be a race between their mortality and their ability to produce nuts that would grow into the next generation. Remembering the fate of the white giants within the forest, I would bet on the fungus to destroy the trees before they could reproduce. There is good reason that Castanea dentata disappeared from the eastern United States.

The story could end here, but there is another thread to follow. The Grand Traverse Conservancy has just acquired a beautiful parcel of land from the estate of Naomi Borwell. Located just inside Manistee county off Manistee County Line Road, it offers a diversity of habitats: hardwood forests, deep valleys, frontage on the Betsie River, swamps, and a developed farm planted with a variety of interesting trees: spruces, birches, hawthorns—even a row of shagbark hickories—unusual in this part of Michigan. Best of all, there is a grove of American chestnuts with diameters of twelve inches, standing 45 feet high—though the ugly cankers on the large branches indicate the disease has penetrated here, too. You get the feeling the chestnut plantation is waiting its doom–which lurks in its very near future.

In nature it is unfair to take sides, though we do it all the time. Cryphonectria parasitica depends upon American chestnuts for its survival, but the fungus does not charm us with its form or grace. I have read of numerous attempts to hybridize the American chestnut with Asian forms that have a degree of resistance to the disease: you can learn about those efforts at the American Chestnut Foundation, http://www.acf.org/FAQ.php It seems likely that blight-resistant chestnuts with American chestnut features will become available within a decade or two, though the degree of resistance has not been determined as of now.

Perhaps it will be years before we can obtain American chestnuts to plant beside our homes without fear of the fungus destroying the trees, but when that time comes, I will be among the first to get them, God willing. With its glorious history in our forests, its stately grace, its delicious fruit, the American chestnut is too splendid for us to abandon.

Postscript

Sometimes stories refuse to end, no matter how hard you try to bring them to a conclusion. A friend at the public library informed me that he was quite sure a Michigan champion American Chestnut could be found at the end of Old Mission Peninsula. After a few days he emailed me the specifics: according to the Michigan Botanist, Volume 37, 1995, an enormous tree could be found off Old Mission Road, quite close to the country store, a bit past a curve, off a drive heading towards a cherry orchard. Could it still exist 20 years later?

Author at base of blight-free American Chestnut on Old Mission, 28 May 2015. — Author at base of blight-free, Michigan champion American Chestnut on Old Mission, 28 May 2015.

How could anyone do anything but drive out there and find out? Surprisingly, the directions were easy to follow and, with the help of a neighbor, Jim Hilt, my friend Marlas Hanson and I soon observed a tree towering in front of us, an American Chestnut far larger than any we had seen heretofore. Its trunk was split into three stems, twisted each one of them, and the canopy spread above over a wide area. It showed a few dead limbs, but it was alive—and not in bad shape for an old tree. There was no evidence of chestnut blight.

However, there was something peculiar about the tree: one would expect American Chestnut saplings round about, planted by squirrels that forgot where they sequestered the nuts, perhaps. But there were none to be found—not one. A few old burs from the previous year were scattered around the base of the tree, the nuts gone. It looked as if the tree had bothered to produce the spiny burs, but either they were empty from the start or else contained nuts that were infertile—or maybe every single one had been consumed by wildlife. In any case this American Chestnut had no offspring.

Immature leaves of the National Champion American Chestnut on Old Mission, 28 May 2015. — Immature leaves of the Michigan champion American Chestnut on Old Mission, 28 May 2015.

A puzzle: Does the very character that makes the tree infertile cause it to be resistant to blight? In other words, this tree—and another located three farms away—are the only ones I have seen that have not succumbed to the disease. Do they avoid blight because they are incapable of reproducing? Or is the answer simpler–that the champion Michigan tree needs other chestnuts nearby in order to obtain pollen for fertilization and that its infertility has nothing to do with its resistance? I do not know the answer, but I would like to find out–but to investigate that thread would take another year or two or five, and this story must end sometime. And so, let us end it here for now.

Richard Fidler is co-editor of Grand Traverse Journal.

History

The Joys of Historical Research: A Mysterious Grave in Yuba City

May 1, 2015 admin

by Julie Schopieray

Unless you are already aware of its existence, or happen to pull off the highway on a little side road that was once a part of the old highway, you’d never know it was there. A small gravestone stands alone under a large pine tree, just off US-31 near the ghost town of Yuba in Acme township, Grand Traverse County. It belongs to two-year- old William Leith, who died in February 1859.

This lone little grave has stirred much curiosity, including mine. Its solitary status has led to assumptions about its origin, which has resulted in stories designed explain it . After seeing this gravestone, I too wanted to know about it.

Obituary of William Leith, from the "Grand Traverse Herald," 1859. — Obituary of William Leith, from the “Grand Traverse Herald,” 1859.

Starting with just an internet search, I found one author who reported that this was “the oldest known Caucasian grave in the northwestern region of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula.” Another website gave an account of the family traveling in a wagon train through the area when their son became sick and died. They buried him along the road and even with their grief, had to continue on their journey.

This particular tale raised the question: Why would anyone be traveling in a wagon train in Northern Michigan in the middle of the winter? It did not seem likely.

My next step was to search digitized issues of the Grand Traverse Herald. The search brought up three hits with the name Leith. The first was from Dec. 1858, which described a very large chicken belonging to Mr. Crawford Leith, a resident of Whitewater. The second was an obituary for William Leith, the son of Crawford and Elizabeth Leith, who died of scarlet fever. The date matched the gravestone exactly. (The third hit was in April, 1859 with election results mentioning Mr. Leith running for commissioner of highways—he lost the election).

leith-family — Leith family, ca. 1880. Image courtesy of Leith family ancestors.

My curiosity then took me to the county deeds office to check just where this family lived. I knew that in 1859, this area of the county at Yuba was still called Whitewater. My first thought was that when Willie died, he was buried on their own property, which was a common practice at the time, especially since there was no established cemetery nearby. [The Yuba cemetery, across the highway from this grave, wasn’t established until 1904.]

Vincent Crawford Leith purchased 160 acres in Section 26 of what is now Acme Township. The dates on the land records were a bit confusing. The land grant was dated 15 August 1862, but on the very next page of the liber was a warranty deed where Mr. Leith sold this same property to a Mr. Price in Aug. 1859. It may be that the transaction took place much earlier, but was just not recorded until 1862.

Strangely, the spot where Willie is buried is not the property the Leiths owned. Since Willie died in the winter, a burial may have been delayed until the spring.

Now I had more questions than answers: What did they do with his body until the ground thawed? When the Leiths moved to Ohio later that year, did they have someone place the stone for them, and if so, did those people put the stone on the wrong spot? Why would Willie be buried on property they didn’t own and so near the road?

A thorough search of the 1860 Federal Census shows no sign of Mr. Leith or his family, although I suspect they moved to Allen County, Ohio after their property was sold in 1859. They may have been traveling during the census, and were not counted.

Mr. Leith volunteered and served as a musician in the 118th Ohio Infantry from September 1862, until the end of the Civil War. They spent the next 45 years in Allen County, Ohio. Basic genealogical research shows that this is indeed Willie’s family.

leith-gravestone — Willie Leith’s gravestone. Image courtesy of the author, captured in the summer of 2011.

There is a romantic feel to the legends that have evolved around this stone. The statement that it is the oldest known grave in the region may be true. It can be documented that others died in the area before this, but grave locations are either unknown, unrecorded, or were later moved.

The reason for the location of the solitary little grave remains unanswered. The truth however, is that this little boy’s family were area residents for a few years, not just passing through. The fact that the child is separated from the rest of his family, is a reality which pulls at the heartstrings of those who see the stone. The little boy’s resting place has been lovingly cared for over the years. The stone has been broken in several spots, but an anonymous person has made a gallant effort to cement the fragments together to keep it in one piece. Artificial flowers and small trinkets surround the stone, left by kind-hearted, nameless visitors.

Julie Schopieray is a local author and history buff, who enjoys debunking local historical myths.

News from the Societies

Bruce Catton Historical Awards Reception Celebrated Students April 8th

May 1, 2015 admin

The Ninth Annual Bruce Catton Historical Award Reception was held at Mills Community House on Wednesday, April 8^th. Families of the freshman authors and community residents came to honor the young authors and their teachers, Ms. Rebecca Hubbard, English teacher, and Mr. Dave Jackson, history teacher who inspired the authors. The students were assigned to write about a special event in their life, trying to create a memorable experience that would delight an audience. The readings given by ten adult readers proved the students had succeeded. Similar to Bruce Catton’s memoirs that included many of his life experiences as he grew up in Benzie County during the early years of the 20^th century (WAITING FOR THE MORNING TRAIN), the students included many descriptive details in essays that reminded their audience of similar experiences in their own lives. The final reader of the program, Bob McNabb, mentioned how many essays related to the wonderful waters that are such a big part of the lives of Benzie residents.

The students who were honored as the Top Ten Authors were: Sam Buzzell (Snow Day on Cliff Face), Gabe Johnson (Days Off), Shianne Knoch (Walking in the Footsteps of the Past), Peggy Morrow (Simple Things) Emily Perkins (A Pluviophile’s Dream) Genevieve Pomerleau, (What Goes Up Must Come Down,) Matthew Stefanski (A Cold Day on Lockhart Field) Keziah Stockdale (The Incident) Olivia Tomaszewsi (Fudgie to Local) , Bowen Stoops (Dredging).

Steve Elrick, President of the Mills Board of Directors, assisted Kay Bos, (Coordinator of the Awards) with presenting the awards. The First Place winner was Genevieve Pomerleau, Shianne Knoch took Second Place, and Third Place was awarded to Sam Buzzell. All students were presented with certificates for participating in the contest.

Members of the Mills Board of Directors served refreshments at the end of the program.

Deep appreciation to Kay Bos for the article, photographs, and for encouraging our children to be excellent in all they strive towards. Thank you also to Stewart A. McFerran for the header image, taken at the Bruce Catton Award Reception on April 8, 2015. On the far right is Kay Bos, Coordinator of the Bruce Catton Awards, then Steve Elrick, President of the Mills Board of Directors, with student winners.

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