Monday, October 26, 2015

The Quarry

by John B. Anderson

The quarry was the finest swimming hole of the multitudes of swimming places around Manistique. The quarry was spring fed, light blue, filtered by the limestone that surrounded it. It was a football field long with fifteen-foot cliffs around the south side. The north side tapered off to shallow water, but the south side was 80-feet deep.

This was one of the first limestone quarries that were mined by Inland Lime and Stone Company. The limestone was shipped to Gary, ID and East Chicago, to be used in the production of steel. When the company discovered that the limestone was more accessible west of Gulliver, it moved the limestone operation there, along with developing Port Inland. Without the pumps working all day, every day, the Manistique quarry filled up with beautiful blue water.

Sometime after the quarry mining operations shut down, some folks drove their cars into the quarry. We found a couple of these cars about 20-feet down, but we couldn't dive further, because of water pressure on our ears.

My mom was afraid to let me swim at the quarry. I assured her that, if I could swim at the “Cope,” I could certainly swim at the quarry. Mom accompanied me on my first try in the quarry. She said later that she couldn't have done anything for me, had I sunk to the bottom that day, but, fortunately, she didn't have to do a thing.

Prior to my swimming at the quarry, an older boy, Billy Reno, (?) reportedly did a running dive from an upper ledge, hit Barb in the head, bounced off a rock into the water. My neighbor, Jim, told us about how Billy had drowned, and how he had been fished out of the water. The description made me nauseous and very sad, but not enough to deter me from wanting to swim there.

The city put up a chain link fence around the quarry to keep us out, but that wasn't going to be the case. We crawled under the fence as did a lot of our friends. In those days, my friends and I were the, “Tornados.” (Probably, no one else knew us as that, but we knew who were were.) Ron, Ron, Bill and I dressed in black when we went to gatherings, to let people know we were something.

At the quarry, Ron would do a running dive from the highest cliff, grab his ankles half was down, and cause a giant cannon ball. Bill jumped on my back, and the two of us ran and jumped from the high cliff. The extra weight on my back caused us to fall backwards and crash into the water right on Bill's back. That must had really hurt. Bill said, “Let's do it again. The girls really liked it.”

The three of us dared Bill to bang the sand out of his bathing suit ten times, while he was naked. We all expected that Bill would count to ten quite quickly, but that was not the case. Bill yelled, “One!” All the girls looked, then looked away in horror. “Two!” slowly to ten. We paid Bill the 75 cents.

The quarry was a wonderful place for us to swim all summer long. We couldn't swim in Lake Michigan, as our city sewage was dumped into the lake, untreated at that time. The Cope was way out of town, and sometimes, it was hard getting a ride out there. The quarry was perfect, as we could walk there.

Our swimming was stopped with the tragic death of Joe Greenwood. Billy, like his parents, had very limited hearing and limited speech. As the story went, Billy had attended the school for the deaf in Flint, and he was making good progress. It was said that he also was taking swimming lessons at the school. One hazy Sunday, Billy was seen, by himself, at the quarry, pushing an inner tube in front of him, and swimming up to the tube. Maybe he pushed to tube too far, and went to the bottom.

Scuba divers from the Ford Foundation traveled to Manistique to help with the search for Billy. This was to no avail. While they were in Manistique, the divers also went to the Big Spring, and recovered thousands of dollars from the spring that tourists had thrown into the water. An ocean diver, complete with all the deep sea diving equipment also tried to find Billy. Again, to no avail.

Inland brought in their heavy duty pumps, and pumped the water into the Manistique River. This whole process took a couple of weeks. Finally, Billy was found toward the bottom of the quarry. We still swam in the quarry after that, but there was always a certain sadness around the place.

Saturday, October 17, 2015

Rubbing Elbows with the Rich and Famous

Rubbing Elbows with the Rich and Famous”

by John B. Anderson

During my lifetime, I have stumbled into or have had contact with some folks who were much richer or more famous that I. None of these encounters was planned, they just happened.

Ann Landers: In 1960, The Chicago Sun-Times bought the paper mill. This was a big deal for Manistique, as it brought many of the Chicago celebrities to town. Newscaster, Paul Harvey, was a guest speaker at Rotary on more than one occasion. One day, all of the Sun-Times big shots showed up. Marshall Field, Jr., owner of the Sun-Times, accompanied by an entourage, which included Ann Landers, syndicated columnist. Ann and her sister, Abagail VanBuren, were world-renown advice givers, whose columns ran daily in many newspapers. The paper mill hosted these dignitaries for dinner at the U.P.'s finest restaurant, The Surf.
I was a sous-chef at The Surf at that time. That evening, Nat, the owner of the Surf, made sure that we all had clean aprons and fresh carnations pinned to our lapels. I remember filling many celery sticks with a cream cheese mixture, dotted with paprika as a finish. After finishing the hors-d'oeuvre, I helped Ester and Beverly with the imported Japanese trout, the main entrée. After dinner, Ann Landers visited the kitchen to meet the kitchen staff. We lined up, and she asked us our names, and if we had any questions for her. She came to me. She seemed to me, at the time, to have on an awful lot of makeup, but I was not a person of the big city, so who was I to judge?
“Hi! I'm Ann Landers. Who are you?”

“I'm John Anderson, and I have a sexual problem.”

“What??”

“Just kidding.”

You know me; I always was a smart ass, (emphasis on ass).

James Stewart, Lee Remink, and Arthur O'Connell: “Anatomy of a Murder” was filmed in and around Marquette in 1959 and 1960. This was a big deal for the U.P., to have this huge production in our back yard. It was filmed here, because the author of the story was a judge from Marquette. When our band went to Marquette in the spring of 1960, many of our musicians went to the old courthouse to catch some of the screen action. I remember that Al Brown, the Bunny Bread Man, was cast as the desk clerk at the hotel in the movie.

During that time, Nat put me in charge of inventory control at “The Surf”. This meant that, each month, I had to take inventory of everything in the two walk-in freezers, the two walk-in coolers, the bar, and the dry goods inventory downstairs. Also, at this time, the Dellis's purchased two fine restaurants, “The Chalet” in Marquette and “The Knife and Fork” at the Soo.

One evening, Nat asked me to accompany him to “The Chalet” in Marquette, to set up the inventory system, and to acquaint me with the restaurant. He had appointed Tommy Dufour as the head chef at “The Chalet.” It was always fun to talk to Tommy. Nat and Tommy had other business to discuss, so I hung out at the bar. It was a slow night, and I was the only person at the bar, sipping at my Coke. The bartender asked, “Have you ever met a movie star?”

“No, of course not.”

“Would you like to meet a couple tonight?”

“I'd be too scared.”

“That's Jimmie Stewart, Lee Remink, and another star over at the far table. Go over and say 'Hello'. Everyone else does. They really don't mind.”

I screwed up my courage and walked across the dining room to their table. I can't remember what they said or what I said. I only remember looking at Lee Remink's eyes. She was the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen in my life. I stepped on my tongue at least 3 times on the way back to the bar.

Bob Dylan: One of my friends at the University of Chicago was Kevin Krown. Kevin was a folk singer promoter from New York, who had reportedly rented Canegie Hall three times by the time he was sixteen. Kevin would be on the phone to New York every morning and, likewise, to Los Angeles every evening. Kevin promoted the first folk singer festival at the university, which included Joan Baez and Pete Seeger. Our group, Progressive Insight, also promoted a debate between Captain Landau, a right-winger from Chanute Air Force Base and William Mandel, a named communist, (but that's another story).

Bobby Zimmerman was being promoted by Kevin at that time as well. Bob, a.k.a., Bob Dylan, stopped by to see Kevin on his way to the west coast. Dylan rode the rails at that point in his life, so Chicago, being the railroad hub of the whole country, made this a likely stop. We put Bob up in our dorm, Pierce Tower, while Kevin got him a couple of gigs in Chicago. When Bob stopped back in Chicago on his way east, he had a female partner. Bob thought that they should get married.

Kevin contacted a priest, who came to the dorm to perform the ceremony, but Bob changed his mind. His partner was Catholic, so Bob thought that his mom might object. We decided to party with the goods from the reception. When Bob was with us, we would skip class, and sit on the dorm steps and make up songs. One Sunday, the dorm served little bowls of carrot-raisin salad. We were pretty non-plussed by that action so we gave them to Bob. Just picture Bob Dylan with 12 bowls of carrot-raisin salad in front of him, saying, “This is good s**t, Man!”

Mohammad Ali: I had a seven-year career with Xerox Corporation, most of that with sales. When I was at the Lansing branch, I had a good year, so the company sent Sally and me to Cocoyuk, Mexico, to a fabulous resort. While at Cocoyuk, we and another couple, sneaked into Cuautla to buy some Mexican goods. We bought a large sombrero, a serape, and a 4-foot chicken pinata for the kids.

Here I was at Chicago O'Hare airport, festooned with my Mexican purchases, when I spotted this trio of big men walking toward me on the concourse. I said to myself, “I know the big guy!”

As I walked toward the three men, I held out my free hand, because I had finally recognized him. “How are you, Champ?”

It was Mohammad Ali. He shook my hand, smiled at me, and said, “You white people are really silly.”

Ken Curtis: You would probably remember Ken Curtis better as, “Chester,” of “Gunsmoke.” “Festus” was Marshall Dillon's sidekick. As I was commuting on the weekends, between Kalamazoo and Springfield, IL, I found myself sitting next to Ken Curtis on the plane to Springfield. He posed for a lot of pictures with the kids on the plane. When he got a break, I asked him for his autograph. I handed him my sick bag, and said, “Sign it on behalf of your series, “Ripcord.”

“You didn't watch that awful series, did you?”

“Sure did.” He signed the sick bag.

Vice President Rockefeller: He was Governor Rockefeller at the time that I met him. I was in Rochester, NY for duplicator training with Xerox. Although, Rochester was the headquarters of Xerox then, the training took place at nearby Webster, NY. We dozen trainees traveled by bus from the Holiday Inn in Rochester to the training center, then back to the Holiday Inn in the evening.

One evening, our bus driver was in a big hurry to drop us off at the Holiday Inn. A couple of us asked him, “Why the rush?”

He said that, after he dropped us off, he had to go to the Flagship Hotel, pick up the governor, and take him back to the Holiday Inn for a huge reception. We asked if a couple of us could stay on the bus and meet Governor Rockefeller The driver said, “If the security guys will let you stay, it's OK. With me.”

The security guys and the governor's chief of staff checked us out, and said that we could ride with the governor, (This is all pre-911). The governor got on the bus, and we all introduced ourselves. He said that our founder at Xerox, Joseph Wilson, was a good friend of his. As a matter of fact, Joe Wilson died while having lunch with Governor Rockefeller

We arrived at the Holiday Inn. We fell into line behind the governor's staff, as we shook hands with all the Republican Big-Wigs of Iroquois County. We each got a drink.
After we finished our drink, the governor's chief-of-staff said, “OK., boys. You've had your fun. It's time for you to leave.”

Just then, the Governor spotted us and said, “Are you guys having fun?”

We responded in the affirmative. The chief-of-staff asked, “What are you drinking?”

We left very soon after that.

Ed McMahon: I had just driven a U-Haul truck from Springfield, IL to Union City, MI, a 10-hour trek with a cat on my lap. I had been awake for more than 24 hours, unshaven and grubby. My buddy, Pete, from Illinois, had driven the second U-Haul truck, and I was taking him to the Kalamazoo airport to return to Springfield.

After I put Pete on the plane, I was walking out of the terminal, smack into Ed McMahon's belly. “I'm so sorry, Ed,” when I saw who it was.

He said, “Better go home and sleep it off...and next time don't drink so much.”

Hank Meijer: Very recently, Meijer was opening a new store in Traverse City. Joy and I were doing our usual shopping and the west side Meijer Grocery, when I noticed that the store was filled with “suits,” I asked one of the produce guys, “Is corporate here to check you out?”

He said, “You could say that. Hank Meijer, the owner, is here.”

Just then, I noticed that Joy has Hank Meijer cornered. He asked her if she enjoyed shopping at Meijer. She replied in the affirmative. She had no idea who he was, and was asking him where the tomato paste in the tube was. Someone was quickly dispatched to help her find the tomato paste. (They couldn't find it either).

I approached Hank to tell him that I sat with his father, Fred, at the West Michigan Health Planning Agency, many years previous. I told him that I found Fred to be a charming, gracious man.

Hank agreed, saying, “If only I could be half the man he was.”

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

"Water Problem"

How High's the Water, Mama?”

by John B. Anderson


Bill, a friend, and I turned 21 this year. This was a good year by any young man's standards. Bill had satisfied his obligation to Uncle Sam by participating in the “Kiddie Cruise.” The “Kiddie Cruise” was a navy program where a kid of 17 could sign up a year before graduation, join the navy when he graduated from high school, and fulfill his service requirement in three years rather than the usual four years. I, on the other hand, was taking my chances with the draft.

When Bill arrived home from the navy, we decided to practice our hand at drinking, the most popular U.P. Sport. I was the day manager of a small restaurant that summer, with not too much responsibility except to be at work at 6 a.m. One particular evening, we settled in at the Barnes Hotel Bar. I'm pretty sure that the Barnes actually rented a few rooms, but I'm not really sure. I had heard that the guys who dredged the harbor stayed there, but the Barnes made its money at the bar. Bill and I were helping keep the bar afloat that night.

After a few too many, Bill and I decided to go to St. Ignace. One of us had heard that the girls were plentiful there, so it made sense to us to get into Bill's old Chevy and start for St. Ignace. I said, “Bill, wouldn't it be fun to drive all the way to St. Ignace on the beach?”

Bill responded, “Great idea!”

We drove out of Manistique onto the beach, and then proceeded east of town, on the beach, for about five miles. That's when I asked, “Bill, are you still on the beach? The waves are getting higher on my side, and pretty soon they'll be coming in my window.”

Just then, the car died. Both of us were fairly wet by the time we got out of the car. The cold water had sobered us up, so we realized that we were in the middle of George Orr, (GorGor), Creek. We, apparently, had forgotten that there were many rivers and creeks between Manistique and St. Ignace. We walked the five miles back to town. It was now 2 a.m., and I had to be at work at 6.

I met Bill the next afternoon, after I had gotten off from work. I drove him out five miles to where his car was still halfway in the surf. That frontage area of Lake Michigan was just being developed with residential lots, and we spotted some heavy equipment there. A young boy was watching us, probably out there with his parents just hanging out. He looked about 8- years- old and he was standing next to a bulldozer. Bill asked, “Can you drive that bulldozer?”

The young lad responded, “Of course I can.”

Bill said, “Borrow a chain from your dad, and help us get my car out of the lake.”

The boy fired up the bulldozer; in those days, construction workers didn't worry about someone stealing something so large as a bulldozer, so they always left the keys in them. We hooked up the car to the bulldozer, and the car came out of the surf with hardly any effort on the part of the bulldozer. The car started right away, and Bill was able to drive it back to town.

Our lesson in geography ended happily, and the girls in St. Ignace are still safe.

"The Woods and Big Hill"


The Woods and Big Hill

by John B. Anderson


The woods in Manistique were always within two blocks of anywhere we were. After school, in the wintertime, we would snare rabbits in the woods behind Wilson Street. I thought I'd be smart as we started for home one evening. I took a different trail to beat Ron and Bill out of the woods. It was getting dark, and I realized that I was lost. I remembered not to panic, (after I paniced), and stopped to think of what to do. Then, I heard the fog horn. Thank God for the fog horn! I followed the sound out of the woods.

Big Hill was always our favorite place to go on the weekend. Big Hill was a five-mile hike east of town, on a bluff near the Soo Line tracks. The view from the bluff gave us a spectacular view of Lake Michigan. I always said that if I were to live in Manistique, I would build a house on that bluff. (I think that they call that subdivision, “The Bolitho Plat.” today.) “Gor Gor Creek,” (actually, George Orr Creek), ran along side the bluff. We would fish for little trout from the creek, using a stick, some fishline, a hook, and a worm. We always carried some flour with us, so we could cook the fish for our lunch.

On Big Hill, we erected lean-to's, covered them with evergreen branches, then put some baughs inside to lie on. We'd make a nice fire outside to cook and to keep us warm. We sometimes took my dog, Bingo, to Big Hill, until he grabbed our hamburger out of the frying pan. That was the end of Bingo's traveling with us.

Bill and I saved a life one time at Big Hill. Freddie Figario, who's dad managed the A. & P. for awhile, had been wading in Gor Gor Creek, and he had cut his foot. It was bleeding badly, so we administered first aid, and carried him to Mr. Walter's Nursery across the highway. My folks and Bill's folks were not available to help, but Grandpa Malloch came to the rescue. Grandpa drove Freddie to the clinic for stitches and then home. Boy Scout training made this go easier.

All the neighborhood guys were in Boy Scouts. We were the “Beaver,” patrol. We were too young to grasp the significance of that designation, but as we grew older, it seemed to make sense. We would camp out a Camp 7 Lake and at Camp Red Buck with the scouts. I really can't remember who peed on the campfire during the Catholic Church service at Camp-o-Ree.

Dan and I used to head for the woods after school. We would leave from Dan's house, walk through the cemetary, over the hill, and into the woods behind Gerry Rodman's house. On one of our treks through the cemetary, we passed the crypt building. The door was open, which was unusual. It was wintertime, so there were five or six caskets inside the crypt, waiting for a spring burial. The sexton apparently got sleepy, so he had lain down for a nap on top of a casket. As we passed the doorway, he heard our voices, so he sat up.

Dan yelled, “Holey S**t!” We took off running down the other side of the hill.

Some of the limestone in the woods behind Gerry's house contained wonderful fossils of ocean shells. Who would believe that the oceans came in as far as Michigan? Most of our time wasn't spent gathering fossils, however, we were busy making forts out of the cedar trees.

To the south of the cemetary were the sand hills. These were the greatest sledding hills in Manistique. Every kid in Lakeside had spent many hours sledding down these slopes. To the east were slides known as the, “Nutcracker,” and the, “Mankiller.” Each was true to its name.

Many years after I had left Manistique, I attended a housing conference in Madison, WI. After a day filled with housing presentations, I found myself in an all-nude bar, sitting next to one of the presenters from Housing and Urban Development, (HUD). Augie Johansson and I were on our third beer, when Augie said that he had funded a housing project in Manistique. He said it was called the Cherry Hill Apartments.

I stood up and exclaimed, “You're the son-of-a bitch!”

“What did I do?” Augie wondered.

“You distroyed the best sledding hill in Manistique!”

Augie apologized, then bought me another beer.

_______________________________________________________________________

When Dan was old enough to drive, he drove us to his grandmother's cabin on Straits Lake. That Willis Jeep truck could go anywhere. Sometimes Dan would cut it just a little close, and knock off the truck's fender. We'd had to stop and bolt it back on. We chased the geese off Cookson Lake, and chased the ducks off Indian River. We even investigated some abandoned camps. Dan and I almost built a duck blind near Thompson, but that's another story.

"The Oak Theater"

The Oak Theater”

by John B. Anderson


The Oak Theater provided a place to take a date in Manistique. The only other option in town was to go parking, and, on a perfect date night, we could do both. The theater schedule was: Sunday and Monday – an academy award, blockbuster movie, such as “High Noon” with Gary Cooper, “To Hell and Back” with Audie Murphy, “Shane” with Alan Ladd, “South Pacific” and “Dancing in the Rain; Tuesday through Thursday – Class B movies; then on Friday and Saturday – Cowboy and Jungle Movies. My first movie experiences were limited to Saturday afternoon matinĂ©es. First movie favorites included Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, with Gabby Hayes, (not to mention Trigger), Gene Autry and his horse Champion, with Pat Butrum, Rocky Allen Lane, Lash LeRue, Tim Holt with Chito Rafferty, Hopalong Cassidy, and Johnny Mack Brown, (toward the end, we called him, “Fatty Mack Brown.”) Rocky Allen Lane was my favorite, because he didn't sing. Tim Holt and Gene Autry movies were shot in Ektrachrome, a kind of purple. The rest were black and white, except for Roy and Dale. They were shot in Technicolor.

Except for the Saturday matinĂ©es, the movies were preceded by Movietone News , when we were given an update on the war effort. (It seems as if we're always at war.) There were ads as well, “Curran Chevrolet – Let us serve your car and truck needs.”

Many times there was a serial movie in between the first and second shows. Superman vs. Luthor was a good one. (Later, they changed his name to “Lex Luthor.” The second movie could be Bomba or Jungle Jim. Jungle Jim was played by the former Tarzan, who had since gotten too fat to play Tarzan anymore. Jungle Jim was forever falling into quicksand, but Cheeta would throw him a log to rescue him. Jungle Jim couldn't seem to remember where that quicksand pond was, as he kept falling into it.

The three scheduled program changes at the movies provided Buster Lanier an opportunity for three adventures each week. Buster had missed no movies that had come to Manistique. One Tuesday evening, Buster couldn't find anyone to go with him so he asked me. My mom was reluctant to let me go, week night and all, but she caved in. Before we got to the theater, Buster showed me his latest invention. He had cut a metal coat hanger into a one foot length. He had bent it twice, to form three sides of a square, each side 4 inches long. Across the fourth side, had had strung two rubber bands with a 1 inch washer in the middle. A FART MACHINE! After the movie had started, Buster wound up the machine, and sat on it. Buster waited for a quiet scene in the movie, then lifted up slowly. Brrrrrrrrt! I let out a, “Geeze!!” People from four rows around us found other seats. I seemed to remember that, after we had constructed our own version of the machine, Ron, a friend, worked this bit of magic about a week later.

The theater warden was Rose. She had a big flashlight, and we were pretty sure that she would use it on us, if we were too rowdy. There seemed to be assigned seating at the Oak. Lovers sat in the back of the orchestra level, the kids sat in front of the posts, and the high school and adults sat in the balcony. When the Oak showed “The Miracle at Fatima,” all the nuns from St. Francis sat in one row in the balcony. I can't tell you what that looked like with all those habits in a row.

Other entertainment features came to the Oak Theater. Once a year, the price of admission was a can of food. Every movie for that can of food was a cartoon or the Three Stooges. My dad tells me that every time the theater showed the Three Stooges, parents would bring their kids to the drugstore to get something for the bloody noses. The kids had practiced what they had seen in the cartoons.

A couple of times, a hypnotist would come to town. Ron attended the Friday night performance, and, on Saturday, he met with Bill and me to plan for Saturday's performance. Ron had been hypnotized on Friday, and someone had told him that he sang a song while under the spell. On the way to the theater on Saturday night, we sang the same song over and over again, so Ron would have it in his head, when he went under the spell again. Sure enough, Ron went under, and he was led to the stage. When it came time for a song, Ron started, “Oh, she jumped in bed, and she covered up her head, and she said that I couldn't find her....” The hypnotist stopped Ron right there. Apparently, he had heard that song once before.

I was always grateful to Duke and Maggie, the owners, for providing a great community service with the Oak Theater.

"The Duck Blind and Other Woods Stories"


The Duck Blind and Other Woods Stories

by John B. Anderson


Dan and I decided to go goose hunting on Saturday. I stayed overnight a Dan's house on Friday night. This was when Dan's house was near his dad's, “City Motel.” We had a good supper that evening, but Dan is one of those nature lovers who likes to sleep with the window open – even in winter. I froze my ass off that night.

The next morning, after breakfast, Dan and I bundled up in our hunting gear, grabbed our guns and ammo, and trudged through the woods toward Stony Point. We spotted some geese swimming in Lake Michigan, just off shore. We started sneaking through the bushes toward the geese, Dan in the lead. I clicked off the safety to be ready to fire. I tripped. The gun went off. The little tree next to Dan fell over.

Dan suggested, “I think that you should lead, John.”



Dan, Donnie, and I camped out in the woods by the ferry docks. Camping out was always a lot of fun. This particular evening, we thought it would be fun to throw our shells into the campfire, then duck for cover. The shot gun shells were as disappointment. When they exploded, they just went poof. The 22 shells, however, were exciting. When they exploded, projectiles sailed all around us. It turned out to be important to remember exactly how many we had thrown into the fire.

Dan and Donnie told me of an outing that included Dan's cousin, Doug. The game this time was to light an M-80 firecracker, drop it into a Coke bottle, and throw it into the air. It was important to hit the ground, because when it exploded, glass went everywhere.

Doug held the bottle. Dan or Donnie lit the M-80, and threw it into the bottle. Doug asked, “Is it lit yet?” Boom!

The camp out was cut short, as Doug needed a couple of stitches in his wrist.


Dan, Bill and I were hunting in the woods towards Thompson, without too much success. Bill excused himself to go deeper into the woods to take a crap.

After he had been gone a reasonable length of time, Dan said, “I think I'll fire one over his head.”

Boom! “Owww!”

“Oh s**t! You've hit him!”

We went to find Bill. One of the pellets from the shotgun shell had ricocheted off a tree, and hit Bill in the upper thigh. It was just a bruise. We walked out to a clearing, apologizing to Bill for the unforeseen ricochet. Bill stopped. “I forgot my gloves back there.” While pointing his gun at us, he said, “You two are coming back there with me.”

Dan and I agreed. We headed back to the crap spot, when Dan whispered, “Run!”

Dan and I ran back to the clearing to wait for Bill.

After about ten minutes, we wondered where Bill was. We called, “Bill! Bill!”

Boom! A branch next to Dan's head fell to the ground. At that point, we agreed that enough was enough.


Dan and I found a wonderful beaver pond. It was on the west side of US2, on the way to Thompson. (There are some homes along there now.) The beaver pond was large enough for ducks, plus a lot of little trout were also in the pond. One Sunday we decided to build a duck blind.

Dan and I were chopping down trees for the blind, when I heard, “G. Dammit! John, come here! I've chopped off my toe!”

Dan said, “Help me to the truck. You'll have to drive me to the hospital.”

“But, I can't drive a stick shift,” I replied.

“You're going to f**king learn how right now, dammit!”

I got Dan into the truck, and, sure enough, I got the truck onto the highway, and headed for Manistique. As Dan's house was right on the way to the hospital, I told Dan that I would stop and pick up Dan's mother.

“No you won't,” he said. “I'm bleeding to death. Get me to the hospital!”

At the hospital, when the nurse removed Dan's boot, blood spilled all over the floor. His big toe was kind of dangling there. After Dan was well sedated, Dr Fyvie started sewing the toe back on. As Dr. Fyvie sewed, he mumbled to himself about the procedure.

Dan, who was relatively high at this point, told Dr. Fyvie, “Doc, you talk like you have a mouth full of s**t.” Dr. Fyvie took no offense, smiled, and went on with his work.

"Stop or I'll Shoot"



Stop, or I'll Shoot!”

as overheard by John B. Anderson


[This story does not come from my memory, but ftom a conversation I overheard at a class reunion party at Trader's Point. The story was too rich to keep to myself, so I thought it best to attempt to re-tell it here.]

The flood of 1910 devistated everything around the Manistique River. Weston Avenue homes were all underwater, and many of the downstream factories and loading docks were destroyed. To compensate for the spring flood waters of the river, the siphon bridge and floom were constructed. The floom actually lifted the river up out of its banks, and allowed the overflow to escape down the sides. This worked pretty well over the years, but the river sometimes needed some sandbags to keep it in place. I remember such an occurrence in 1960.

The North Cedar Street Gang looked forward to the spring event of the season. After the river gates had been opened wide to accommodate the spring run-off, the day came for the Department of Natural Resources to lower the gates thus eventually lowering the river to a trickle. On that special day each spring, the North Cedar Street Gang, Dick, Bill, Phil, Jim, et. al., waited hidden in the bushes next to the river. Each boy was armed with a pitchfork, a sharp stick, a weinie fork, or some other sharp object These would be used to spear the fish when the river receeded.

Back at the gates were DNR Officer Ernest Derwin, (Ernie Dernie), and his trusted companion, Dobber Dewey. Ernie was no stranger to the annual event, as he drew his pistol and asked Dobber to lower the gate. The river started to receed. Soon there was nothing but a trickle. Many little puddles lingered on the limestone river bottem, each with a large fish flopping around.

At the count of, “three,” the boys sprang from their hiding places, and ran toward the flopping fish. Each stabbed a large fish, then started to run downstream.

“Stop, or I'll shoot!” cried Ernie. Boom! Boom! The shots sailed over the boys' heads.

“He won't shoot us! Keep running!”

The boys hustled their speared fish down the river bed, and they made their way back into town. Their parents were quite pleased at the beautiful dinner that their sons had provided.

"Remember Downtown"

Remember Downtown

by John B. Anderson


My father worked downtown, so I knew of most of the businesses there. Starting on Oak Street at Maple Street, was the cobblestone gas station, run by the MacNamaras, Patsy Mac and Clarence Mac. There was another cobblestone gas station on the west side on Deer St., again run by another MacNamara, Emmett, (?). Coming up the north side of Oak Street, there was Kelly Insurance, and Shorty Brunette's Barber Shop. Shorty played Sax in the City Band when I played trombone with them.

Further down was John's Market. John and Bertha Vaughan were, perhaps, the kindest people in Manistique. When my dad contracted tuberculosis, and was sent to the sanatorium. In Powers, John and Bertha said that we could charge all of our food there, until my dad could return to Manistique. We, eventually, paid our bill when my dad returned two years later. John's market also had a delivery boy, I think, Terry Stoken. Donny Mickelson was the last one that I remember.

Continuing on the north side were Barker's Bakery, (then Ken's), and the locker plant. When I helped my buddy, Worm, peddle the Escanaba Press, Ken's bakery was a necessary stop to pick up nourishment for the rest of the route. Mrs. Selling would sell us nickel turnovers, crullers, raisin rolls, or 10-cent cream horns and Ă©clairs. One time we even bought a small cake. Our folks wondered why we weren't hungrier at supper.

The locker plant was run by Joe McDonough for awhile, then Johnny Anderson took it over. One time, Ronnie McDonough came to a party at Herlik's with some beautiful steaks. I was a cook at the Surf at that time, so I got the honor of cooking them. Great party!

The Barnes Hotel had a great bar. It was a favorite watering hole when we turned 21. Bill Hough, Jack's brother-in-law was a great bartender. I think that the Barnes also rented rooms, (nothing by the hour). Up the street was Shubring's gas, and a beauty shop in the back, off the alley. Then, on the corner of Oak and Cedar, was the People's Store.

Two of my relatives worked at the People's Store. My Aunt Hildur Nylander worked in sewing notions with Mrs. Ackerman and my cousin, Ruth, worked upstairs in the crows nest. Remember: Your purchase and your payment were put in a basket, pulled up to the sending wire, then snapped up to the crows nest for packaging and change, to be returned down the same way. Al Farley and Johnny Pat Miller were the bosses.

On the south side of Oak Street, starting at the east end was Lundstrom Chevrolet. My grandfather wasn't fond of the Chevy garage for some reason, but he sure was glad that they had a wrecker, when his car went through the ice on Indian Lake while retrieving his ice shanty. Grandpa thought that he might have waited a little too long that spring.

Denny's Restaurant was next. My sister said that Gordon and Laura were nice people to work for. The restaurant was also the Greyhound Bus Depot in Manistique. Both the eastbound and the westbound buses picked up passengers at around 3 a.m. and 4 a.m. That made for a long day on the bus when I rode to Kalamazoo, via Flint and Owosso. I had good riding buddies on the bus rides, including Daryll Larsen, Terry Arrowood and Jim Miller. C.J. Jansen Dry Cleaners was on that side of the street. I would deliver Mr. Jansen's Sunday Milwaukee Sentinel to his house.

The corner business was the post office. Richard Larson was our regular carrier, but I knew Julius Settergren, Earl Malloch, and Crow Leach, all really nice people. When I was small, each would buy lemonade from my stand on Manistique Ave. John Kelly was postmaster and the head of the Schoolcraft County Democratic Party.

On the east side of Cedar Street between Oak and Walnut was the People Store. Right next door was Penney's. Ernie Ecklund was Penney's boss. Whenever Ernie would get in a pair of business shoes, AA width, he would give my dad a call to let him know. My dad had really narrow feet.

Mrs Malloch also worked at Penney's. I thought that Mrs Malloch was working one day, when I stopped by to pick up Bill to hang out. Bill had just gotten up, and was eating some cereal at the kitchen table. While I was waiting for Bill to finish his cereal, I decided to teach their parakeet, Rocky, to speak. Rocky had never said a word to this point in time, so, by golly, I was going to teach him. “F**k you, Rocky! F**k you, Rocky,” I coaxed.

A voice from upstairs called out, “John, is that you?” Mrs. Malloch was home!

I sprang past Bill at the table, zipped down the back stairs, out the screen door, through Schuster's yard, past Bernier's killer German Shepard, King, through Kelly's yard and down the block to home. I didn't go back to Bill's house for a week, as I was so embarrassed.
There was a vacant lot next to Penney's, upon which Males Pharmacy was located at a later date. Homer's Bar was next. My dad and mom liked going to Homer's when the drug salesmen came to town. The bar had two full-wall photos of the Big Spring and Fall leaves. After Homer's Bar, going north, was a remarkable store, The Blind Man's Candy Store.

I believe the proprietor was Mr. Berwin. When I went there to buy candy, I had to tell him where the candy was located, forward a little, left a little, etc. A kid's communication skills had to be pretty good to shop there. Mr. Berwin explained how he kept his folding money straight. The ones were kept straight, the fives were folded lengthwise, and the tens were folded in half.

Larson's Hardware was next, run by Mr. Larson and his sister. I saved money from my paper route, and I bought a new Roadmaster bike there. It even had a horn. I picked it up on a rainy day, but I rode it out to my friend, Gerry Rodman's house. Christy, Bill, Ron and I used to take Gerry his homework every day, from Lakeside School, because Gerry had been sick for a long time. Mrs. Rodman eventually asked us not to come any more, and we lost Gerry.

Bob Orr's Insurance was in there someplace, and so was Clint Leonard's Barber Shop. Clint had perfected the art of napping, sitting up, in 15-minute stretches. Next was Kefauver(sp) & Jackson Furniture. Ed Jackson also owned a funeral home and a hearse/ambulance. Neil Reese took over the furniture business and Harold LaFoille worked there also. The Cedar Theater was in there, also. I remember seeing “Bambi” and “Les Miserables'” at the Cedar.

A lot of my formative years were spent at the next business, Siddall/Putvin Drug Store. The soda fountain was my favorite spot to hang out. Lorna LaVance and Inez Coffee would make me my favorite, a cherry soda, 20-cents. Sometime I would opt for a variation of a Coke, even going so far as to order a “suicide Coke,” a squirt of every flavor into the coke, 5-cents. Ice cream was 5-cents per scoop, malts were 30-cents.

A few of the teachers would hang out here, to drink coffee and to smoke. Me? I would hide out in the magazine section and read every comic book that was available. A couple of my favorites were, “The Vault of Horror” and, “Tales From the Crypt.” My mom and dad bought us, “Little Lulu,” and, “Red Ryder.”

Mary Danko and Mary Selling, both very pretty ladies worked with my dad. I worked for the drugstore once during Christmas vacation from college. My dad and I took inventory of everything in the store. I learned that the cost code was, “REGULATION”, where the “R” stood for 1, the “E” stood for 2, the “G” stood for 3, and so on. Knowing the code, one could tell what the wholesale cost was on any item in the store.

Verne Johnson's Cleaners was next. Verne was head of Schoolcraft County's Republican Party. When we waited in our car, for my dad to get off work, we would sometimes watch Verne press clothing on the big press. The ash on his cigarette would dangle precariously low, before he would knock it off onto the floor.

The Escanaba Daily Press had an office near there. In the back, Mickey, Roger, Bill and others waited for the papers to arrive to be peddled around town. John Williams had a print shop there for awhile, but he moved to Munising. Mrs. Williams, (Ron Rubick's grandma), had a women's hat shop along there, and Ed Peterson had a barber shop there as well. One time Bill DeHut cut my hair at that shop. He must have had some dull shears, as he pulled my hair, and it hurt. I told my mom that I wouldn't let him cut my hair ever again. To get back into my good graces, Mr. DeHut bought me a couple of cherry sodas, but I didn't cave in.

The last building before Walnut St. was Siddall Drug Store, and later, The Manistique Pioneer Tribune. In the back building, we used to watch Mr. Tyrell set the type for the next paper.

Before we come back up S. Cedar St., I should mention a couple of businesses along Arbutus Ave. Morton Funeral Home was on the southeast corner of Cedar and Arbutus. On the southwest corner was Herrick's Motel and The Park Hotel. It was my understanding that the Park Hotel had been the headquarters of the Chicago Lumber Company in previous years.

Coming up the west side of Cedar was Alex Creighton Ford Sales, (still is today). Moe Ekburg's Bar was next. When I became old enough, I discovered that Moe had a beautiful hand-carved bar. The Liberty Cafe was an after-the-game kids hangout. George, Louis, and Pete Babledellis ran the Liberty. Pete handled the customers, while George and Louis did the cooking. I later worked for George and Nat Dellis at the Surf for seven years.

Above the Liberty was the concert hall. Every week, Ray, Joel, Pete and I practiced with the Manistique City Band. The City Band marched in all parades, in our hot, black uniforms, and we played 4 or 5 summer concerts. Some of the members were Pete Gorsche, trombone; Tootie Gorsche, trumpet; Ferd Gorsche, director and trombone; Art Fountain, clarinet; Ernie Ecklund, trombone; Buck Williams, saxaphone; Graydon Stone, tuba; Shorty Brunette, saxophone; and LeRoy Fox, clarinet. (Sorry that I have forgotten the others.)

The concert hall above the Liberty was sometimes used for rock-and-roll dances. Billy Jenerou had a hellava rocken band. I should have let my sister teach me how to do those fast dances.

When I was younger, Heinz Grocery was next, but I don't remember much about that place. George DuPont had a barber shop in there and Peter Stamness had a jewelery store. Laurman's was next, with Len Harbeck at the helm. The Gamble Store came along there, run by Harold, Van, and Bruce Plickta. Danny Barber ran the store after that. Dr. Novac had his optometry shop in the next building, with the helpy-selfy laundromat downstairs.

Who had never visited the D.M.C. Store? Dallas and Jeri Creeger stocked everything that you could imagine: bulk candy and nuts, live monkeys, window shades, whatever you wanted. Dallas and Jeri were avid members of the Manistique Camera Club, which included my Mom and Dad, Noel and Wanda Harbin, Evelyn Stephens, Clyde and Bea Tank, Lucille Higgins, and Harrison Beach. My sister and I went on many weekend outings, including the high rollaways and the abandoned iron works at Fayette. (The state parks have done a magnificent job in cleaning up this historical site.)

Past the D.M.C. Store, was Cliff's Market - Cliff Kool, proprietor. I remember my mom buying some oleo at Cliff's one day. Oleo was white and came in plastic bag. Also in the bag was an orange capsule. The idea was to break the orange capsule, and massage it into the white oleo, thus turning the whole thing yellow. Someone tole me that the white oleo was due to a Wisconsin law which, theoretically, protected their yellow butter. You have to remember that, in those days, most of our commerce came from Wisconsin and Chicago, as there was no Mackinac Bridge.

Cliff's Market became Brownie's News. Brownie's was the only place in town that a person could buy a Playboy Magazine. Bill Putvin at the drugstore refused to put out that magazine to be sold, and he kept the issues in the back of the drugstore, to be picked up later by the news distributer. As luck would have it, I didn't miss a single issue.

Further down the west side of S. Cedar St. was Top-O-Lake Sports. They sponsored the winniest softball team ever, with Bob MacNamara, Whitey Wilson, Chalmers LeFranier, and other super sports. Chalmers was the loudest and the mouthiest. The Hub Bar was next, along with the entrance to the upstairs meeting room of the Masons. The had three secret lights on the side of the building, (who knew what those meant?), and they had Manistique's only elevator.

The entrance to Dr. Fyvie's office came next. When we were sick, we would trudge up those stairs, and wait, for what seemed like hours, to see the doctor. The nurse, Dagmar Thompson, was really nice.

A. S. Putnam & Sons Drug Store was next. They also had a great soda bar. A suicide coke was not out of the question here as well. My cousin, Lois, worked here for quite a while. Mary Makel Johnston had a great story about here job experiences here. Ask her when you get a chance.

Before we head north on Cedar Street, let's look up and down Maple Street. Going east, we have the Elk's Club. My mom and dad were members. My mom served as treasurer for the Elkettes, (Friday fish fry money). I think my dad was a member, so he could park in their parking lot, close to the drug store.

On the corner of Walnut and Maple was the greenhouse. Mr. Branch was the owner. “Ripley's Believe-it-or-not,” listed Manistique as having three greenhouses: Flora, Greenwood, and Branch. Across the street was Helen Moon's Beauty shop, and Dr. A. Bernier's office. Dr. Bernier had practiced in Nahma, then moved to Manistique.

West on Walnut was Henry Jahn's Bar. My dad shared a story of one of his friends going to Dr. Shaw with a good case of the clap. The fellow said, “I must have picked it up from the toilet seat at, “Henry Jahn's Bar.” Dr. Shaw replied, “That's a hellva place to take your girlfriend.”

Further west was Wehner's Paint Store and the roller rink. The roller rink was cool, but it didn't last very long. I remember a tall guy named Carl Larsen as a skater. It was poetry in motion. We used to see Carl walking back and forth across the river. We called him, “Cruzin Carl.” Around the corner was Hulla's Radio and T.V.

Cedar Street north of Walnut on the east side was an interesting building. On the bottom floor, Ferd Gorsche ran the liquor store. At that time, all liquor in the State of Michigan had to be dispensed through a state-controlled liquor store. All of our liquor at The Surf came from the liquor store. Upstairs in that building was the telephone company. It was always exciting to walk down the upstairs hallway and hear, “Number Please. Thank you.” It was even more exciting to watch the young ladies plug and remove the hundreds of cords on the huge board. I remember Peggy Harrington and Mason Rhodes' girlfriend working the big board.

On the other side of the upstairs, was Dr. Chauvin, a dentist and my next door neighbor. Pete and Bobbie Chauvin played on my St. Francis de Sales basketball team. (Yes, I coached for St. Francis grade school.) We were undefeated that year, even beat Cooks.

Nelson's shoe store was along that east side of the street, along with Evelyn Stephen's dress shop. I think that an office for Edison Sault Electric was also along there. The Camera Shop, run by Noel and Wanda Harbin was in a house set back from the street. The Maytag Store was next. The Daily Press was housed in a small office under Mr. William Norton, but the Press moved down south on Cedar St. Bedford's had a laundry business in that building.

The end of that block was the Savings Assurance Agency and the State Savings Bank. At the bank, I always remembered Keith Bundy and “Butterball” Strassler. I would take my paper route money to the bank every week to save for college, minus the 25 cents that I spent on candy at Lakeside Grocery.

The west side of Cedar started with the First National Bank under Fred Hahn's leadership. My cousin Ruth Nylander left the People's Store to work at that bank. Upstairs was Johnson and Johnson, attorneys, along with Dr. A. J. Radgens. Next, came the A & P Grocery. George Selling worked there. The staff would lock George in the building at midnight, so he could re-stock the shelves during the night, What they didn't know was that George would sometimes push a case of beer up the outside conveyor to be picked up by him when the staff unlocked the doors in the morning. If you ever double dated with George, you discovered that he had a bottle of beer stashed behind every tree in Schoolcraft County.

There was Orpha's Bakery next, where Orfie Schiller's mom worked. Good baked goods there, too. Dr. Wilson's eye place was next to LaFoille's. LaFoille's has a bowling alley when I was a kid. This was run by Hazel. When the bowling alley left, Harrison LaFoille ran the restaurant in front. Harrison would throw a hamburger on the grill, pound the s**t out of it, cover it with pepper and a little salt, and serve the best sandwich in Manistique. Harrison's brother, Harry, ran the pool hall next door. No women allowed, except for Harriett and Mary, well, maybe Newsy. Harry didn't allow cussing, unless he couldn't hear you. I got a lot of my sex education at the pool hall.

Pearl Street down at the river was Isaacson Bros. Junkyard. Dan and I picked up slag from the gravel part of Cataraugus St., and haul it down to Isaacson's for a small payment. Dan and I also picked pine cones along the dock road to sell them to the DNR at Wyman's Nursery. We were little entrepreneurs.

The Benders had a motel up the street toward Cedar. On the corner of River Street was the Texaco Station. Brault's bowling alley was on that side of the street as well. I remember that Linda's mom was a terrific bowler. Smith's Grocery was next. Lyle Smith liked waiting on the young high school girls. Brother Ernie, along with his wife Freida and Norma Johnson started on a long career of making pasties for the Methodist Church.

Across the street was the Cookson Leroy Hardware. This was the tallest building in Manistique. City Hall was next, with the fire department, police department and city offices. My uncle Ed Nylander used to hang out at the fire department, to keep up on the town gossip. The firemen sounded their siren at 9:45 p.m, to let the kids know that they had 15 minutes to get home or get arrested. I used to believe that, so my friends and I could be seen running our tails off for home, upon hearing the siren.

Hollenbeck's Pontiac-Buick garage was next, then Nelson's Cloverland Creamery. Our friend, Clyde Tank worked there in the office. When I would collect enough Dixie cup lids, I could trade them in for an 8” x 10” glossy of Rocky Allen Lane, Roy Rogers, or Jane Powell.

Omar Dybevik ran the dry cleaners next to the creamery. Down at the corner was the Gulf gas station. That's the first time that I had seen prophylactics in a bathroom vending machine. River Street was separated at that corner, to create a triangle. A monument was there, commemorating WWI vets, I think. My grandfather took care of all the flowers there for the city. Grampa would always win first place at the Schoolcraft County Fair, for all of his beautiful flowers. Mom tells me that I picked off all of his prize lilies one time. He didn't hit me – took me downtown for an ice cream cone.

Smitty's IGA was further north on Cedar. According to my Swedish aunt, Smitty's had the best lute fisk and potato sausage in Manistique. On Christmas Eve, I could never bring myself to eat the lute fisk, but I loved the potato sausage. I look for it at Christmas time, even today.

I can't comment on the shops on Deer Street, as I didn't hang out there. My family shopped at many west side shops, but it was just in and out. Perhaps someone who used to hang out there could add a story or two.

"Getting into Trouble"

YOU BOYS AREN'T GETTING IN TROUBLE, ARE YOU?”

by John B. Anderson


When we were not playing sports, one of our goals was to score some beer. One way to do this was to drive by the Majestic Tavern, (we called it the Magic Stick,) and look for our older Native American friends to procure us a case of beer. The Magic Stick was not a classy bar by any means. Manistique had 21 bars at that time in the late 50's. It was more the truth that Manistique had no classy bars at that time, and still doesn't today, but the Magic Stick was sleazy.

We would give our friends $10 and they would buy the case of beer for the four of us. A case of beer, at that time was $4+, so they would have enough money left over to carry them drinking through the evening.

One evening, after we had transacted our business with our buyers, they asked, “You boys aren't getting in trouble with this beer, are you?”

We said, “Absolutely not! Do you know that the width of a car is the same width of the rail tracks? We boys, simply, drive onto the tracks, let a little air out of our tires, put the car in 'drive', then relax and drink our beer. When the beer is half gone, we will turn abound at the next crossing, and return to Manistique. No one can see us, and we stay out of trouble.”

Our two friends thought, “What a wonderful idea. We can do that too.” They bought some beer to go, jumped into their car, pulled unto the tracks, and sailed along through the woods.

One problem! When we boys drove down the tracks, we had picked the “Haywire” Railroad, (our name for the Ann Arbor Railroad). The haywire made only one trip to Shingleton in the morning to pick up rail cars, turned around, and came back to Manistique in the afternoon to put them on the evening car ferry. At night, there was no danger in encountering a train on the tracks. Our friends, however, drove onto the Soo Line tracks, a much busier railroad.

Our friends traveled on the Soo Line tracks all the way to Cooks, MI, a 10 mile journey, turned around at a crossing and drove back to Manistique. They drove through the west side of town, and started across the trestle over the Manistique River. That's when they spotted the bright light coming at them. “Holy Shit!” Both jumped from the trestle into the river. The train smashed into the car, rendering it into little pieces.

The police fished our two friends out of the river, and kept them overnight in the pokey. At that point, we lived in fear that our friends would tell the cops where they got the idea in the first place. A month later, the local “Pioneer Tribune” listed our two friends in the “Justice of the Peace Report,” that our two friends were fined $35 for, “Trespassing on railroad property.” We didn't go close to the Magic Stick again.

"Manistique Neighborhood Grocery Stores"

Manistique's Neighborhood Grocery Stores

by John B. Anderson


Manistique was particularly blessed with a multitude of neighborhood grocery stores. In my particular neighborhood, we had Harvey's, (Harvey Ekdahl), Lakeside Grocery, (the Eckstrom family), and Barney's, (Barney Johnson).

My first experiences at a neighborhood grocery were at Barney's. I would bring Barney my folk's “Cliquot Club” mixer empties, along with coke empties, and an occasional jumbo. (Jumbos were worth 4 cents, while the Coke bottles were only 2 cents. With cash in hand, I would buy 5 cents worth of penny candy, and that would take at least 10 minutes. Barney would stay right with me, as I pondered by choices, sometimes making other customers wait. Barney's selection of penny candy was mounted on a piece of cardboard, and the selection was enormous. The kindness that I experienced at Barney's has set a standard for me to emulate the rest of my life.

Mr. Cooper, certainly one of my favorite high school teachers, shopped at Barney's as well. He would buy a jumbo at night, after school, to relax him after a tough day with the high school kids. I'll bet his own kids made out well with empties at 4 cents a pop.

When we moved to Arbutus Ave., I had two choices of groceries, Lakeside Grocery and Harvey's. Lakeside Grocery delivered groceries to people's homes, Ralph was the delivery driver. Lakeside Grocery had a complete butcher shop in the back of the store. Sometimes Bill and I would go to Lakeside Grocery to pick up a pack of “Marvels” cigarettes for Bill's grandpa. Grandpa would always give us some extra money for our trouble, (we would have done it for free). John R. and I used to sit on the steps of Lakeside Grocery and suck on “Dreamsickles.” When I got my Milwaukee Sentinel paper route, my mom let me spend 25 cents at the grocery for candy.

Harvey's Grocery was a fun place. Harvey and Bernice were always joking with us when we bought our groceries. One day Mom and Dad sent me to Harvey's for a loaf of bread. As I walked out the back door, I spotted Richard, a bully, waiting for me at the next corner. “He's going to pound my ass,” I thought. I turned around and walked six blocks the other way to Barney's. When I finally returned home with the bread, my parents were concerned. I confessed that I was afraid of Richard. They said that the only way that Richard would leave me alone, was that I had to stand up to him. A couple of weeks later, Richard pushed me, I pushed him back, and we became friends.

In my story about downtown Manistique, I spoke of John's Market, (John and Bertha Vaughan), Heinz Market, Cliff's Market, (Cliff Kool), Smith's Market, (Ernie and Lyle Smith) and Smitty's IGA, (Mr. Smith, father of the twins). On the west side, the big grocery was Schuster's, (Otmer Schuster). Smaller ones included Paquette's Riverside Grocery, Norton's Market, Van Dyke's, and Vaughan's Grocery, (Jim, brother of John's Market). Van Dyke's had complete supplies for making homemade beer, including a capping machine. We brewed up a batch at Gorsche's house, distilled it in chemistry class, and gave a big belt of it to Henry. Henry missed the next two days of school. Outside of town, we stopped at the grocery at Manistique Heights, and at Carlson's Indian Lake Store. Just before the state park, was a camper's market.

There were so many places to shop for groceries. Most of these are gone now, making room for the larger grocery stores. These places taught me a lot about social discourse and kindness.

"My Manistique"

MANISTIQUE
The River of Vermilion Waters

Manistique was a bustling city in the 40's and 50's when I was growing up. The steady hum from the paper mill was ever present. Almost every day, the fog horn in the harbor would announce the weather. My twenty-some years in Manistique, I can't remember seeing a cloudless day. Three gray, green, brown buses would traverse the city each morning to pick up the workers for the Inland Lime and Stone Company quarry, and Port Inland. Those same buses would return the men to their homes in the evening. School buses, laden with the country kids, would unload at the junior/senior high school, and then deposit the remaining kids at St. Francis.

The city even had a big bus system at one time. The orange and white monsters would belch diesel smoke all over town. Nary a mosquito survived that onslaught. Delivery trucks from the little grocery stores buzzed hither and yon across the city. At that time, the majority of the car population was divided equally between Fords and Chevys. (I know, because I conducted a scientific survey out the window of Mr. Cooper's economic class.)

My class – the Class of 1960 – was the most successful class ever to graduate from Manistique High School. I say this in all humility. Mr. Giovaninni's civics class surveyed the entire city as a class project. We, then, mapped the city into zones. The resulting zoning map was presented to the City of Manistique, and this zoning map is still in existence today, (with many changes over the years). I don't have to mention which class filled the trophy case showing our abilities in all sports, band, debate, forensics, and every other aspect of student life. Class members went on to become doctors, pharmacists, business owners, electricians, sales people, teachers, all highly successful.

I have no explanation for this phenomenon. One of my bosses, later on in my career, said that she had read a master's thesis, which investigated why our particular class was so successful. The paper reached no definite conclusion. I only know that it really, “took a village,” to make us who we were. At that time, Manistique was filled with loving, caring people. Every time that we pushed for success, there was always someone to say, “Good job!”

The city was particularly vibrant during the 40's and 50's. There were 21 bars when I turned 21. We drank one shell of beer in every bar one night. There are not so many bars any more. I think that now the churches currently outnumber the bars. Wonderful eating places were everywhere back 55 years ago. Who could resist a slice of Mrs. Archy's or Mrs. Greenwood's apple pie at the Eat Shop, or fries covered with gravy at the Liberty or Denneys? We had two theaters, the Oak and the Cedar. We had two bowling alleys, Braults and the Elks Club. The pool hall taught Sex Ed 101, and, when we got older, we could practice pickup lines next door.

This was a city of over 5,000 population. Today, it's more like 3,500. At this writing, the paper mill is closed, and the limestone operations in Gulliver are greatly reduced. Joy and I return to Manistique every summer, and we sometimes bring a, “Habitat,” crew with us to say, “ Thanks,” to a city that gave us great opportunities.