Archive for the ‘Historical Feature’ Category
Thursday, August 26th, 2010
 By F. Josephine Arrowood
Sun contributor
For over 50 years, the tall-case clock has kept time at the old Dillon cottage on Little Glen Lake, its pendulum quietly tracing the passage of the days. But this was no ordinary heirloom passed down by a proud ancestor. The handmade wooden piece, crafted in the popular Victorian-era Gothic style and standing more than eight feet tall, boasts three separate faces that mark the hours, minutes, and seconds behind a round glass portal. The steel pendulum shaft ends in a large glass cylinder, more than eight inches tall and two inches in diameter, filled with mercury, while the brass counterweight and other fittings are much thicker and heavier than usual. Strangest of all, according to its current owner Ben Bricker, “Here’s this clock from way back, but it has electrical fittings!”
Ben has wondered often about the old timepiece, which originally belonged to his late wife Ananda “Tump” Dillon’s mother’s family in Chicago. As he explained, no one now alive could share direct evidence of the clock’s origins or purpose. Yet he has heard plenty of tantalizing but unsubstantiated family lore about its role as “the official timepiece for east of Dayton, Ohio, and west of Lincoln, Neb.”
When he happened to see an episode of PBS’ History Detectives about a year ago, he was struck by the question that the show’s host, Elyse Luray, asks each week: “What is it that you want to know?” Ben realized that he should try to document the piece’s intriguing history for his family’s future generations. After writing down as much of the stories as he could remember, he and his daughter Cherrie Bricker Stege contacted the show’s producers to see if they could take on the challenge of the mystery clock from Carl Sandburg’s so-called “City of the Big Shoulders.”
Back in late 19th century Chicago, Tump’s maternal grandmother had an uncle named John Mayo, who owned the upscale Mayo Jewelry Store. Did the clock play an important role in maintaining the orderly progression of commerce throughout the Midwest, as the family lore speculated and American history of the era suggests? Ben Bricker recalls that the “electrical fittings” were said to be connected to telegraph wires “to receive the Morse code signals from the Bureau of Standards” in Washington, DC.
“As the story goes, the clock would make a click, and someone standing there would manually recalibrate the three separate clock faces so that all three hands would stand up.”
He continues, “Theoretically, it was a nine-day clock but was rewound every Sunday, drawing the brass weight at the end of the gut cord back up. Otherwise, the weight would slowly sink to the bottom of the entire clock case, on the floor.” He opens the glass portal and demonstrates the winding of the clock with a small, removable brass handle. “Tump, [and her sisters] Barrie and Ariel all learned to tell time on this clock — wasn’t that strange, with its three hands!”
He is also fascinated by the ingenious method by which the stainless steel pendulum expands and contracts according to temperature changes, while the heavy mercury (a metal, though in liquid form) in the glass vial compensates by its limited downward expansion.
“This causes the vial to rise by the same amount that the pendulum shaft lengthens,” Ben explains. That maintains the device’s ‘escapement,’ or length of the pendulum’s arc, which regulates the length of the gear unwinding, “to be absolutely accurate.”
He notes that the clock has been cleaned and repaired several times over its century-plus history, most recently by his son Bruce, a physical oceanographer with the Office of Naval Research in Long Beach, Miss.
About 1980, he took apart every moveable piece and spread it across my living room floor. He cleaned it all, then put it back together, and signed his name and the date,” alongside the previous, mostly anonymous laborers, whose names are immortalized within the bowels of the clockworks.
Whatever the clock’s function, the selection of John Mayo and his jewelry establishment as timekeeper remains a mystery (perhaps to be revealed during the upcoming History Detectives episode, which will air on Monday, Sept. 6 at 9 p.m. local time). What is certain is that the tall, darkly burnished wooden spires atop the longcase stood sentinel in the Mayo Jewelry Store for several decades, perhaps until the hotel was rebuilt in 1924-27 to its present-day configuration. At some time, probably in the early 1950s, Mayo’s great-niece Alice Goss Dillon and her husband Frank (Tump’s parents) sold their home in Winnetka, Ill., and put the clock into storage near their downtown Chicago art studio, before moving it once again to their summer cottage on Glen Lake.
Ben says, “When Frank put everything in storage, he put the mercury in a coffee can, which was lead soldered. The mercury reacted with the lead, went right through the can onto the warehouse floor! They lost quite a bit, which had to be replaced. You can’t really pick up mercury, especially from a board floor that had wide cracks. This was before the days when mercury was dangerous,” he quips with a smile.
Today, the old timepiece remains on duty, lovingly wound each week by Ben, its present-day steward. Though it no longer carries the heavy responsibility of keeping time for a brawny Midwestern town, its pendulum continues its faithful arc across time, rising and falling with the weight of each given day.
Posted in Historical Feature, Investigative Article | 1 Comment »
Monday, August 9th, 2010
 Fed’s big bucks, local forums build interest in rail transit, freight
By Hannah Clark
This story was originally published by the Great Lakes Bulletin News Service, a project of the Michigan Land Use Institute.
The automobile drove Michigan’s economy for most of the last century. That singular emphasis on cars, though, left the Auto State with a transportation system ill equipped for the 21st century.
Crumbling highways and bridges, their stubbornly high maintenance costs, and chronic traffic congestion signal that, when it comes to transportation, Michigan’s model no longer works.
Michigan is hardly alone, but some other states with similar problems have taken a different approach to solving the problem. Many have turned to passenger rail to help them tame traffic, congestion, and clean air problems, spur economic and jobs growth, curb oil dependence, and give people more choices for getting around.
Rail is by no means a new solution in Michigan. In the 1920s, the state had over 10,000 miles of track carrying both freight and passengers; today, it has just 3,600 miles, with passengers riding on just 500 miles of it.
But Michigan is starting to show renewed interest in building better railroads.
New improvements to its scant intercity passenger rail system began this spring, funded by federal stimulus dollars. Detroit, the only large American city without an urban rail system, now has several long-postponed commuter rail projects in development. And, after proposing serious cuts in support to Amtrak passenger rail in the state last year, Governor Jennifer Granholm’s latest budget proposes full funding for the current passenger rail system.
Federal dollars are helping out, too. Due to new funding requirements, the state must update its master rail plan for the first time in 30 years. However, given the state Legislature’s history of indifference to public transit, lawmakers may not support the governor’s budget unless pro-rail people speak up.
A public “Michigan By Rail” forum was held on July 22 in Traverse City — one of nine that a number of nonprofit advocacy groups, including the Michigan Land Use Institute, staged around the state. Each looked closely at Michigan’s rail system and prospects for transforming it into a robust, popular enterprise.
The groups hope that the forums will lead to strong citizen response when, as part of updating its master plan for the feds, the state holds its own hearings on Michigan’s rail future.
A Budding Rail Revival?
That hope seems more realistic than it did a decade ago. According to officials at the Michigan Department of Transportation, an agency survey four years ago for the state long-range plan revealed a big jump in interest in public transit, including rail, according to MDOT Director Kirk Steudle.
Mr. Steudle also pointed out that ridership on the state’s three Amtrak passenger rail lines grew 50 percent in less than a decade, from 457,000 passengers in 2000 to 724,000 passengers in 2008.
He added that the business class sections of trains running between Michigan and Chicago regularly sell out, perhaps because the rising cost of gas and parking means that “riding the train is just cheaper.”
But Mr. Steudle added that the progress also reflects that Amtrak is “becoming more reliable, and [that] rail is getting national attention. President Obama is trying to get the system running. It’s a form of advertising, just that they’re talking about it and putting money into it.”
Tim Fischer, deputy policy director at the Michigan Environmental Council, another sponsor of the Michigan By Rail forums, said the big 2008 jump in gas prices was a wake up call, particularly in this auto-dependent state.
“When gas hit $4, we realized that we’re stranded without transportation options,” Mr. Fischer said. “It was a very palpable loss of mobility. It was a jolt.”
Michigan: Unready for Prime Time
Now, with that jolt still fresh in many peoples’ minds, the federal government is, for the first time ever, investing heavily in high-speed rail: $8 billion from last year’s American Recovery and Reinvestment Act (ARRA), and $2.5 billion from this year’s 2010 budget will jumpstart a number of projects.
States are clearly hungry for passenger rail funding. Forty states, including Michigan, submitted over $57 billion in proposals, seven times the amount allocated under ARRA.
But Michigan did not do well; it requested $1 billion but received $40 million to upgrade three train stations. According to Mr. Fischer, that shortfall was due to insufficient political will in Lansing.
“We had the demand but not the political support,” he said. “While our applications were sitting in front of the Federal Rail Administration, our governor put forward a budget that was about 25 percent of what we needed to operate our current system. That sent a strong message that we don’t support the current system.”
Mr. Fischer said the $40 million was still a valuable investment, even though it is a relatively small part of a $250 million grant shared by Illinois, Indiana and Michigan.
“Most of the $250 million in stimulus money will go to uncorking the bottleneck in Chicago,” he explained, referring to the long waits Amtrak trains often experience before pulling into Union Station. “Some of our trains already hit high speed, but that doesn’t matter when trains have to pull over to the side and wait for freight to pass.”
Mr. Steudle agrees. “The biggest improvement we can make to the Detroit-Chicago line is in Illinois and Indiana,” he said. “What good does it do to speed across Michigan then wait in Indiana?”
Four Projects for Detroit
Undaunted by Washington’s funding decisions, however, rail advocates in metro Detroit are planning projects that could attract more funding in next year’s round of federal transportation grants.
One project, dubbed M-1 Rail, is unique: Private funding by business and philanthropists, to the tune of $125 million, for a 3.4-mile line along Woodward Avenue in downtown Detroit. Investors see it as the first step in bringing light rail to the city—and attracting federal dollars. Construction could start this fall.
The Southeast Michigan Council of Governments (SEMCOG) manages another budding project, the Detroit-Metro Airport-Ann Arbor commuter train. It is quite modest: it’s meant to demonstrate how rapid transit might serve southeast Lower Michigan by collecting ridership numbers for future planning.
That project’s history reflects the difficulty of bringing passenger railroad to Michigan: Although planning began more than 10 years ago, SEMCOG recently dropped a firm start date and said that, initially, service will be offered only for special events, like University of Michigan football games.
A planned commuter rail connection between Ann Arbor and Howell—the Washtenaw-Livingston Line, or “WALLY”—has also seen delays.
WALLY, which enjoys strong local government, business, and citizen support, would provide relief for travelers of congested US-23; planners say that is cheaper than widening the highway.
But it needs three years of full funding as a demonstration project in order to eventually secure federal funds. A raft of local governments and development agencies have pledged funds and the University of Michigan and local U.S. EPA laboratory say they would purchase passes for their employees because it would cut their parking expenditures.
Consultants say WALLY could start up with 11 to 16 months of securing full funding.
The state is making some plans, too: an “intermodal freight terminal” in Detroit, where freight would move between trucks, trains, and boats. Michigan will invest $650 million, making it the state’s biggest rail freight project.
Mr. Steudle emphasized that, without a strong freight train system, passenger rail does not have a chance.
“You have to have a system that effectively and efficiently moves both people and goods,” he said.
A Boon for Northern Michigan?
While local and state officials and business leaders push for regional rail projects, Larry Karnes, a freight policy specialist for MDOT, is working on the Michigan state rail plan, required to qualify for more Washington funding.
The plan, according to Mr. Karnes, must inventory the existing rail system, analyze environmental and economic impacts, and identify future projects and long-range investments.
“The rail plan can’t just be a wish list,” Mr. Karnes said. “It must be realistic and achievable” and include both freight and passenger rail systems.
Some rail advocates in northern Michigan see the new rail activity emerging in southern Michigan, combined with the development of a new state rail plan, as an opportunity for their region, too. They say that the strong support for public transportation revealed by the 2008 Grand Vision citizen workshops makes a north-south rail line an achievable goal.
MEC’s Fischer said that might get a good statewide reception.
“Residents are crying out for the state to be connected,” Mr. Fischer asserted. “They don’t want the divide between south and north and east and west. People in Royal Oak want to vacation in the north. People in the northwest want to explore Detroit. Right now our system is geared toward moving people to Chicago, and we’d like to invest in our local communities.”
Kim Pontius, executive vice president of another local forum sponsor, the Traverse Area Association of Realtors, believes that first-class public transit can attract young professionals to the region.
“Nationally speaking, when young people are looking at a house, the first thing they ask is how far to the transit stop,” he said. “Why? They don’t have to buy a second car.”
Doug DeYoung, director of government relations at the Traverse Area Chamber of Commerce, which is also sponsoring the Traverse City forum, is a bit more cautious. He wants to make sure local officials get a close look at a state rail plan before clamoring for investment dollars.
“We need to look at who could use rail, who would use it, and where would be the best location for rail as a multimodal transportation solution in our region before we can say what the economic impacts will be,” Mr. DeYoung said.
MDOT’s Steudle is equally cautious about a north-south rail connection. While the good news is that there are freight rail lines connecting Ann Arbor to Traverse City, making passenger rail at least a possibility, those tracks are very bumpy, slow, and in need of lots of work.
“I’d love to get on a train and go Up North, if it took four hours,” Mr. Steudle said. “But, right now, it takes nine. It’s going to take a lot of money in physical infrastructure improvements.”
That means people who want to ride the rails to, from, and around northern Michigan must speak out.
“We need the grassroots to stand up,” said Mr. Steudle, “to say we want this and we’re willing to pay for it.”
Posted in Historical Feature, Investigative Article | No Comments »
Tuesday, July 27th, 2010
 By Chloe Gribbin
Sun contributor
The photos mounted on the walls of the Dickinson photo gallery on M-109 are an obvious attraction to those wandering the streets of Glen Arbor. The prints range from black and white to hand tinted, and offer beautiful scenes around the Glen Arbor and Empire area — both vintage and modern views.
But these photographs, while extraordinary, are not mere wall ornaments. They represent a history unique to this corner of the earth. They are documents of the change, the natural beauty, and the utter splendor that is the Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore.
And thanks to the late Fred Dickinson and his daughter Grace Dickinson-Johnson, both locals and tourists can now begin to appreciate the area in which we are so lucky to live and vacation.
Dickinson was born in 1907 in Hinsdale, Ill., where he spent his time until his grandfather built a summer cottage in 1912 on Little Glen Lake. Dickinson would then ride, and later photograph, the steamships that traveled between Chicago’s Navy Pier and Leelanau County. As he grew, so did his love for this area. He started to see things with an artist’s eye — so much so that after attending the University of Colorado, Dickinson designed and built a home of his own just across the road from the original family cottage.
Throughout the years, he explored and photographed the landscape that he loved and cherished. Dickinson also created a collection of photographs of the Dune Rides, documenting drivers, cars, and riders — then an exciting tourist attraction, now an historical compilation. Dickinson’s other photo themes include more historical, well-preserved shots of the Glen Lakes and the surrounding areas from both traditional views and isolated spots he discovered during his explorations.
As if this gift of his was not enough of a contribution to his community, Dickinson also found time to create two hand-drawn maps of Leelanau County and the Glen Lakes, as well as purchase and run the Leelanau Enterprise from 1943-1949 with his wife Julia. Two trips to Europe were also taken, where he visited Rome and Athens. Naturally, he documented his travels through his photographs, many of which he enlarged and hand colored.
In addition to being an artist, a writer and a builder, Dickinson was also a father of three. His son took interest in physics, which became his college major, and his daughter took passionately to literature and teaching.
“My brother is the scientist of the family, and my sister was the literary (figure) out of the three of us,” said Dickinson’s second daughter, Grace. “I took after Dad.”
And indeed she did. Grace Dickinson-Johnson is now the proud owner of the new gallery in downtown Glen Arbor, as well as a profound photographer herself. She recalls her father’s work, as she helped and played alongside him during her childhood.
“I can still smell the chemicals he used to develop prints in his darkroom, and I remember seeing the wet paper hanging on screens to dry — all spread across the basement floor,” says Grace after she describes a photo of her as a young girl, hanging up reject prints on her own makeshift clothesline.
Grace produces her own photographs now, but continues to do so with her father in mind. Her love of the county and her artistic eye are irreplaceable gifts given to her from her father — an extremely special connection only shared between two artists.
Talking and examining the photographs of both Dickinsons not only made me realize the singular exceptionality and wonder of this area, but also rejuvenated me to go out and photograph some of my own special spots around the lakeshores and Bluff faces. As Dickinson’s photos show, this place is in a constant state of change as it tries to keep up with the world.
Grace realizes this, as well as how special her father’s talents were. “How do you know which exposure to use on the enlarger?” she would ask of Dickinson, among other questions as she learned from him.
“Just by feeling,” he would respond, proving that some things can’t simply be taught, but must be observed and absorbed through passion and dedication.
Dickinson’s photos can be found alongside his daughter’s on the walls of the Glen Arbor gallery she continues in his memory. An opening reception will be held the weekend of July 30-31 from 6-10 p.m. at the Glen Arbor Art Association, located at 6000 Pine Street in Glen Arbor.
Posted in Business Feature, Historical Feature, Upcoming Event | No Comments »
Tuesday, July 6th, 2010
 By Glen Chown
Executive Director, Grand Traverse Regional Land Conservancy
In Reflections from Glen Springs, author Jody Marquis takes us on a real-life journey of discovery that starts with the healing of damaged shoreland area on the Glen Lakes, not far from Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. Through this journey we learn not just about the hows and whys of ecological restoration but also the underlying philosophy and immense rewards of neighboring families who came together united with a common purpose, passion, and love of wild nature. Through the profound healing of this formerly degraded shoreland, the self-described “Wildlanders” stumble upon an important discovery, one of the last remaining populations of the Monkey Flower, a federally endangered plant species found only in Michigan. The few struggling plants that remain become an intense focus for the Wildlanders’ active restoration efforts, which expand to a larger stretch of shoreline and necessitates cooperation with local, state and federal authorities.
Marquis details it all through a series of written sketches, lovingly illustrated with stunning photographs and insights that hark back to Aldo Leopold’s classic book The Sand County Almanac. She closes with a plea to all of us to take the time to connect children to the wonders of nature. Thus, the book is ultimately about a community building a land ethic by healing the earth and creating something of extraordinary beauty. In this world of seemingly overwhelming environmental challenges ranging from climate change at the global level to the menace of invasive species here in the Great Lakes, Marquis has given us an important blueprint for how we all can take appropriate actions in our own small areas that, collectively, can make a difference on a much wider scale.
Posted in Historical Feature | No Comments »
Monday, June 28th, 2010
 By Jack Lane
Sun contributor
We have all written a sort of eulogy to Ernie Harwell in our minds. While driving down roads, listening to other baseball announcers sing their operas … while sitting at the beach, drinking in the waves and wind and feeling there was just a little piece of summer missing … while hopping up from a dinner with friends to duck in and check the Tigers’ score. As we’ve written this article, as we’ve sorted through the feelings and the memories and the lessons and all the phrases, the one phrase that keeps coming to mind is that, after 42 years of being the sweet background melody of our summers, that sweet voice with all its lovely stories is finally, itself, long gone.
I miss him, terribly.
In a world where love is a hard notion to fully come to grips with, I can tell you unequivocally, I loved Ernie Harwell. He was the first refuge I knew in life — I could tune in his voice as I lay in bed and, pitch by pitch, the calamity of being the sixth child in a beehive of a family would fade and the world he created for me would come to life. Ernie painted vivid pictures for me, taught me about the great ballplayers of the ’20s and ’30s and ’40s who made up the history of this great game. He instructed me on the nuances of strategy and getting a good lead and holding the runner close and why a batter wants to work a pitcher. Ernie made me laugh with his tales of odd situations. He pointed out the little moments in a game as well as beautifully building the big moments into such a huge ball of anticipation that a boy of nine, laying in the dark, could barely breathe!
For the first time in my life, I could listen to someone who told me nothing but the truth. I don’t mean to slight my five brothers and sister but I had learned, painfully, that their version of the truth was a highly subjective matter. Not Ernie — whether it was leading up to a great rally or the delivery of terrible, terrible game-ending pop flies, I knew I could always count on Ernie to give it to me straight.
Along the way, though — and this is what I miss most about him being gone, he gave hope to every situation. To Ernie, the Tigers were never out of it. Ever! And, okay, even if they were, this somehow presented a silver lining to tomorrow’s game. Optimism is not an easy thing to teach. And I’m very happy Ernie was never put to the ultimate test in that department by having to broadcast Detroit Lions’ games. Although had he, my guess is the Lions would have won a few Super Bowls during his stay — that’s how much I believe Ernie meant to the world he moved through.
In the ’60s, when we were first falling in love with Ernie, he had the pleasure of sharing with us some great teams. The ’61 Tigers with Cash and his corked bat winning the batting title, and Kaline and Cash giving Maris and Mantle a run for the home run title. The build up to the eternally cherished ’68 team with so many hometown heroes.
Describing baseball games against the backdrop of what was happening in the ghettos and urban landscapes of the ’60s riots and unrest could not have been an easy task. One of Ernie’s greatest attributes was that he weaved real life into his telling of a baseball game. Can you imagine what was going through his mind on any given afternoon in ’67 and ’68 as he prepared to broadcast that night’s game? How he would work something in to soothe, if he could, the national beast that was rising in the heat of those nights? Ernie’s endless hope was always, always a beacon in any broadcast. Except for one horrible, dreadful moment — when the Tigers lost the pennant in the last inning of the last game of the ’67 season. I cried for hours. For the first time in my life, nothing Ernie could say could console me. My 11-year-old heart was hopelessly broken. Nothing — nothing! — would ever repair it, again. Except unless he could guide the Tigers to a World Championship the very next year.
When the Tigers won that pennant and appeared in the ’68 Series, I got to see a whole new side of Ernie. His choice to have Jose Feliciano sing that national anthem prior to game Five in Detroit brought us the first time any singer had ever sang his ‘own version’ of the great song. The controversy and Ernie’s insistence that it was a beautiful moment let me know that it was okay to be different and to stand up for something and someone who maybe wasn’t the popular choice.
The ’70s brought fading stars, bad teams and the one shining season of Mark The Bird Fidrych. Again, Ernie excelled at celebrating someone fantastically different and, again, Ernie sang us the sweet suspense that is baseball. As the ’70s faded, he again was the voice of a team that was building toward a World Championship, delighting us with all the little moments that turn rookies into stars.
The 80s brought the great ’84 team, the decline of that team and the bleak landscape of the ’90s teams. Through it all, Ernie was that wonderful bandleader of hope and all nights, sweet. I’ll not mention the idiotic period of Ernie being dismissed from the broadcast booth, other than to point out the obvious result — Tiger fans would have none of it. I would let him broadcast from heaven, if I could only figure out the technology. Although I’m fearful he might’ve finally run afoul of God with comments made at the end of the recent Galarraga perfect game.
The point to my little soliloquy, here, is that I know you loved Ernie, too. And I know for some of you it’s a little odd to think in terms of love when we’re talking about someone you possibly never met. But be at ease with your love — he had a three-hour conversation with you for most of the sweet weather nights for 42 years. And never once in those nightly conversations did he swear at you, chastise you or give you reason to dislike anyone other than the opposing team and an occasional umpire.
Ernie taught us how to hope, how to rally, how to not make excuses and how to come back tomorrow and play our hearts out. He taught us to respect our opponents, to savor our friendships and teammates and to do things the right way. He compelled kids to practice, he compelled adults to lay down the day’s troubles and pull for their beloved team. Ernie taught us so many life lessons over those 42 years that, with apologies to all good parents throughout our delightful state, I believe this sweet man from Georgia might’ve been the most important positive influence in the state’s history. At the least, I know it’s okay to feel that way.
Ernie loved life. He loved us. He loved the game of baseball. All of it, now, looooong gone … but a wonderful, deeply set part of us, forever.
————————————-
Box score for Armando Galarraga’s Perfect Game
From staff reports
If in no other newspapers across America, here at least is the way the Detroit Tigers’ box score should have looked after Armando Galarraga’s Perfect Game that wasn’t … with only 27 Cleveland batters faced, and goose eggs across the board.
Tigers 3, Indians 0
June 2, 2010
Cleveland ab r h rbi Detroit ab r h rbi
Crowe cf 3 0 0 0 Jackson cf 4 1 3 0
Choo rf 3 0 0 0 Damon lf 4 1 1 0
Kearns lf 3 0 0 0 Kelly lf 0 0 0 0
Hafner dh 3 0 0 0 Ordonez rf 4 0 1 1
Peralta 3b 3 0 0 0 Cabrera 1b 4 1 2 1
Branyan 1b 3 0 0 0 Boesch dh 3 0 1 0
Grudziel… 2b 3 0 0 0 Guillen 2b 3 0 0 0
Redmond c 3 0 0 0 Inge 3b 3 0 0 0
Donald ss 3 0 0 0 Avila c 3 0 1 0
Santiago ss 3 0 0 0
Totals 27 0 0 0 Totals 31 3 9 2
Cleveland 000 000 000 — 0 0 1
Detroit 010 000 02x — 3 9 0
E: Choo (3). LOB: Cleveland 0, Detroit 4. HR: Cabrera (15), off Carmona. RBI: Ordonez (35), Cabrera (49). SB: Jackson (8).
Pitchers:
Cleveland ip h r er bb so np era
Carmona (L 4-4) 8 9 3 2 0 3 96 3.53
Detroit ip h r er bb so np era
Galarraga (W 2-1) 9 0 0 0 0 3 NA 2.57
Umpires: Home, Marvin Hudson; 1b, Jim Joyce; 2b, Jim Wolf; 3b, Derryl Cousins.
Time: 1:44. Attendance: 17,738.
Posted in Historical Feature, Poetry/Essay | 2 Comments »
Tuesday, June 22nd, 2010
 By F. Josephine Arrowood
Sun contributor
On a bright June afternoon, a first glimpse of Irwin “Irv” Beck, Jr. reveals the 82-year-old sailing along on his red Farm-all tractor, as proud as a mariner, through the furrowed expanse of his 10 acres in Empire Twp. It’s the middle of strawberry season, and Irv is taking a break from harvesting the juicy fruits to tend the pumpkin crop and keep a weather eye on the rest of his farm.
“They say I was born with a hoe in my hand,” the octogenarian laughs. “I’ve been 62 years farming. I guess it’s in my blood.”
His grandfather, August Beck, was a German immigrant who arrived on South Manitou Island via Chicago in the latter half of the 19th century. He married 15-year-old Elizabeth Haas, daughter of a Coast Guardsman stationed in nearby Frankfort. The young pioneer couple settled on the island to work their 40 acres: raising a family of six children, clearing timber, planting orchards and other crops, and building a sturdy farmhouse. Now a part of the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore, the house and several outbuildings were lovingly restored by the Manitou Islands Memorial Society, a local heritage preservation group, with help from the National Park Service.
As some of their neighbors left South Manitou for work elsewhere, the Becks acquired 160 acres, but times were changing quickly with the turn of the new century. Old sailing schooners were replaced by larger, more technologically advanced steam-driven ships. Once the limited virgin forests were lumbered, these big boats had less reason to stop to ship out the islanders’ market goods, and to bring in supplies from the mainland. And even with their large homestead, the Becks’ adult children found work opportunities too limited.
By the time of the First World War, August’s son Irwin, Sr. had left the family farm to seek his living. Although he had put a down payment on a Wisconsin farm, the deal fell through when he was drafted. Due to a bad hip, he never served in the military, and eventually returned to Empire. He and his wife Lulu bought the Tweddle farm south of the village in 1925, and their third child Irwin, Jr. was born in October 1927. At various times, his father also owned acreage on Norconk Rd, and near the village.
Irv says, “My dad was a general farmer; he raised corn, rye, beans, buckwheat, potatoes and squash. The squash was for pig feed in the winter. He had beef cows, strawberries and raspberries, too. He lived to be 101 years old; his sisters were 103 and 105!”
“I can remember having a team of horses, a nice pair of Belgians, pretty well-matched. He had a pair of black-and-whites, I loved to drag [cultivate the fields] with them.”
He goes on, “They didn’t have all this fancy stuff years ago. Big families — how’d they survive? My dad always said, ‘Beans, potatoes, and meat — you could live on that.’ I used to pick cherries for the Clagetts, apples, too. I had to buy my own clothes with that. With my outfits, kids used to think our family was rich!”
Irv recalls attending the old Tweddle School, still located on the corner of present-day M-22 and Stormer Rd. “You started out with a three-month school year, then it got to be five months, then eight months,” he explained, accommodating the needs of farm families’ planting and harvesting schedules.
“We went there until sixth grade, then over to the big school in Empire. We walked a mile, mile-and-a-half to school there. In summer, you could walk across the fields; in winter, you had to go by the roads. We had Ben Roen for a teacher,” he remembers, referring to a son of the famous Roen Saloon owner, whose beautifully restored bar can be seen today as a centerpiece of the Empire Area Historical Museum.
At the close of World War Two, Irv enlisted in the Army, serving with the second occupation forces in Japan in 1946.
“I’d had chemistry at Empire School, but hadn’t thought much of it. After Camp Polk, La., I shipped out to San Francisco, training as a medic. In Tokyo, I was a lab technician in a hospital; [I] took blood, gave shots, learned it all.”
One day, he knocked on the door of a hospital room. “A little voice said, ‘Come in,’” and the young medic beheld a large screen, only partially obscuring a flame-haired lady patient receiving her morning bath from an assistant. Lillian Raiford, from Little Rock, Ark., was working at General MacArthur’s Eighth Army headquarters, and had broken her wrist in a fall. Irv was smitten hard by the vision of the bathing beauty, but after she was discharged from the hospital five days later, he didn’t know how to contact her.
“I was going into Tokyo to play basketball, and here comes a woman with red hair, a green coat and hat with feathers in it. She said, ‘Want a ride in a staff car?’ We had hamburgers for 25 cents and Cokes for a nickel!”
When the couple became engaged, Lillian commissioned a wedding dress, veil and flowers, all hand-made from yards of creamy Japanese silk. The cost? “Twelve dollars!” Irv chortles. “It’s over in the museum now in Empire. She wore it for our 50th anniversary!” They decided to marry in the States to avoid international bureaucratic entanglements that would have included three separate ceremonies, and they wed in Little Rock in 1947.
He says, “It took 17 days on the boat coming to San Francisco. We could see each other, walk the ship, see a movie, but at the end of the day, we had to part! That was our ‘honeymoon’ — before the wedding — all we could see was water!”
Back in Michigan, he went to agriculture school in Traverse City, a half-day per week in the winter that was paid for by the GI Bill, and worked with his father on the family land. He and Lillian had four children: Ellis, Judy, Vicki and Keith. He also found a job as a farm equipment mechanic for Jim Johnson’s Case Farm Machinery, then situated around the corner from the Empire Bank.
“He was like another father to me,” Irv recalls of Johnson. “I did sales, repairs, manager, truck driver. I’d see him in the morning; he’d give me a list. There were three-four of us, and I [eventually] was the boss of the deal. When I had worked for him for 25 years, he gave me a brand-new, 1973 green Pontiac. That was better than a watch!”
Irv and Lillian acquired the old Tweddle farm, and they turned part of the large, 12-room farmhouse into a display area for their growing collection of pink Depression-era glass and antique phonographs. (His first purchase, won in a bidding duel with Dave Taghon at the Roen estate auction — now immortalized in writer Anne-Marie Oomen’s 2009 drama, Whaddaya Give? — is an Edison cylinder model with wooden listening horn from the Roen Saloon. It now sits on the restored bar, after Irv donated it to the museum last year.) Lillian researched, wrote, and illustrated several books about Empire and Manitou Islands history, and the pair continued to tend the land, harvesting sweet corn, pumpkins and berries.
When the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore was created, the Becks reluctantly sold their farm to the government and bought 10 acres on Stormer Rd in 1976. They started farming all over again, planting 1,000 strawberry plants, over an acre of raspberries, as well as rhubarb and pumpkins. Although his beloved Lillian died in 2008, the farmer carries on his love affair with the land that has given back such abundance over the years, helped by daughter Vicki and a small cadre of neighborly teen helpers.
He laments the small strawberry crop this year, damaged by late frosts, but he brightens quickly as he looks ahead. He casts shrewd blue eyes over his tidy fields. “We’re going to have some good, early raspberries this year!”
“Farmers are the biggest gamblers in the world. Seems like it’s in your blood. You say, ‘Maybe this’ll be my last year.’” He laughs. “In spring, here comes equipment, here we go again! That hoe again! But it didn’t hurt me. I like to have the nicest stuff, and I’m proud of what I sell.”
Posted in Historical Feature, Local Personality | 1 Comment »
Monday, June 14th, 2010
 Press release
The National Park Service at Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore (National Lakeshore) is seeking public review of recent changes to plans for the rehabilitation of the Glen Haven Village Historic District and associated improvements to visitor access there.
Plans to rehabilitate the historic buildings and landscape of the village and to improve visitor access to both the beach and the village have been in place since 1992. The National Park Service has been able to accomplish much of the work in a piecemeal fashion, such as using entrance fee funds to open the blacksmith shop and D. H. Day Store.
Last year, however, the National Lakeshore was awarded American Recovery and Reinvestment Act (ARRA) funding to finally complete the project. Because slight modifications have subsequently been made to the 1992 plans for this historic district, the National Park Service is seeking public comment on these modifications.
For example, the 1992 plan called for the replacement of the uncontrolled parking currently next to the Cannery building with up to three parking lots with a total capacity of 84 vehicles, including 40 within the historic district, and six oversized buses/RVs. The plans have now been modified to consolidate these three lots into two smaller parking lots with a capacity of only 59 vehicles, including only 20 within the historic district, and two oversized.
In addition, the new plans call for modifications to rehabilitate the historic landscape of the village. Boardwalks will be installed to match the configuration of the historic boardwalks of D. H. Day’s time, and to allow visitors to walk around the village. Modern utility poles will be removed and overhead electric lines will be placed underground. Finally, the recently repaired fish tug Aloha will be moved about 200 feet east of the Cannery, and a boardwalk ramp and viewing platform will be constructed around it to improve visitor access to the vessel.
These changes to the 1992 plans will benefit the historic district. In addition, the National Lakeshore plans to ensure this by including construction methods and features designed to protect historic resources. The entire area has been surveyed for archeological resources, and sensitive sites have been avoided. The parking lots are to be chip-sealed so their color and surface blends in better with the landscape. The viewing platform and Aloha cradle are to be constructed so that they afford the vessel some protection from wind-blown sand, while still allowing the public to view it. The National Lakeshore has worked closely with the Michigan State Historic Preservation Office to ensure that none of the improvements will have an adverse effect on historic resources.
Because the Endangered Piping Plover has nested in the vicinity of Glen Haven in recent years, the National Lakeshore has also consulted with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to ensure that the rehabilitation of the village will not impact this shorebird or its habitat. In addition, construction timing has been delayed until after the anticipated fledging dates of any plover chicks in the area.
The National Park Service at Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore encourages you to comment on the plan modifications until July 10. The documents may be reviewed on the National Lakeshore’s website at www.nps.gov/slbe and paper copies are available for review at the National Lakeshore Visitor Center in Empire. Comments may be mailed to the National Lakeshore (Superintendent, Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore, 9922 Front Street, Empire, MI 49630), or sent electronically through a link on the National Lakeshore’s website.
The National Lakeshore will be hosting an open house on the modifications on Wednesday, June 16. The open house will be held at the National Lakeshore’s Visitor Center auditorium in Empire from 4-6 p.m. For more information, contact the National Lakeshore Headquarters at (231) 326-5134.
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Saturday, March 20th, 2010
 By Keith Schneider
Founding Director, Michigan Land Use Institute
This eulogy for preservationist hero Steward Udall, who passed away in March, is borrowed from Keith Schneider’s environmental blog, ModeShift.org.
Photo by J. Carl Ganter
I met Stewart Udall, and his wife Lee, in 1988 when I was a national correspondent for the New York Times and he was in the midst of seeking compensation for American victims of the nuclear weapons industry. It was the start of a friendship of 22 years that ended today with Stewart’s death.
Stewart, who was 68 at the time, and Lee were getting ready to move into a beautiful adobe-style house they were building in the hills above Santa Fe. He managed a law practice that represented Navajo uranium miners injured by radiation exposure, as well as the families of miners who’d died. They both were active in promotion of the arts, a facet of the expansive Udall interests that the couple brought to the Kennedy administration in the early 1960s.
I wrote several articles about Stewart in the Times and we got to know each other well. He invited me to get to know his children – Tom, now a United States Senator, Lynn, Lori, Denis, Scott, and Jay. And in June 1998, three years after I left the Times to launch the Michigan Land Use Institute, Stewart responded to my invitation to speak in northwest Michigan by spending the weekend and appearing at a fund raiser for the Institute, and at an emotional standing room only public gathering at Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. He was the first Secretary of the Interior to ever visit the park, which he helped to establish. It was one of the most memorable weekends of my life. The picture above was taken that day by J. Carl Ganter.
President Obama honored Stewart today with this statement from the White House. “For the better part of three decades, Stewart Udall served this nation honorably. Whether in the skies above Italy in World War II, in Congress or as Secretary of the Interior, Stewart Udall left an indelible mark on this nation and inspired countless Americans who will continue his fight for clean air, clean water and to maintain our many natural treasures. Michelle and I extend our condolences to the entire Udall family who continue his legacy of public service to this day.”
Stewart Udall made his life count for principles, especially the respect he and his family shared for the land, the arts, and justice that are now embedded in the nation’s culture and economy and way of life. It’s not much of a leap to note that the work he executed during his life, like the wild ground he preserved in national parks and refuges, will endure for as long as this nation endures.
In our many conversations, especially those over the last year, I often suggested how lucky he was to serve when he did. It was a golden age of policy making and Stewart was right at the center of it.
I still write for a number of desks at the Times and prepared the first draft of Stewart’s obituary. The edited piece that appeared in the paper on Sunday, March 21, 2010 was based on this draft, which appears here in its entirety.
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Stewart L. Udall, who as Secretary of Interior in the 1960s helped to invent innovative new safeguards for the nation’s natural treasures and added vast holdings to the public domain with statesmanship and flair rivaled only by President Theodore Roosevelt, died today of natural causes. Mr. Udall, who celebrated his 90th birthday on January 31, was surrounded at his death by his six children.
Mr. Udall was 40 years old and a three-term Democratic congressman from Arizona when President John F. Kennedy asked him to become the first person from that state ever to serve in the cabinet. A resolute liberal from the conservative West, he was the last surviving member of Mr. Kennedy’s original cabinet.
In the more than eight years that he led the Interior Department, a tenure that also spanned the entire administration of President Lyndon B. Johnson, Mr. Udall was the federal government’s most tenacious advocate for environmental conservation. He forged strong personal ties with the small group of lawmakers, attorneys, conservation leaders, and writers then working in Washington who helped lay the foundation for a generation of landmark statutes to secure the nation’s air, water, and land.
Few corners of the nation were left untouched by Mr. Udall’s principled approach and his ability to work collaboratively with Congress. He added 3.85 million acres to the public domain, including four national parks – Canyonlands in Utah, Redwood in California, North Cascades in Washington state, and Guadulupe Mountains in Texas – six national monuments, eight national seashores and lakeshores, nine national recreation areas, 20 historic sites, and 56 wildlife refuges.
Mr. Udall also was the government’s primary advocate for the 1964 Wilderness Act, which permanently ensured that millions of acres of wild land would remain “untrammeled by man.” He was the intellectual force behind the Land and Water Conservation Fund, which directed fees and royalties from offshore oil and gas drilling to pay for wilderness protection and recreation. Mr. Udall also campaigned to preserve America’s historical heritage, and played a big role in saving New York’s Carnegie Hall from the wrecking ball. Among his rare missteps, which Mr. Udall readily acknowledged, was approving federal oil and gas leases off the coast of Santa Barbara, California, which led to a devastating 1969 oil spill.
Following President Kennedy’s assassination, Lady Bird Johnson urged her husband to retain Mr. Udall. The two had become close and worked together on a program to plant flowers and beautify Washington, D.C. Near the end of the decade he helped to write and actively promoted the 1968 Wild and Scenic Rivers Act, which protected some of the nation’s most beautiful rivers.
Although Mr Udall cultivated congressional allies, his most important friend on Capitol Hill was his younger brother, Representative Morris Udall, who succeeded him as an Arizona Congressman, rose to become chairman of the House Committee on Interior and Insular Affairs, and in 1976 ran for president in a campaign that his older brother managed. Most of the significant environmental and land protection statutes that became law in the 1970s and 1980s, including the Endangered Species Act, bore their stamp and influence.
“That was a wonderful time and it carried through into the Nixon administration, into the Ford administration, into the Carter administration,” Mr. Udall said. “It lasted for 20 years. I don’t remember a big fight between the Republicans and Democrats in the Nixon administration or President Gerald Ford and so on. There was a consensus that the country needed more conservation projects of the kind that we were proposing.”
President Kennedy’s murder in 1963, followed by Robert Kennedy’s assassination in 1968, were personal blows that marred his optimism. In many ways, though, Mr. Udall represented the most enduring legacy of the Kennedy administration’s promise and its attitude.
He engaged his work with a sense of adventure, dynamism, and sheer delight that reflected the administration’s youth and idealism. It was Mr. Udall who made the suggestion, embraced by President Kennedy, to invite Robert Frost to recite a poem at the young president’s inauguration. Mr. Udall accompanied Mr. Frost to the Soviet Union in 1962, a trip meant to foster better ties with Premier Nikita Kruschev. He held evenings at the Interior Department with poet Carl Sandburg and actor Hal Holbrook.
A man who prided himself on his fitness – he was an all conference guard on the University of Arizona basketball team – Mr. Udall climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro in Africa, and Mt. Fuji in Japan while heading U.S. delegations to both regions. When he was 84-years-old, at the end of his last rafting trip on the Colorado River, Mr. Udall hiked up the steep Bright Angel Trail from the bottom of the Grand Canyon to the south rim, a 10-hour walk that he celebrated at the end with a martini.
Mr. Udall, and his wife, Lee, were especially friendly with Jacqueline Kennedy, and were close to Robert and Ethel Kennedy, whose children were about the same age as Mr. Udall’s six children. Mrs. Udall, who died in 2001, once pushed the historian, Arthur Schlesinger Jr., into the pool fully clothed during a rambunctious party at Robert Kennedy’s Hickory Hill estate in Virginia, a moment that delighted her husband for years afterward.
But it was Mr. Udall’s sense of fairness, his allegiance to the land, and his admiration for those that spoke out in its defense that most distinguished his life and work. He invited Pulitzer Prize-winning author Wallace Stegner to be the department’s writer in residence. Mr. Stegner’s presence prompted Mr. Udall to write The Quiet Crisis, his best selling 1963 book on the new environmental ethic taking shape in the nation. Their friendship ended tragically in 1993 when Mr. Stegner was killed in an auto accident in Santa Fe, New Mexico while visiting Mr. Udall at his home.
In 1962, when Rachel Carson’s critical analysis of the risks of pesticides, Silent Spring, was denounced as specious by the chemical industry, Mr. Udall publicly defended Ms. Carson’s scholarship, personally introduced her to President Kennedy, and convinced Mr. Kennedy to appoint a presidential science advisory committee, which a year later confirmed her findings. In April 1964, Mr. Udall served as a pallbearer at Ms. Carson’s funeral at the Washington National Cathedral.
Mr. Udall applied the same doggedness and loyalty to his important work in the late 1970s and through the 1980s as a lawyer representing thousands of uranium miners, nuclear weapons industry workers, and citizens exposed to radiation from atomic weapons manufacturing and testing in the West. Operating on a scant budget, and with the assistance of his wife, three of his children, and a small team of lawyers, Mr. Udall filed class action lawsuits that pried open the government’s secret Cold War legacy of scientific deceit and mismanagement within the multi-state American nuclear weapons industry.
Though he won the first case in 1984 in federal district court, an appeals court overturned the ruling and the U.S. Supreme Court declined in 1988 to hear arguments. Mr. Udall then turned to Congress, working with lawmakers of both parties, particularly Republican Utah Senator Orrin Hatch and Democratic Massachusetts Senator Ted Kennedy. In 1990 President George H.W. Bush signed the Radiation Exposure Compensation Act. The law, administered by the Department of Justice, provided up to $100,000 for those sickened by radiation exposure, and issued a formal apology for the “harm” done to American citizens who were “subjected to increased risk of injury and disease to serve the national security interests of the United States.” In 1994, Mr. Udall published the sixth of his eight books, The Myths of August: A Personal Exploration of Our Tragic Cold War Affair With The Atom, a highly regarded account of the weapons program and the struggle for justice.
Stewart Lee Udall was born on January 31, 1920 in St Johns, Arizona during an era when the tiny settlement still bore much of its remote, tough, old West character. His grandfather, David K. Udall, helped to settle St. Johns, arriving there in 1880, seven years after its founding as a way station for wagoneers hauling U.S. Cavalry supplies from Santa Fe to Fort Apache. His father, Levi S. Udall, was a justice on the Arizona Supreme Court. His mother, Louise Lee Udall, was active in civic affairs and a gifted writer who instilled in her son the love for ideas and the words to express them.
Mr. Udall’s great grandfather was John D. Lee, who was convicted and executed in 1877, 20 years after 120 California-bound emigrants from Arkansas were slaughtered by Mormon zealots in the Mountain Meadows Massacre. In 1989, at the urging of descendants of the Arkansas victims, Mr. Udall agreed to bring about reconciliation, helping to organize a memorial event in 1990 and erect a monument to what he called the greatest tragedy in the history of the West.
Mr. Udall served as a gunner for the U.S. Army Air Force during World War Two. In 1948 he graduated from the University of Arizona with a law degree and went into private practice for two years, then formed Udall & Udall, a joint practice with his brother. In 1954, Mr. Udall was elected to Congress.
He is survived by his son Tom Udall, a Democratic Senator from New Mexico and his other children, Lynn, Denis, Scott, Lori, and James. He also is survived by a nephew, Democratic Senator Mark Udall of Colorado, and eight grandchildren.
One of Mr. Udall’s last essays was his “Letter to My Grandchildren,” which the Michigan Land Use Institute originally published in 2005, and has done so every December since on its Web site. It reflects his penetrating insight about grievous risks to the economy and environment from global climate change, and his judgment about the capacity of his heirs to respond. “Operating on the assumption that energy would be both cheap and superabundant, I admit, led my generation to make misjudgments that have come back and now haunt and perplex your generation,” he wrote. “We designed cities, buildings, and a national system of transportation that were inefficient and extravagant. Now, the paramount task of your generation will be to correct those mistakes with an efficient infrastructure that respects the limitations of our environment to keep up with damages we are causing.”
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Wednesday, March 17th, 2010
 From staff reports
Tom Van Zoeren has published a new booklet about the Port Oneida Rural Historic District in the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore north of Glen Arbor, titled The Thoreson Farm and Its Neighbors, which, Tom says “is based mainly on oral history recordings with Leonard Thoreson, and on his photo collection.”
The book starts with Leonard’s ancestors and the beginnings of the farm, continues through his boyhood there, the eventual sale of the farm, and its inclusion in the National Lakeshore (which is part of the National Park Service).
Thoreson Farm includes a few pages about the neighboring Fred & Ellen Miller Farm, the Watkins Cottage, and the Brunson Farm, and includes maps of all farmsteads based on aerial photos. The book also includes an audio CD with excerpts from Leonard’s interviews, so you can hear him tell stories with your own ears.
The Thoreson Farm and Its Neighbors costs $18 and is available at the Glen Lake and Traverse City Libraries, Laker Shakes, The Cottage Bookshop, Horizon Books in Traverse City or online at VZOralHistory.com. For more information, call Tom Van Zoeren at (231) 334-4608.
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Friday, January 15th, 2010
 By Bill Herd
This story originally appeared on Leelanau.com
Seeing wildlife on your vacation to a national park makes the trip extra special. It makes no difference if your primary objective was to see mountains, canyons, swamps or beaches; seeing the park’s wildlife is always a welcome addition to your visit. Viewing wildlife in its natural habitat requires knowledge, patience and lots of time. Most of us, including national park staff, do not have all three of these requirements, especially time. Professional wildlife photographers know that seeing wildlife may take weeks of quietly waiting in just the right spot and still there is no guarantee that they will get a good picture.
However, with just a little information and planning you have a better chance of seeing animals on your next visit to Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore.
For most of us, seeing wildlife in the National Lakeshore is just a matter of chance — of just being lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. A surprising number of times, wildlife is seen not while hiking a backcountry trail but while riding in the car. Park Rangers know that when these lucky occurrences happen, you need to be prepared to take full advantage of them, so keep your camera, binoculars and field guide handy. You never know if you will get another chance to see the animals again on your visit. If you see a mother deer and her fawn soon after entering the park, stop and enjoy the sight. Do not hurry on to the beach and assume you will have another chance later. Inside the park don’t be too destination-focused but be ready to respond to these unexpected opportunities. If you discuss the matter and take a vote you will be too far down the road and the opportunity gone.
Stop slowly and safely, and pull as far off to the side as possible. Stay in the car. The local wildlife are very used to the sight and sound of cars and are not frightened by them. But when you get out to take a picture or a better view they are often scared away. Because animals are use to them, vehicles make an excellent blind and they have much more comfortable seats than the traditional hunter’s blind. See as much as you can from your present location. If conditions permit, safely and slowly move the car for a better view. If you sit quietly and move around slowly inside the vehicle, the animals will return to their normal activity and more animals may come into view.
You do not need to just depend on chance or luck to see wildlife during your visit to Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. Knowing how to be in the right place at the right time can greatly increase your success.
For many years my seasonal naturalists had good success helping groups of visitors to see beaver. First, find out from park staff where beavers have been recently active. Right now one location is on Bass and Deer Lake at Trails End. They have dammed the creek between Bass Lake and Otter Lake with a lodge at the outlet of Bass Lake into this creek. Another dam is between Bass and Deer Lake with the lodge at the far side of Deer Lake. When looking for the lodges in this area, be aware that our local beaver do not build their lodges out in the lake like we are use to seeing in books, but along the bank. So look for a big pile of chewed sticks, and packed mud.
Another area of beaver activity this year on Tucker Lake just north of Glen Arbor on Westman Road. Get to either site in early evening and check out the lodge, dam and fallen trees. Even if you do not see a beaver just seeing their work is always impressive. No other animal manipulates the environment more than the beaver. Around sunset find a comfortable spot where you can see the lake in front of the beaver lodge. Sit quietly, enjoy a snack, don’t forget the insect repellent and maybe a quiet game or book to keep the younger ones from getting antsy. Beavers are active at night and just around sunset they will leave the lodge through its underwater entrance and swim across the lake. You will see a V shaped wake and at the point of the V a dark head. Kids may be disappointed if they thought they were going to see a beaver up close and doing tricks like the Otters at the zoo. It is important to let them know ahead what to reasonably expect from their efforts.
Likewise, deer are most active just after sunset and just before dawn. Deer like to eat a variety of plants and when they venture into the open fields they can be easily seen, especially at the beginning or end of the day. Try driving slowly along the back roads of the Port Oneida Historic District or along Norconk Road, which parallels M-22 just south of Empire. Or you can hike the Bayview Trail up to the overlook, but you must be very quiet if you want to see deer. For a few years, my summer naturalists gave a deer-viewing hike at sunset on this trail with great success even with large groups of 50 hikers and more. They had to really work to keep that many people quiet. The very best time to see deer in these fields is in the winter when we have had enough of a thaw to melt the snow in the open fields but it is still deep in the woods. Then all day, but especially at sunset and sunrise, deer can be seen in the fields as numerous a cattle feasting on the grass. Imagine a hillside with 65 grazing deer.
The Platte River can get crazy during the afternoons in July and August with canoes crashing into each other, kayakers having water fights and tubers towing ice chests of beer down the river, but come early or late and it’s a different place. Vacationers don’t get on the river very early by the time they have made all the preparations and got the car positioned near the end of the trip. If you can get started down the river by 10 or even 10:30 most days you will be one of the first and a variety of wildlife will be waiting along the banks. Turtles will be sunning themselves on logs, kingfishers will be skimming over the surface hunting, duck will be feeding near the bank and herons flying overhead.
You may spot deer, a raccoon or even a weasel. You never know what you may see. One day I told a group of school kids that just ahead we will see the remains of an old beaver lodge but we would not see any beavers because the lodge had not been used for many years. Just then all of us saw a beaver swimming just ahead of the group. If you do not make it early, late is OK too. An evening paddle is an excellent time to see wildlife along the river and a special treat. If you have your own canoe, a moonlight trip is a special adventure but if you do not have your own, 6 p.m. is the latest time you can rent a canoe. Still, I am always amazed at how quickly after the craziness of the afternoon ends, wildlife returns to the river to hunt, fish and drink. An early evening canoe trip is almost as good as early morning. If you are not into paddling, plan on being the first on the Pierce Stocking Scenic Drive. The drive officially opens at nine but often the gate is open much earlier. You are likely to see deer, raccoons or other woodland creatures.
The porcupine is an icon of the north woods, but few visitors have ever seen one. Winter is the best time to find its home. Any of the thousands of folks who have been on one of my snowshoe hikes know that I like to leave the trail to follow animal tracks in the snow. The porky is active all winter but with its short legs its track is more like a trench as its whole body pushes through the snow. Look for its tracks in a forest of big hardwood trees and follow them. Getting around in the snow is hard on the little fellows so they do not travel far. Shortly, the tracks will lead to a tree with no tracks leaving it. If it’s hollow, the porky is likely inside, if it is not hollow, look up. Somewhere up there the porcupine is chewing on the tender bark or sleeping on a limb. If it’s a hollow tree, tap hard on the trunk and you will hear the critter scuttering about inside. Winter hiking is also the time to find the den trees of raccoons and old nests of your favorite birds so you will know where to look come spring.
Unfortunately, wildlife is too common in campgrounds. Chipmunks, raccoons, skunks and opossums are fun to see but in the campground they have lost their natural fear of people and can be hazardous. They are still wild animals; not only can they bite and claw but they may also carry rabies. Watch them from a distance and keep them out of your campsite by keeping food stored in the car and chasing them away if necessary. You are not doing them any favors by giving them food. As the signs in the campground say, “A Fed Raccoon is a Dead Raccoon.” A few years ago, there were so many raccoons in the D. H. Day campground that professional exterminators had to be hired. They captured and removed about three dozen animals, which were then put to sleep.
An early summer wildlife viewing opportunity is to stop and see the nesting Piping Plover. The most reliable place to stop is at the mouth of the Platte River. The nesting area is closed and a fenced enclosure is set up around each nest to protect the parents and chicks from predators. Piping Plover are so rare that a ranger, intern or volunteer watches each nest from a distance with a telescope. The “plover patrol” folks are happy to answer your questions and give you a chance to view the birds through the telescope. You can ask at the Visitor Center for other locations around the Lakeshore where you can view the rare Piping Plover.
Enjoy your Lakeshore vacation, keep your eyes open, and add some wildlife viewing to your activity list.
Bill Herd is a retired National Park interpreter.
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By F. Josephine Arrowood
