If you’ve missed the peals of the great bell at the historic Grand Traverse County Courthouse as much as your editors have, you’ll be pleased to know that we once again have a bell to be proud of!
A Restore the Bell rededication ceremony will be held this Saturday May 2, starting at 11:15am at the Courthouse building, corner of Boardman and Washington. The bell will ring for the first time since 2008 at noon. Please gather at the north lawn and bring your own chairs. Event is free and open to the public, and will include a number of speakers.
Preservation is all about Perseverance and Patience; Grand Traverse Journal salutes the success of that fine group of citizens who got the bell ringing again!
So here’s this month’s mystery: What decade was the Courthouse built?
Perhaps you’ll attend the ceremony and find out!
Image courtesy of photographer Jimmy Emerson, https://www.flickr.com/photos/auvet/14734511549/
Three times the village of Lake Ann was nearly destroyed by fire. Twice, the business district was virtually wiped out. Each time the people rebuilt their homes, businesses and lives.
In addition to the three major fires, fire destroyed two prominent business structures: the Douglas Hotel and Bert Smith’s residence, black smith shop and hardware store.
The first and third of the major fires are well-known and were dramatically described in Traverse City newspapers of the day. The second major fire is far less known and the date of the fire wrongly remembered and wrongly published. The dates of the Douglas Hotel and Bert Smith’s store fires were also lost to history.
The following is an accurate account of these five fires complete with citations from newspaper stories of the period. This fascinating, if unfortunate and sad, part of Lake Ann’s history deserves to be remembered correctly.
Lake Ann’s first huge fire
The first and most devastating fire occurred in July 1897. At that time the village was large and prosperous. Its population was about 1,000, making it one of the larger towns in northwestern Michigan.Logging was a major employer and supported several saw mills. The William Habbler Jr mill on the north shore of Ann Lake was the biggest.
The mills brought in many other businesses, from boarding houses to bakeries, grocery stores, barbers and doctors. As in any town employing so many men, saloons, pool parlors and poker games could be found as well.
Some of the buildings and homes were well built and up-to-date architecturally. Businesses were adjacent to one another in the business district. Homes and business buildings were made of wood. Lots were small – often 100 feet deep and 40 feet wide – so homes were close together as well. Other buildings, such as barns, sheds and other out buildings were more rustic and even more flammable.
Once the fire began, apparently from a spark at the Habbler saw mill, a breeze north from the lake spread the fire rapidly through the town. Within minutes it was out of control. Because nearly all the town was north of Ann Lake, just about everything was within the fire’s path.
Because it was Saturday of the Fourth of July weekend, many of the town’s residents had rowed across Ann Lake to a favorite picnic spot on Piney Point. When they saw the smoke and fire in the village, there was little they could do to return home in time to save their belongings.
According to the newspaper accounts of the fire, 50 businesses were lost and 75 homes burned. Most people lost everything they owned.
The Traverse City newspapers gave readers dramatic and complete coverage:
GRAND TRAVERSE HERALD, JULY 8, 1897
Holocaust at Lake Ann
Lake Ann is a mass of smoldering ruins, and there are scarcely thirty buildings left standing. The fire broke out in Habbler’s mill at 1:30 p.m. Saturday and spread through the town with lightening rapidity.
The entire business portion of the village has been swept clean by the most disastrous conflagration that has ever visited this locality.
Not less than 75 families are homeless and nearly all of them have lost all their possessions. Many were fortunate in saving their lives.
The prompt response from Traverse City brought the steam fire engine and twenty members of the department from that city. When the much needed aid arrived, the men who had been fighting fire with all their strength were nearly worn out but they were relieved by the arrival of fresh and efficient help.
When the special train bearing the engine and firemen from Traverse City entered the pall of smoke, the spirits of the discouraged and unfortunate ones arose and hopes of saving what remained were revived.
It required but a few moments to transfer the engine from the flat car to the shore of the lake, just west of the factory, and but five minutes to start two streams.
A well-organized force manned the hose lines, and soon two heavy streams were pouring into the fierce flames which threatened to consume everything that remained.
After a half-hour’s hard work, the flames at the points mentioned were under control. It was necessary to run one line of hose along the shore among the slabs, timber and miscellaneous lumber stock, but the energetic work of the men was effective and showed good results.
The Herald continued with an enthusiastic account of the Traverse City fire department’s efforts:
Traverse City to the Rescue
Fifty-four minutes.
That was the time which elapsed after the fire engine left the Cass street engine house before two powerful streams of water were pouring upon the destructive flames which were destroying the greater portion of Lake Ann Saturday afternoon.
When the special arrived at Lake Ann, the people were almost panic stricken and it seemed as though the entire village was to be swept out of existence. The Traverse City firemen with commendable coolness and precision immediately began work in earnest. Only a few moments were required to transfer the engine to the lake shore, just west of the burning mill and cooperage stock. A team was found at once and the engine hauled to the shore and placed upon an improvised dock of slabs. Firefighter Fulgham lost not a moment and effective streams were doing good work in a few moments.
The men worked with an energy characteristic of the Traverse City firemen and Lake Ann’s business men and citizens felt relieved when the excellently organized force went to work. They labored like tigers and their work immediately began to show satisfactory results, while the engine worked like a charm and threw streams which stayed the fast advancing flames.
An almost identical article appeared in the Morning Record, also Sunday, July 4, 1897. It was perhaps more sensationalist with headlines reading:
HOLOCAUST AT LAKE ANN
Thriving Place swept by Terrible Fire Fiend Yesterday and Nearly Wiped Out
TOWN WILL SUFFER AGGREGATE LOSS OF NEARLY $100,000
Aged Mrs. Masters Cremated In attempting to Save Valuable Personal Property
Entire Business of Town in Ruins – Fifty Buildings Destroyed
Seventy-five Families Rendered Homeless and Deprived of
Necessities of Life, also Employment – Traverse City
Responded Promptly to an Appeal for Aid
One can imagine seeing this on the cover of a paper beside the check-out in any grocery store today.
“Ann Lake” plat map, 1901. From Charles Edward Ferris’ “Atlas of Benzie County, Michigan,” made available online by the University of Michigan, http://name.umdl.umich.edu/2911274.0001.001
Lake Ann’s second major fire
The date of Lake Ann’s second major fire has been incorrectly known for many years. Even the newspaper report of the third fire, in 1918, gave the wrong date, saying it occurred in 1907. More recently the date has been given as 1914. In reality, it happened in 1902.
The second fire also destroyed most of the Lake Ann business district but it was much smaller than that of 1897. It is clear that little of the village had been rebuilt following the devastating fire in 1897.
Again the Traverse City papers gave it prominent coverage.
THE EVENING RECORD, TUESDAY JANUARY 28, 1902
LAKE ANN FIRE SWEPT
—————–
Business Portion of the Town Again Destroyed
—————–
Lake Ann Jan 28 — Again last night the business portion of Lake Ann was laid in ashes, and nothing but cinders remain of four of the principal businesses places of the town. The saloon building and stock of Dan Willard, the store building of A. B. Huellmantel, the livery barn of W. J. Shilliday and the store building occupied by S. S. Burnett, were completely destroyed and the stock of A. B. Huellmantel and S. S. Burnett were greatly damaged.
“The fire started in the saloon of Dan Willard about 9:30 o’clock. The saloon had been closed for the night and Mr. Willard had gone home. The fire had been banked for the night but in some way a blaze started from the place where the stove pipe passed through the second floor.
Once again, the people of Lake Ann rallied and the village survived and rebuilt.
Douglas Hotel fire
Soon after the fire, a large, elegant hotel opened in the center of town. The hotel, being across the tracks from the M. & N. E. Railroad depot, perhaps served as a destination for people coming on railroad excursions from Manistee or Traverse City. The hotel was close to the shore of Ann Lake and maintained a number of small boats for guests to use on the lake.
Sadly, in 1910 the Douglas Hotel burned to the ground. Fortunately, no one was injured but it was a great loss to the village. A Traverse City newspaper gave complete coverage:
THE EVENING RECORD TRAVERSE CITY, MICHIGAN, FRIDAY, MAY 13, 1910
HOTEL WAS DESTROYED
———–
LAKE ANN HAD A BAD FIRE THIS MORNING
———–
ALL GUESTS ESCAPED
———–
NORTH WIND SAVED THE REST OF VILLAGE
———–
Origin of the fire is unknown but it started in the roof – Loss on building is $2,500 with insurance of $1,200.
———–
Lake Ann, Mich. May 13. — The Hotel Douglas, the only all-year-round house in Lake Ann, was totally destroyed by fire at 6:00 o’clock this morning. The house was well filled with guests but all escaped, although some lost their personal belongings. The loss on the hotel is $2,500 with $1,200 insurance. The insurance on the contents is $1,200 but as some were saved, L. E. Knoedel, the landlord, is unable to give his loss.
The fire originated in the roof near where the two buildings came together. The alarm was quickly given and a bucket brigade was soon on the scene, the men doing very effective work. Fortunately, the wind was from the north, blowing the fire toward the lake, else it is very likely that the entire business street would have been destroyed. It was only by the great effort that the home of Dr. Shilliday and the house and store of S. S. Burnett were saved from destruction.
The fire spread very quickly and while many of the guests were still asleep when the alarm came, all got out fully dressed, although some left their baggage behind. In 10 minutes, the hotel was a heap of smoking ruins.
B. E. Smith’s residence and store
Another major fire happened in 1911. Although not as devastating as the fires of 1897 and 1902, it was significant and probably spectacular.
The following appeared in the April 14, 1911 Benzie Banner:
B. E. Smith’s residence and store were destroyed by fire Monday noon; it was nearly a total loss as only a small part of the contents were saved. Mr. Smith carried no insurance. The rest of the town was only saved by the heroic efforts of the Lake Ann bucket brigade as there were several buildings which caught fire.
Some recollections mention the explosions that occurred as the building burned. The large two-story building was a combination residence, blacksmith shop, livery and hardware store. As such, it no doubt contained hunting ammunition and black powder used for reloading gun shells and blasting tree stumps out of the ground.
Lake Ann’s Third Major Fire
The village of Lake Ann had not experienced its last major fire. The third fire did not destroy the business district, as had the first two big fires. The final fire to sweep through the town primarily burned homes. Once again we look to the newspapers for a compelling account of the conflagration.
Traverse City Record-Eagle, TRAVERSE CITY, MICHIGAN Friday April 12, 1918 Price – two cents
Conflagration Destroys Half of Lake Ann Village
BENZIE COUNTY VILLAGE
SUFFERS THIRD DISAS-
TER IN ITS HISTORY
—-
Ten Dwellings, a Church, Three Barns and a Cooperage Laid Low
—-
HalfthevillageofLakeAnnlies in charred ruins today, the result of a fire yesterday afternoon,that swept its course, leveling ten dwellings, the congregational church, three barns and the old cooperage.Nor did the flames stop their ravaging work until every particle of inflammable material in their path had been consumed.
The fire started in the A. Frazer residence, apparently from a defective chimney.Flames were not discovered until the fire was too well under-way that the roof was ready to fall in. A high northeast wind was howling and sparks and flames from the dwelling were carried to the next, and from that, on westward through the town.
Bucket brigades were formed, and farmers, who drove in from miles around, lent their assistance in battling the fire, but to no avail. The fire did not stop until it had exhausted the material, and the balance of the city was spared only because the wild wind did not change.
In spite of the fires that destroyed the town’s business district, Lake Ann survived. An article in the Traverse City Evening Record in 1907 gave evidence of this perseverance.
Lake Ann, Mich. Jan. 10 —Lake Ann was twice visited by disastrous fires. In fact, both conflagrations nearly destroyed the entire town and each time, before the ashes had cooled off, the business men of Lake Ann were planning for the reconstruction and after two hard struggles a pretty village full of life and spirit remains as a result of their perseverance and pluck.
This was just as true after the third fire in 1918 as it was after the second fire.
Lake Ann business district between 1902 and 1910.
The village lives on. Habbler’s store, which survived the last two fires, is now the bustling Lake Ann Grocery. S.S. Burnett’s store, rebuilt after the 1902 fire, is now the B & M Party Store and holds down the center of town. Huellmantel’s shoe store, also rebuilt after the 1902 fire, is now a busy restaurant, the Stone Oven. Two new businesses opened in 2014 (The Red Door and Lakeview Realty and Rental Management) and another is scheduled to open early in 2015.
The village of Lake Ann survived three nearly disastrous fires, outlived logging and the M&NE railroad. It continues, in its own way, as a busy, but laid-back, friendly center of activity for locals and tourists alike.
Richard Leary is an active volunteer at the Almira Historical Museum in Lake Ann. Leary is passionate about exploring and documenting the history of Almira Township, and finds inspiration equally in studying written records and in traversing the fields.
The first wildflowers of spring are Hepatica, Trailing Arbutus, and Spring Beauty. This year, Hepatica was the first to show a white (sometimes lavender) blossom that occasionally overtops last year’s maple and beech leaves on the forest floor. Growing nearby, Spring Beauty came next, its white, candy-striped petals attracting a few bees and flies for pollination. Trailing Arbutus blooms in an altogether different habitat, a forest of pine trees and oaks. It often conceals its fragrant white blooms underneath its tough, evergreen leaves.
Hepatica acutiloba, ca. 2003, image taken near Traverse City. Image provided by the author.
Hepatica is so interesting it deserves a full story by itself—that to appear in coming issues—so Spring Beauty and Trailing Arbutus will occupy us here. It is appropriate they are paired since they both figure in Native American legends about the return of spring. The following excerpt is taken from The Red Indian Fairy Book, published in 1917. Disregarding its somewhat racist title (Are Native Americans really “red”?), it tells the legend of the Spring Beauty, a story attributed to the Ojibwe (Chippewa).
Legend of the Spring Beauty
(Cbippewa)
An old man was sitting in his lodge, by the side of
a frozen stream. It was the end of Winter, the air
was not so cold, and his fire was nearly out. He
was old and alone. His locks were white with
age, and he trembled in every joint. Day after
day passed, and he heard nothing but the sound
of the storm sweeping before it the new-fallen
snow.
One day while his fire was dying, a handsome
young man entered the lodge. His cheeks were
red, his eyes sparkled. He walked with a quick,
light step. His forehead was bound with sweet-
grass, and he carried a bunch of fragrant flowers
in his hand.
“Ah, my Son,” said the old man, “I am happy
to see you. Come in. Tell me your adventures,
and what strange lands you have seen. I will tell
you my wonderful deeds, and what I can perform.
You shall do the same, and we will amuse each
other.”
The old man then drew from a bag a curiously
wrought pipe. He filled it with mild tobacco, and
handed it to his guest. They each smoked from
the pipe, and then began their stories.
Claytonia virginica (Spring Beauty), image taken ca. 2003, near Traverse City. Image provided by the author.
” I am Peboan, the Spirit of Winter/ said the
old man. ” I blow my breath, and the streams
stand still. The water becomes stiff and hard as
clear stone.”
“I am Seegwun, the Spirit of Spring,” answered
the youth. ” I breathe, and flowers spring up in
the meadows and woods.”
” I shake my locks,” said the old man, “and the
snow covers the land. The leaves fall from the
trees, and my breath blows them away. The birds
fly to the distant land, and the animals hide them
selves from the cold.”
” I shake my ringlets,” said the young man,
and the warm showers of soft rain fall upon the
Earth. The flowers lift their heads from the ground,
and the grass grows thick and green. My voice re
calls the birds, and they come flying joyfully from
the Southland. The warmth of my breath unbinds
the streams, and they sing the songs of Summer.
Music fills the groves wherever I walk, and all
Nature rejoices.”
And while they were thus talking, a wonderful
change took place. The Sun began to rise. Again
the warmth stole over the place. Peboan, the Spirit
of Winter, became silent. His head drooped, and
the snow outside the lodge melted away. Seegwun,
the Spirit of Spring, grew more radiant, and rose
joyfully to his feet. The Robin and the Bluebird
began to sing on the top of the lodge. The stream
murmured past the door, and the fragrance of open-
ing flowers came softly on the breeze.
The lodge faded away, and Peboan sank down
and dissolved into tiny streams of water, that van
ished under the brown leaves of the forest.
Thus the Spirit of Winter departed, and where
he melted away the Indian children gathered the
first blossoms, fragrant and delicately pink, the
modest Spring Beauty.
(The same story, this time with a beautiful maiden rather than a youth, has been told about the Trailing Arbutus. It has been attributed both to both the Iroquois and the Ojibwe traditions.)
The final paragraph was added to the story by the narrator of the legend—or so it seems to me. For one thing, Spring Beauties have no fragrance, at least as far as I can tell. They are not pink, but white with pink stripes, and their blossoms last for only a day or two. Who would want to pick them?
However, the whole plant might have been harvested for another purpose: eating. Underneath the soil—sometimes as deep as six inches—a corm guards the life of the plant when it is not growing. Sometimes nearly as large as a walnut, it is prized as a spring food for all who love the woods. Without the bitterness of other leaves and roots, it can be roasted or eaten raw. Considering their beauty, it is hard for me to dig up very many of them, but at a time before forests were cut down, they would have provided tribes with a plentiful food supply in early spring.
Spring Beauties stay above ground for only a few weeks. Before the canopy of the hardwood trees fills in to block the sun, they complete their life cycle, bearing flowers and developing fruit before disappearing in early summer. For ten months they sleep in the soil, only sending up shoots after the snow has melted. Like Squirrel Corn and Dutchman’s Breeches which grow in Northern Michigan hardwoods, it is described as an ephemeral, setting seed while the sun can still penetrate the leafy overstory. Their transitory nature makes them all the more dear to us.
Epigaea repens (Trailing Arbutus), image taken ca. 2003 near Traverse City. Image courtesy of the author.
Trailing Arbutus is an altogether different kind of plant. It’s tough leathery leaves persist year-to-year, hiding the fragrant white flowers beneath. They live in the pine forest, appearing on mossy banks, though I have seen them in wet places like the Skegemog Preserve. Because of their beauty, their refreshing comment on the change of seasons, and the rich green of their leaves, they were commonly ripped from the ground for decoration. Here is an article lamenting the destruction of Trailing Arbutus from the Record-Eagle dated 1923:
AGAIN PLEAD FOR ARBUTUS
Woman’s Club Pleads for Vine
Great Patches of Bloom Are rapidly Being Burned By Thoughtless Persons
Some time ago, when it seemed that spring might be coming, the Woman’s Club sent out a pleas to all seekers of wild flowers to use care in picking them so as not to disturb the roots.
Now that the Trailing Arbutus is in bloom this plea is again broadcasted.
To those who can remember back but a few years, the present feeble bloom of the spring’s loveliest flower, is a most pathetic thing. In the plots which have been picked over year after year the vine is disappearing. Instead of a blossom which rivaled the apple blossom in size, the arbutus has shrunk to a tiny flower on a short stem.
A pair of scissors would prevent this gradual disappearance of this typically Michigan vine. It is the constant pulling up by the roots which has made barren the great patches of arbutus which not long ago filled the pine woods, so the Woman’s Club urged all those seeking this spring flower to carry with them a small pair of scissors with which to clip the stems.
The article points out several things, both about the plant and about the times. It was formerly abundant and more prominent than now. From a blossom rivaling that of an apple blossom, it has “shrunk to a tiny flower on a short stem.” Edward Voss, in Michigan Flora, states that the flowers are often nearly hidden beneath the leaves—scarcely visible to wildflower aficionados. To those who decry the stripping of stems along with flowers, he offers the consolation that that stem and flowers emerge from a “stout, woody tap-rooted crown”, a hardy structure which may resist the savagery of collectors. Like the Spring Beauty (which is not related), the Trailing Arbutus seeds are distributed by ants which feast upon a food coat that surrounds the growing part of the seed.
I have never seen Trailing Arbutus with its stems held up high to display flowers as large as apple blossoms. Could it be that humans have gotten rid of that trait through genetic engineering? That is, by harvesting the largest blossoms did we drive evolution forward in the direction of smaller ones hidden under leaves? Clipped before they reproduce, the most showy flowers would not produce seed and would disappear over time–much as mowing has produced a variety of lawn weeds that complete their life cycles in dwarf form. It does not take DNA technology to change the gene make-up of organisms.
One more thing about the article: in 1923 the newspaper editor chose to publish an article warning about overharvesting a wildflower found in pine woods near the city of Traverse City. Would such an article be published today? I would argue, “No”, since nobody knows about Trailing Arbutus. By “nobody” I do exaggerate, but only by a little. In earlier times the people of Northern Michigan were more in touch with nature: they paid attention to wildflowers and the creatures that inhabited the land around them. Now it is an unusual person that can identify Trailing Arbutus, let alone consider picking it to brighten up the house. Our obsession with technological gadgets—our iPads and iPhones–has replaced our connection to nature, that shift working to preserve wildflowers. Not all components of modernity serve to attack nature—thank Heaven.
Spring Beauty and Trailing Arbutus, two very different plants that announce spring in Northern Michigan, give us a sense of community, a belongingness that join us all in nature, time, and place. We welcome them, however different they are, because they speak of the end of cold and ice, the beginning of warmth and harvest. Let us go out and look for them this month, but only to admire them, not to pick.
Richard Fidler is co-editor of the Grand Traverse Journal.
By Sam Buzzell, Third Place winner in the 2015 Bruce Catton Awards
After a long week of unrelenting snow and anticipation, it was finally a snow day. Our cousin was back from Rwanda for a few weeks, so we were eager to take the chance to spend the day with him. We ruled out sledding, our first choice activity, because of two feet of snow and ice that covered everything, and decided on climbing the Crater. In hindsight, this was probably the worst possible choice we could have made under the circumstances, because (1) the Crater is nearly 70 degree cliff covered in trees; (2) that slope is followed by another 70 degree cliff – at this time we would have to slide down because of the fore mentioned two feet of snow covered in ice. In all other aspects, it was a flawless plan.
Filled with high spirits and hot chocolate, we trudged across the field that separated us from the base of the Crater. As we walked, the weight of our boots forced us through the ice to the powdery snow beneath, with cracks that echoed through the silent forest like gunshots. After fifteen minutes of this, we reached the base of the slope and started climbing.
We started up the Crater with vigor, silent only because we were all out of breath. Since climbing the gargantuan hill without using the protruding trees as leverage was impossible, we did so, making slow and tedious progress. Every now and then, we would stop and stare at the terrifying stretch of cliff beneath us, and then at the even more terrifying stretch above. This became a pattern, until after ten minutes of climbing – we caught our first glimpse of the summit.
Our pace renewed, we reached the top in a flash – at least I did. When I say reached the top, I mean I came within five feet of it – until, suddenly, the ice started to grow more resistant to my weight. This was problematic, because the extreme angle of the slope, accompanied by the wall of dark trees, accented with the bright coats of my sister and cousin about twenty feet below me. This didn’t bother me at the time, so I kept climbing. This decision caused some problems, evident as I lifted my handtograb the sharp ridge.
My feet started to slip; finding no purchase on the hard ice beneath them, I had nothing to hold onto as I fell back, no trees, except for the ones I was about to hit twenty feet down the slope. The glare of the sun reflecting off the ice blinded me as I picked up speed. The only indication of my location was coming from the shouts of my sister somewhere to the left, or right, or maybe up. My freefall ended abruptly with a hard impact followed by several waves of crashing snow.
I sat up, dazed, watching as the remainder of the snow slid off of the branches in small spirals. Everything was quiet for a moment; the silence was broken after a few seconds by a long bout of laughter from my sister. I looked around, trying to pinpoint the noise, and fell even farther down the slope, sending her into even more hysterics, and me into a snowbank.
I pulled myself out, laughing, and climbed up to where she and my cousin stood shaking hysterically with badly suppressed smiles. We made our way back down the slope and walked across the field to the house.
Congratulations to Sam Buzzell for his excellent essay, and his third place finish! We look forward to reading more from Sam.
Grand Traverse Journal will also publish the second place winner’s essay in the June issue, and the first place winner’s essay in the July issue.
Like Sherlock Holmes, historians are on the prowl for interesting cases. At times they cry out with enthusiasm, “The game’s afoot!” when they discover something that engages their attention so completely that it overrides their sense of public presence. So it was when I came upon the following article from the Morning Record, dated June 15, 1899:
Strange Phenomenon
Power Island, March 24, 2015. The island has carried several monikers, listed here in roughly chronological order: Hog, Harbor (or Harbour), Marion, Ford, and now Power.
The annual explosion in the bay, opposite the G.R. & I depot occurred Monday. The water boiled furiously for several minutes and finally burst into the air with considerable force raising a large body of water about four feet above the surface. These submarine disturbances have been a mystery for many years and as yet no explanation has been made to account for the disturbances. The gushing of the water was observed by several persons yesterday.
Lucille Zoulek’s index to local newspapers indicated another article upon the same subject thirteen days later. It gave even more details:
Boiling Again
There was another submarine explosion on the bay yesterday east of the G.R. & I depot. The water was thrown into the air about 20 feet and the commotion was vigorous and continued several minutes. Some persons in a boat chanced to be over the spot at the time and they had a lively time for a few minutes. This is the third eruption of the kind this season.
The G.R. & I depot was located near the water where the Boardman River empties into the Bay. In the first account, the water boiled and burst four feet high, but in the second, it shot up some twenty feet high. Indeed, boat passengers nearby would have a lively time of it. This was not a trivial rise of the water which occurs as a result of different air pressures on the Lake basin, but was something far more dramatic.
Questions arise like the bubbles of the furious bay: Was the account true? Was it accurate? Had such eruptions been observed in the past—or afterwards? Did they occur at the same time of year? And, finally, what causes them? Most troubling to this historian is the bare fact that he is neither a geologist nor a student of the phenomena of the Great Lakes. Still, there is the love of seeking out answers, a curiosity that grabs you by the neck and pushes you forward. “The game is afoot!”
The first article indicated the phenomenon had been observed “for many years.” The first thing to do would be to locate other articles that could give new locations, new times of year the eruptions occurred, and new descriptions that might shed light on its nature. A fellow historian searched not the deepest recesses of the state archives, but the deepest recesses of the internet. She turned up the following account recorded in the Jackson Citizen-Patriot, August, 1883:
In Grand Traverse bay recently, at some distance out in deep water, between Traverse City and Marion Island, the water began to boil and surge, and presently rose in vast jets to the height of from 10 to 20 feet. Being observed from the shore no details could be given on account of the distance, but the same thing had taken place years before and some two years ago, according to an account given by the Herald at that time, parties in a boat were so nearly on the spot that they were obliged to hasten out of its way. They describe the water as apparently boiling from the very bottom of the bay, which in that place was nearly or quite one hundred feet deep, bringing up with it vast quantities of mud and other substances and emitting an intensely unpleasant sulphurous smell. The area of the eruption, if it may be so called, was about twenty feet in diameter and the time about half an hour. At intervals the water would subside into calmness and then the commotion would begin again. It is said by old settlers that the same thing has occurred in other years. The disturbance is always in a line between Traverse City and the island. It is well known by old residents that there are places in the bay where salt water springs bubble up through the water, in the neighborhood of the island. It is possible there are submarine openings of other descriptions, either volcanic or otherwise. It is know to scientific men that there is a tract of country on the eastern shore of Michigan, in the neighborhood of Thunder bay directly across the state from Grand Traverse bay, where slight earthquakes are frequent, and in fact the bay was named by the Indians from the rumbling noise that from time to time was heard in the interior of the earth. It is possible that the tidal waves, as well as Traverse bay disturbances, may arise from volcanic action as a common cause, and all newspaper readers are well aware that there has never been a time within the memory of the present generation when the earth seemed to be in such a state of internal agitation as at the present, many of the known volcanoes of the world being in active eruption, now ones breaking out where none were known before, and earthquake shocks, both slight and severe, frequent in every part of the world.
This eruption was in August! So they do not always occur in June. The location was somewhat different: Marion Island (now known as Power island) is some distance from the city. However, upsurges and boilings occur along a line that runs from Traverse City to the island. Would that imply an underwater seam of rock exists there? Could that suggest a cause?
This eruption occurred in a deep part of the Bay at a place “more than a hundred feet deep.” Furthermore, it sent up mud to discolor that water and emitted a “sulphurous smell,” an observation that set the editor to wondering if volcanic activity might be responsible. At a time before plate tectonics and fault lines were understood, that suggestion was reasonable: after all, weren’t volcanoes like Vesuvius erupting all over the Earth? Krakatoa was making ominous rumblings, though it’s eruption would occur later in August. In the light of our present knowledge about volcanoes and earthquakes we reject the likelihood of volcanic activity so close to home. There must be another explanation for event.
This book is available for inspection at TADL, Woodmere Branch in our Nelson Room collection, or online at http://hdl.handle.net/2027/hvd.32044082044298.
Once again, my historian friend comes to the rescue: she sends me a link to Alexander Winchell’s, A Report on the Geological and Industrial Resources of the Counties of Antrim, Grand Traverse, Benzie and Leelanaw in the Lower Peninsula of Michigan, printed in 1866. On page 59 a clue jumps from the page that helps me to understand the cause of the “strange phenomenon” upon the bay.
The well authenticated existence of an ancient salt spring on the neck of land connecting Harbor (Hog) island (now, Marion or Power island) with the peninsula, I should regard as a confirmation of this opinion [that the salt/gypsum layer found in SE Michigan should be found elsewhere in the lower Peninsula] since, if a fissure existed in the overlapping rocks, the brine would tend to rise by hydrostatic pressure, as an artesian boring. Deacon Dame of Northport, one of the oldest residents of the region, has furnished me with detailed information which seems to fully authenticate the current tradition relative to the former existence of this spring.
Winchell is saying that a layer of salt water lies trapped between two layers of rock in a manner that reminds him of rock formations in southeastern Michigan. The liquid is under pressure and, if rock layers are exposed, it will come out to make a saltwater spring. I wonder: if a wider fissure in the overlying rocks occurred, wouldn’t the brine jet out to form a fountain twenty feet high? Is the cause of boiling and surging due to the sudden release of pressure as an underwater seam of rock opens?
If only observers back then had tested the water for salt! Asking them to taste it would have been more than anyone should ask. I predict it would be salty, perhaps so salty nearby fish would have been killed. At any rate, the salt springs found locally could be linked to the eruptions in the bay.
The mystery of surging bay water has been ignored for most of the twentieth century because it was not observed over that period of time: I have been unable to find further descriptions of it after 1899. Why has the bay been so quiet over the past hundred years? I do not know, but I would like to find out. Are there geologists out there who would like to participate in this investigation? Goodness knows—there are tons of questions to be answered.
Richard Fidler is co-editor of Grand Traverse Journal.
An ornate lightning rod appears in Traverse City on a building that was formerly a church. It now serves a different function entirely. Do our readers know on what building or street this lightning rod can be found?
This article appeared in The Evening Record on March 13, 1906:
Many were on rollers
Auditorium was crowded last evening
Old and young alike took part in the fun- twelve piece orchestra furnished music
For three hours last evening 200 people shod on skates with slippery rollers fitted fore and aft, slewed, slipped, fell, tumbled and rolled upon the white solid flooring of the new auditorium to the tune of a grand march played by a twelve-piece band stationed in the corner far out of harms way. A general feeling of good will pervaded the atmosphere and if a sprawler insisted on sprawling, friendly hands placed him on his feet or gathered him together and sat him gently down on seats provided. Sometimes the greater energy was expended in attempting to do nothing, or in other words, it more often took a greater amount of energy to stand still than it did to go some. As long as motion was kept up, direction didn’t count.
The number on the floor during the entire evening was probably 150, as the 150 pairs of skates were in use the entire evening while the crowds were constantly coming and going.
Roller skating, which will prove from now on to be the popular sport of the city as it has become a fad throughout the country, is exhilarating and easily accomplished. There were many in attendance last evening who had had previous instruction in the art and those materially assisted the new recruits.
Postcard image courtesy from the personal collection Julie Schopieray.
Some of the beginners, however, showed remarkable proficiency. “Mickey” McManus felt at home as soon as he got on the rollers and did some fancy skating which was looked upon with wonder by those whose feet wouldn’t stay where they put them. Andy Hermuth gave some high dive exhibitions which were greatly appreciated. As soon as every one had laughter at him until they were tired, he straightened up and skated as well as he pleased. The rollers got even in the end, though, by depositing him in a graceful heap. Jens Petersen was also new to the game but after a little practice in the corner got along so well that in a short time he was able to skate backwards. W.W. Fairchild said that he was a beginner but didn’t skate like it. John Ashton no more than got them on until he was at home as much as though he were on ice, while Don Cameron also did it very gracefully. Ben Montague had some difficulty with a number of the turns, but before the gong rang for 10 o’clock was an old hand. Pete Nay and Mart Winnie joined forces and between the two managed to conquer the pesky things. Frank Meads was very busy during the evening and found some surprises but didn’t make any holes in the floor. Albert Haskell was among the graceful ones and Dell Schuter did so well that he held a place as an assistant instructor.
There were a number of ladies on the floor, part of the time, the rest of the time they were on their feet. For the most part, they picked up the art very readily and among the crowd on the floor, there were several that vied with the sterner sex for the honors. Some, however, described many gymnastic evolutions before they managed to conquer their slippery steeds and many, after they had shed their skates, still walked as though they were on rollers.
It is announced that Thursday afternoon will be reserved for ladies while a Saturday morning from 9:30 till 11:30 will be given over to children who are not allowed in the auditorium during any other session during the week.
Thanks to Julie Schopieray for submitting this article for republication in Forgotten Stories. Schopieray is a regular contributor to GTJ.
Bruce Catton, the Pulitzer Prize-winning author born and raised in Benzonia, graduated from the Benzonia Academy in 1916. Nearly one-hundred years later, students from the Frankfort High School class of 2016 have written essays about their experiences and observations, in the style of Catton. Their essays will be read aloud in dramatic fashion at the Mills Community House, Benzonia, on April 8th at 7:30pm. The best essay will win the 9th annual Bruce Catton Historical Awards, coordinated by Kay Bos.
Bruce Catton’s Presidential Medal of Freedom Award, on display at the Mills Community House. Photograph courtesy of the author.
The Pulitzer Prize that Bruce Catton won is on display at the Benzie Area Historical Museum, across the street from the Mills Community House on the hill in Benzonia where Catton grew up. The Presidential Medal of Freedom that was given to him by Gerald Ford is also displayed there. But most important are the copies of his book, “Waiting for the Morning Train,” that are in the library for students to read.
“Waiting for the Morning Train” is Catton’s memoir about growing up in Benzie County. It was written after he had served as a war correspondent in WWI and written books on the Civil War. Catton’s book, “A Stillness at Appomattox,” won the Pulitzer and has been widely read by people all over the world. It helped our Nation come to grips with the bloody Civil War.
There is no one waiting at the train station in downtown Beulah at the moment. It has been over 50 years since The Frankfort and Southeastern Railroad has passed by, let alone stopped to pick up a passenger. Catton describes in “Waiting,” that the Catton Family rode the Pere Marquette Railroad to the depot in Thompsonville. From there they could change to the Chicago and West Michigan or the Ann Arbor . Riding the “Ping Pong” to Frankfort, the Cattons could board ferryboats to points West such as Manitowoc, Wisconsin. In all, a much slower-paced traveling experience than we have today.
Bruce Catton, ca. 1960s. Image courtesy of Library of Congress.
Catton’s writing gives powerful images of life in Northern Michigan a century ago. While describing the idyllic life in Benzonia he shows how life and the land have changed. One big change was the arrival of the first car that drove up and stopped at a baseball game in Beulah. All the baseball players stopped to watch the car.
Concerning the land, fewer industries had an impact on Benzie County like the lumber industry. The sawdust from the mills covered the streams and smothered the fish spawning grounds. In “Waiting,” Catton wrote, “Despite his disclaimers, Man stands at the center of the Universe. It was made for him to use and the best and wisest are those who use it most. They destroy pine forests, dig copper mines and run open pits, impoverishing themselves at the same time they are enriching themselves: creating wealth, in short, by the act of destruction”.
Dave Jackson, teacher, and his model Ignatius, with history students of Frankfort High School. Year-long preparation for the Catton Awards can be exhausting, but Ignatius is always present to provide encouragement. Photograph courtesy of the author.
American History teacher Dave Jackson and English teacher Rebecca Hubbard have taught about Bruce Catton and his place in the cannon of American Writers. Frankfort Juniors are urged to write about their experiences in Benzie County, and luckily are able to follow in Catton’s footsteps, both literally and literarily. The Betsie and Platte Rivers flow near the student’s houses. The points at which the rivers meet Lake Michigan are places the students gather. Catton changed our Nation with his writing and so can students in the class of 2016.
The youthful experiences of Bruce Catton informed his later writing, and we can all benefit from his insights on Nature and War. Youths growing up in Northern Michigan today can view the world through the Benzie prism as Bruce Catton once did. Frankfort student Casey Aldrich wrote about her adventure to the Clay pits and a stop at Franny’s Follies, and her classmate Bret Zimmerman left shore to troll the deep waters of Lake Michigan and returned with ten salmon over twenty pounds.
Catton did leave Benzonia after graduating and stated: “There was nothing to do but grow up; We could take our time about it. Let the morning train come whenever it chose. We could board at the proper time with confidence.”
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”. This is McFerran’s first contribution to Grand Traverse Journal.
Poplar Point, from a Google Earth overhead image captured in 2014. Image capture courtesy of the author.
From the late 1890s through the 1920s, a lovely, pine-covered parcel of land on the east side of Boardman Lake was the most popular picnic spot in the Traverse City area. Poplar Point was located about half way down the length of the lake near what was then a sparsely inhabited area called Boonville, just west of what is now Woodmere Avenue, between Carver and Boon streets.
Picture postcard courtesy of the author.
Poplar Point was a perfect spot for people to enjoy a day on the lake. Being a much smaller body of water, Boardman Lake was a safer option than the bay for swimming or enjoying small watercraft– rowboats, sailboats and even human-powered paddle boats. The small point jutting into the lake was an isolated spot to sail, row or drive to and made for a perfect picnic site. Although it didn’t have what you’d call a bathing beach, it had a small dock for boats to pull up to or for someone to fish from.
Photograph postcard courtesy of the History Center of Traverse City.
In the 1890s, picnickers could reach Poplar Point by horse and buggy, their own boat, or by hiring John Boon’s steam launch Ada which would take passengers from the Cass Street bridge to Poplar Point. The Ada sank in the river in 1897, but a few years later another entrepreneur, a boat builder named Arthur R. McManus, built a 30-foot launch and named it Elf. McManus lived at 406 E. 8th St., about where Boardman Ave. ends at 8th Street. Right out his back door was the Boardman River where he built a dock. In the summer of 1907, McManus started daily boat service with the Elf plying both the lake and river. He also had boats for hire and would deliver fishermen to their favorite spots along the lake. Fare to Poplar Point and back was ten cents.
Advertisement for McManus’ “Elf”, from the Traverse City “Evening Record”, recorded by the author.
During the summer and warm fall months, Poplar Point was where church groups, clubs, and families gathered for outings, and where businesses held their employee picnics. In the 1890s, a baseball field was established on the flat land above the picnic grounds, and many a summer day was spent by people enjoying a friendly game of baseball between teams made up of employees from the various businesses in town– Oval Wood Dish, T.C. Canning, Hannah & Lay, and the Refrigerator plant. Other teams that regularly played at the point were the East Side Hustlers, the Peach Basket Makers (of the basket factory), the Bulldogs, Pierce’s Corn Huskers, and Layfayette’s Colts. In addition, teams came in from outlying towns like Acme, Almira and Fouch to play against the locals. Other activities included challenging games of tug-of war, three-legged races and egg races. A small pavilion provided a place to dance and sometimes a band would be brought in to play for an event.
In a 1957 article, Record Eagle writer Jay Smith reminisced about picnics at Poplar Point:
Most of the picnickers went to Poplar Point with their own horses and buggies, and they tethered their nags to the trees up on the flat and carried the picnic baskets down the steep slope to the picnic ground. Then there were buses which took loads from down town to the picnic grounds for a dime each way.
In another article, Smith remembers the Elf:
If you really wanted a thrilling boat ride, you should have taken a trip on the Elf. The Elf was a naptha launch which carried passengers from the east end of East Eighth street bridge to Poplar Point and back. Its home port was the dock in back of Art McManus’ house at the east end of the bridge…The Elf carried about twenty passengers or less and had a canopy top…The Elf tore along at a speed of four of five miles per hour and the trip each way took a half hour. It was a busy ship when there were baseball games at the point or Sunday school picnics.
McManus ran the Elf at least through 1910 (no newspaper mention of the boat after that year), and continued his boat livery business for several years after. Perhaps by that time, demand for the boat transportation was starting to diminish, though picnics at the point were still common. By the late 1920s, popularity of the point had faded, although it is believed the picnic grounds continued to be used by locals until the Parts Manufacturing established its plant on the land in 1939.
During his boatbuilding career, McManus worked with another skilled boat builder, Claude E. Finch. About 1906, boat making had become a small industry in town, with several companies already established to fill a need for locals who desired a boat to enjoy on the lake, bay and river. The partnership of McManus & Finch dissolved in 1906 when Finch became ill with tuberculosis and could no longer work. Both men had established reputations as the builders of quality boats, even though other boat builders were doing business on a larger scale than McManus–among them, Victor Montague, Irving Murray and Chris Thielgard [Telgard].
McManus was well known in town as the popular operator of a popcorn stand on the corner of Front St. and Cass St. during the summer months. He passed away in early 1918, at the age of 63. Just four years later, his wife Anna was tragically killed when she walked into path of an oncoming train just two blocks from her home.
Julie Schopieray is a local historian and writer. She is currently working on a project concerning Jens C. Petersen, a Traverse City architect who practiced in this city from the early 1900s to 1918.
From an original interview by Brenda Kay Wolfgram Moore in Kingsley, Michigan, undated. Webster added memories in an interview with Peter Newell, November 12, 2014.
This month’s “Celebrate the People” honors Floyd Webster, historian of the village of Kingsley since 1952, whose countless hours of work in that volunteer role has developed in to the local history collections held at the Kingsley Branch Library. Webster’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.
Melvina and me at our wedding and San Antonio where we honeymooned. Venice could not have been more beautiful than my bride in San Antonio. Pictures are from my album.
In August 1942, I enlisted in the Army in Traverse City, Michigan. Before my next birthday, unimaginable life changing events happened. Not only would I get married and travel with the Army throughout the eastern United States, but also see terrible devastation throughout most of northwestern Europe. A few days later, I went to Fort Custer in Battle Creek, and soon boarded a train to Chicago. I had rarely ventured far from Kingsley, Michigan and now I was receiving Army training in Chicago, Illinois, where, one day, I happened to be eating at a Wimpie’s restaurant. At a table by myself and being only one of several customers dressed in uniform, I was conspicuous. Finally, a young man, about my age, introduced himself and we began to talk. Gerald Putnam and I formed a friendship and later he introduced me to his sister, Melvina Putnam, whom I would soon be courting.
After Chicago, I continued by train to Little Rock, Arkansas for further training. I weighed 117 pounds, my back pack 109 pounds, so if I had to shoot a bazooka, it would knock me on my butt. Appearing too lightweight for the infantry, I began my training in the renamed Chemical Corps that was attached to the Army Air Corps. Because “Chemical Warfare Service” seemed a bit too harsh after the WWI experience, it was renamed Chemical Corps.
I was being trained to decontaminate troops after being exposed to poisonous gases like cyanide and mustard. The enemy could drop or spray it anywhere to quietly settle over the troops so it was on them before they even noticed it was there. If it soaked into their clothes they might as well forget it. Any kind of gas, mustard, hydrogen, cyanide—there were lots of choices, that could be used for different situations. Though my mask was easy to use, it was bulky and tiresome to always carry over my shoulder.
San Antonio, February 19, 1943. Pictures are from my album.
Later that year, I left Little Rock heading for the Putnam home in Chicago to be with Melvina before my transfer to Duncan Field in San Antonio, Texas. After corresponding with me a few months Melvina completed her beautician training and came to San Antonio looking for a position in a beauty shop so we could be closer together. Melvina and I were married February 19, 1943 close to Fort Alamo Riverside Baptist Church. A few weeks after our wedding, Melvina went home to Chicago to live with her sister Pearl.
At the same time, a train transported me and my company to Hampton Roads, Virginia, which was a main hub during both world wars for movement of millions of troops over seas. From there, our ship joined the main convoy off Newfoundland and left for Europe. Over twenty thousand men on nine Liberty Ships left at night. For the next twelve days all we saw was water. I was never a sailor and was really sick at the rail. Still, after days on board the ship, I could not stay below without throwing up. One of the officers noticed and took me above deck to the gunner’s nest and told me to sit in the swivel chair and watch for anything strange in the water. When we reached Gibraltar, we waited for the rest of the convoy to catch up. Our huge convoy entered the most dangerous waters off the coast of Europe. One night, while on watch duty between Gibraltar and England, I saw one of our tankers blown to pieces by a torpedo that must have been launched by a German submarine.
When we reached the English Channel, it was mined and only the British knew the safe passage to the harbor and in order to not be blown up, all the ships in the convoy waited to be piloted through the mine field. While in England, I and my company were assigned to live in the South Hampton area of Stanstead, Essex, England, where we received more training in chemicals like lewisite and hydrogen sulfide. We, in turn, would be teaching it to other allied companies.
My training in detection was mainly defensive and never included how to offensively use poison gas, but I had to know how it was dispersed. The first part of detection training was simple: learn how to crawl through a field strung with wire to the suspected poisoned area, crawl underneath it for 30 or 40 feet on hands and knees, mostly on hands, and prepare to holler, “All is clear.” And hope like hell I was right. If I was wrong, I would probably die as soon as I loosened my mask. Of course, training was a little more complicated than that, because I would have had testing equipment and been with a squad of men to analyze the air content before giving the “All is clear.” After each exercise that was really a test of endurance, I would go back to camp, take a bath, and sit around with 50 or 60 troops joking and laughing, where many off color taunts were tossed about. The ancient taunt, “Do you know what your wife is doing back home?” still caused trouble in 1944. I heard it many times and it was sure to cause a fight between young men who missed their wives and family. Usually their friends would break it up before any great harm was done.
My American Red Cross coupon, good for chow anywhere in Belgium, Luxembourg, France, or Germany was one of the most important documents in my possession and gave credence to “The army travels on its stomach.” Used mostly for meals while traveling, it could even be used to figure exchange rates between those countries. My buddies and I often went on trips near London for lunch, where I, more than once, joined the Brits in bomb shelters during German air raids. On a trip outside London, I saw a girl dressed in army clothing. This was strange to me as I had not seen a girl dressed like that before. I asked her what her uniform meant and she said that she was part of the British Land Army. She and other women did the farm work while the men were at the front. We visited Piccadilly Square, and once even went to Buckingham Palace and stood at the front gate where we saw Princess Margaret when she was about seven years old. She waved at us from one of the upper windows, and we all waved back back just before Princess Elizabeth appeared and took Margaret away from the window. It is nice to remember that moment.
We left England for the Cherbourg (Cotentin) Peninsula on D-Day. Our forces landed at Omaha Beach about three miles west of St. Lo, France on June 6, 1944. British, Canadians, and Australians each had their own landing sites in order to engage German forces from as many directions as possible. When my ship arrived at Omaha Beach, we were looking at countless ships, landing crafts, barges, and many downed planes. Army landing crafts were making countless trips ferrying personnel across rough surf stirred up by all the wind and activity. On D-day plus 2, my company of the Chemical Corps, was among the last of the invasion force to hit shore. Unless poison gas was suspected, ferrying infantry into the landing zone and the wounded back out to the hospital ships in front of us was highest priority. From on board ships we watched while men were fighting above a high embankment with mortar flying around them while German shelling continued on top of the hill. Germans used some wooden bullets that splintered when they hit and did a lot of damage. I brought some of these bullets home with me.
When I waded ashore, there was some enemy fire, so I thanked God it was fairly dark. The sky was still light enough to reveal a dead civilian entangled in some wire about 20 feet above the ground. I am still haunted by that sight, wondering how in hell he wound up in that mess. Did he jump off the cliff to avoid enemy fire, or what? I never found out, but it sticks in my mind. A few minutes later, someone from a completely different unit spoke to me. He recognized me and said, “Fancy meeting you here.” It was one of the Schumckal boys from Hannah, which is only five miles from Kingsley. I was so surprised to see him, I only said, “The bastards are up there. See Ya,–or not.” That is all we said to each other and I never saw him again.
There was still a lot of firing above us and Sargent Jerry Lord said, “I hope they are shooting at each other and not us.” We had nothing but our detection equipment to fight with, but I wouldn’t have minded throwing my gas mask at them. My company marched to St. Lo after it was secured. Fighting had been furious even before my company landed at Normandy.
We were at St. Lo until well into July, 1944. While there, my training continued with officers and a few other enlisted men. The officers, looking like they were sixteen, were supposed to know everything. While looking for someone to lead the group in training, my buddies recommended me to conduct classes. In most sessions, an officer would say, “Could we have Private First Class Webster step forward?
I often said to my friend, “They must be in love with me.”
After the supervisor, a major or some other rank, assigned me to teach, I usually started by saying something like, “Good afternoon officers, gentlemen, Colonel Bradford.” There were a lot of things that I wanted to say like “Sure glad you’re overweight,” even though they were guys like you and me. But I got up there and said, ”Colonel,” there was a swath of officers, “I probably can’t tell you any more about chemical warfare than you already know, because your training has been much the same as mine.” It’s here where I say, “ Chemical Corps started because—Karl (a pseudonym for Hitler and all the German people), being the bright man that he is, he might, one day, want to fight in a different way. So I am going to take you through this and if you have questions to ask, ask them and if I know the answer, I’ll tell you. If I don’t know the answer, then neither of us will know. “
You need a little wise crack in now and then. It makes it better. I had to tread lightly. Those guys were Lieutenants, Majors, Colonels, and here I was a private first class trying not to make them feel that I thought I was smarter than they were.
Image of St. Lo after conflict. Image made publicly available by the German Federal Archive, Bundesarchiv, Bild 146-1994-035-17 / Vennemann / CC-BY-SA [CC BY-SA 3.0 de (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/de/deed.en)], via Wikimedia Commons.The infantry kept the Germans from breaking through our lines and forcing us back into the water, but our location seemed to be the focal point of the fighting for the British, French, and Canadians were all converging there to force the Germans out of the hedgerows and back to Paris. My specialized training held me in reserve, while others in my company had similar assignments in England, Belgium, and Germany, just in case the Germans used liquid blistering agents like lewisite or other gases. We waited for the order which never came to “Come forward and test.” In that event we knew that the worst had happened. A terrible agent may have wiped out a whole regiment of troops and thousands of civilians. Thank God, the army was not attacked with chemicals and never ordered to use them but they had many ready for deployment as did the Italians, Germans, and Japanese. I found out years later that the only place we were close to using chemical weapons was at The Battle of Tarawa in late November 1943. If that had happened, the enemy would have done the same and the death toll would have much worse when, nine months later, our troops stormed ashore at Omaha Beach and a month after that at the Battle of the Bulge (our command called it “The Ardennes Counteroffensive”).
Some of my company left for Liege, Belgium on the Red Ball Line Highway when the Battle of the Bulge began. Word finally came that I, and what was left of my company, were to leave St. Lo after a short stay at Le Havre, and then on to Camp Chesterfield in Aachen, Germany after it had been taken in the Battle of Aachen on October 21, 1944. While there, in November, I had numerous colds, but no one knows what brought it on besides the cold and windy weather. I became weaker and weaker until even standing guard duty became difficult. I must have let the winter weather and constant cold get the best of me. I do not remember quite how I came to be discovered half under a parked vehicle, but I was soon recognized and someone acknowledged that I wasn’t a drunk. An officer soon took me to see a doctor who diagnosed me with double pneumonia. The doctor also found severe irritations in my nasal and pharyngeal passages. It seemed strange that my symptoms mimicked the effects of benzyl bromide, one of the many poisons that I was sent to detect. Headquarters sent me to recuperate at the 114th Hospital in Echternach, Luxembourg, just south of the German boarder. My recovery was slow, so when most of my company left to support other groups in the Pacific Theater to fight the Japanese, I was left behind.
While at the 114th, enlisted men such as myself, often ate with officers at the chow hall. One day, I met a colonel whose name was Neil Brownson. We were really surprised to see each other as Neil was the son of Doctor Jay and Effie Brownson. Neil had also grown up in Kingsley in the big white house just north of the present day bank building and after the war went on to practice medicine at Munson Hospital.
For a short time, while still recovering from pneumonia, I was sent back near St. Lo to stay at Shad Coterie Chateau. Not far from St. Lo and near Caen, France, I was able to do some sight-seeing. There was a small cemetery nearby that had a recent burial site, oddly separated from the rest of the sites by four low walls of stones. The only information available was that an enlisted man was purposely buried apart from any other servicemen. He had decided that he wanted out of the service and refused any alternative assignments—even a rear-echelon position. When he and his squad were sent on a forward reconnaissance, he attempted to surrender to advancing Germans. His squad was quickly overrun and most of the men were killed. His burial was kept separate due to his dishonor.
Other men disappeared like a young fellow that my buddy and I were in charge of after he shot his Sergeant. We were ordered to settle him in a cold tent with little warmth, but we later supplied him with blankets. Before he was scheduled to ship home to be tried for murder, we let him loose to be free to go to chow and walk around camp. He asked for us before he was taken away. My officer said, “Don’t forget. This is war. A lot of things happen in war. Records will probably show, ‘He died in war’”.
When I had recovered enough to be able to work inside, my main assignment was to The Postal Service, for the rest of the war. The Chemical Corps still claimed me for short durations as a student or as a trainer.
It is hard for me to retrace my experiences and various locations in Europe after 69 years. My rear-echelon work in Europe had no fixed locations or duty assignments even during battles because: 1.The services peculiar to the Chemical Corps were not in demand. 2. Our company personnel were loaned out to other units helping in any way we could. 3. In addition to varied duties, we attended chemical decontamination classes, and each one of us shuttled at least once between England and mainland Europe. 4. Unless hospitalized, people, like myself in physical recovery, trailed a few days behind each allied advancement through France, Luxembourg, Belgium, Germany, and Austria.
Late in 1945, prisoners were treated with less suspicion as they were glad to be out of battle, had food to eat and a dry place to sleep. While stationed at Kassel, which is about half-way through Germany, we were in charge of German prisoners. Whatever the officers wanted, prisoners would run and fetch it as they were happy to be out of the midst of the battle. In early May 1945, I followed the advance into Austria while still filling in as part of The Postal Service. One morning, just outside our camp I saw what looked like a whole army. There were thousands of men and I thought, “I hope they are not surrendering. If they are, how in hell are we going to feed that many?” Tanks and other armored vehicles came with them. They wore the strangest looking uniforms that I have ever seen. Some had big fancy tall decorations on their helmets and short skirts. We wondered, “How do they expected to stay warm dressed like that?” They did not understand us and one spoke in Italian, while others pantomimed that they needed more food.
A fence soon separated them from us and we were warned to keep our distance from them, but we asked if they wanted some of our rations of stew and bread. They held their hands out like they didn’t know what it was we were asking. We hollered back, “Stew”. We must have looked imposing, while they must have mistook “Stew” for a command unknown to us, because a huge avenue quickly formed through their ranks. They were most grateful when we tossed stew soaked bread over the fence instead of opening fire on them. One of our officers asked for an Italian interpreter and a man came forward and was told that they hadn’t eaten in three days. Word went out to the nearby village that more food supplies were needed which were soon brought for them. Lousy, starving, and not clothed for the weather, they were in horrible shape. After they had eaten, we watched as their clothes were burned, they were hosed down, deloused and re-clothed with army fatigues that had “POW” printed on the backs. I have often wondered how the supposedly Italians traveled from their battle front with all those strange uniforms. Were they really Italians forced to fight for the Nazi’s or were they Germans that changed their clothing for any uniform they could find hoping to hide their true identity? Why did they respond so strangely to our shouted word, “Stew”? Our command never gave us any information about who they were.
On May 7, 1945, I was reading a letter from Mrs. Dorothy Wood, the mother of a school chum, Bill Wood, whom often wrote me most welcome messages of news from home. An army buddy burst in with the news, “Well the war is over here, now we are soon off to Japan.” Three days later, I was called into the camp office and as I was walking to the door, I thought, “Well here we go to Japan.”
Seated was a major who said, “How are you , soldier?”
“Okay. A little weak, but okay.” I said.
Jerry Lord is the big guy on the right. The photo was damaged somehow in the last 69 years—he really had a nose.
He said, “Well we have here a statement from Supreme Headquarters Allied Forces Europe , that you are married, have a child, have been awarded four service medals each for the four battles in which you have been involved: Normandy Invasion, St. Lo, Aachen, and The Ardennes Counteroffensive. You have earned enough points with three years served—we are sending you home instead of the Pacific. You and most of your company will ‘Step Aside’.” Those words were never more welcome. I said my goodbyes to my buddies and especially my good friend, Jerry Lord, before I left. We shook hands for the last time. Months later, I went looking for him and found out that after the war, he was transferred to Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan, but his plane went missing somewhere over our home state. It seemed a hell of a way to die after going through the whole war. To this day, losing my buddy, is still my most painful memory of the war.
I put my duffel bag over my shoulder, got on the truck, and left for Camp Chesterfield, Holland. Traveling through Germany in 1945 by train with more than 140 box cars day and night, all you could see was devastation of that country. We finally arrived in La Harve on the coast of France and left for the USA. We did not stop in England, just the same journey in reverse of my trip over there—eleven days of water, water, and more water, but what a great sight was the Statue of Liberty all lit up in the New York Harbor. The band was playing while I stood on the deck with my mouth hanging open.
A few days later, I left by train for Chicago to meet my wife and son, Dennis. I had learned of his birth when on leave in France. My brother-in-law and sister, Ed and Norma Clous, came to Chicago and helped me and my family move home to Kingsley. When we walked through the door, greeting me all across the back wall of the kitchen, was was a big sign written, “Welcome home, Daddy.” When I left the U. S., I was newly married, childless, and going to Europe to fight for an undetermined amount of time. Thousands of people in terrible conditions were still fresh in my mind along with good and bad deeds done by most everyone involved. Now, I had to wipe that slate clean and learn to be a husband, father, and provider.
After coming home, I played piano in a band called Satler’s Night Hawks, helped my brother Carl paint houses, and then was employed at Parts Manufacturing in Traverse City where my father worked. We both became union Stewards in jobs that lasted many years. I was the last man out before the doors were closed for good. Out of work, I went job hunting in Chicago. I had a couple of good offers, but before I accepted anything, Melvina called to tell me that the personnel office at the State Hospital in Traverse City had called about a job opening. So, I said goodbye to Chicago, drove five hours home to Kingsley, and the next morning went to the hospital and applied for that position. I was hired and worked there for twenty five years.
Brenda Wolfgram Moore was a resident of Kingsley, a local historian and genealogist, who passed away in 2014. Peter Newell is a good friend of Floyd Webster’s, and a published author. Newell is currently working on another oral history of a Kingsley resident who served in World War II.
Locally-produced digital magazine featuring nature and local history from the Grand Traverse Region.
![Image of St. Lo after conflict. Image made publicly available by the German Federal Archive, Bundesarchiv, Bild 146-1994-035-17 / Vennemann / CC-BY-SA [CC BY-SA 3.0 de (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/de/deed.en)], via Wikimedia Commons.](http://gtjournal.tadl.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/03/Bundesarchiv_Bild_146-1994-035-17_Frankreich_Saint-Lô_zerstörte_Gebäude.jpg)
