Iconic North Bar Lake home within National Lakeshore to be demolished

Photos by Linda Dewey

By Linda Alice Dewey
Sun contributor

The beach house overlooking North Bar Lake’s channel to Lake Michigan will be demolished in 2018, says Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore deputy superintendent Tom Ulrich. The home has gone from beautiful to derelict in the two years since its original owner, Edward P. Cole, died. Why will it be torn down and not used instead for some other purpose? And why was Cole able to stay in his home all this time, when many other land owners literally cried at having to give theirs up when the Park was formed? Here’s the story of what happened and why it’s coming down.

For decades, visitors to North Bar Lake sat on the beach, gazing at the spectacular home across the channel, imagining the view from Cole’s wrap-around deck or from inside the home. But since most gathered there in the summer to swim and kayak, they never saw the hundreds of rhododendrons bloom in May and June that flourished under his care.

In 1999, those rhododendrons graced the April cover of Traverse Magazine. The accompanying article, “Rhododendrons in the Mist” by David Waskin, chronicled the special attention and care they received from Cole. The six-page spread featuring Brian Confer’s photography revealed undeniable beauty.

Cole was a widower who passed away in November 2015 at age 84. He built the home in March 1970, just months before the National Lakeshore was established by Congress in October of that year.

When the Park “came in” and began buying up property from private homeowners, many mourned that this new beauty would have to succumb. But it didn’t. While others were “forced” to sell their homes, Ed Cole continued to occupy this place until he died.

Ulrich explained what happened and why. “The 1970 legislation said if you had built your home before the end of 1964, then you did not have to sell to the government. You could instead sign a Restrictive Use Agreement that would be recorded with the deed, and [that you] intended to keep the use of your property exactly the way it was—no subdividing, no changing to commercial use, no building additional homes, etc. Although many people chose to sell anyway, or were even ‘bullied’ into selling,” he admits, “many others availed themselves of that clause.”

These properties became known as “inholdings,” privately owned properties within the Park. “There are still about 50 or so of these ‘inholdings’ in the Park,” estimated Ulrich.

Ed Cole bought his property after 1964, which left him out of that deal. He had to sell.

At that time, Ulrich said, “hundreds and hundreds” of homes were being appraised by the Park. As each home was purchased, it was then evaluated for eligibility as an historic home, which the Park would have to maintain. Cole’s brand new home obviously did not fit that criteria. “[T]he NPS bought the property in 1972 for $61,175,” Ulrich revealed, “which was its market value.”

However, the legislation did allow Cole to buy back a few years. “If you DID have to sell (like Cole),” Ulrich continued, “you were offered a five-year Reservation of Use and Occupancy to transition out of your property to a new home. Many of these, including Cole’s, were then permitted for five additional years.” Since it was a buy-back, it wasn’t free. Ulrich said it typically cost the resident 1 percent reduction from its appraised value for each year reserved.

Congress amended the legislation in 1982. “The 1982 amendment then extended this option to people who had built their homes after 1964, and this is what Mr. Cole took advantage of in his ‘buyback,’” Ulrich explained. “Congress specifically included this in the amendment to address 90 or so cottage owners who had built after 1964 and had sold to the government, but were about to have to leave their homes, as their 10-year reservations were to expire in 1982-83.”

For Ed Cole, the price to stay would be $12,495, figured at the same rate multiplied by “the number of years difference between Cole’s age in 1982 and the life expectancy for his birth year/gender cohort,” said Ulrich.

Cole, who was now widowed, paid it, thus retaining usage rights until the end of his life. He moved to live at the property full-time in 1984 and began growing rhododendrons.

When he died two years ago, ownership of the property passed to the Park. Abandoned now, its slide to dilapidation was swift. Steps leading to the beach broke through, as well as boards on the deck, which now has a decided pitch toward North Bar Lake. Power lines along the long drive leading to what had been a row of beach homes along the precipice are down; one pole lies across the barricaded road.

Why, one might ask, would the Park allow this incredible home to go derelict? Why not at least use it for Park employees or environmental research teams?

“That’s exactly what we do with historic properties that we maintain,” said Ulrich. “There are quite a few of them — more than we can use. We have housing in the park for visiting researchers and summer employees, interns, that kind of thing.” The Park is required to maintain historic homes and can even adapt historic structures for other uses, he said. For now, “[i]f we need to maintain a house for historic value, it makes sense that those are the houses to use. It makes no sense to add a non-historic house and maintain that fiscal burden, when we have” so many more historic homes available than they need, he asserted. “That’s why we no longer maintain the non-historic homes.”

So why not use homes like this for low-income housing?

“[T]he purpose needs to be compatible with the Park’s mission,” said Ulrich, and low-income housing does not qualify. However, he pointed out, “[l]easing of property to preserve and interpret the historic agricultural landscape—with a residential component—would [qualify] … the park has plans to begin that in the future.” Groups like Preserve Historic Sleeping Bear (which does occupy a park historic structure) are interested in becoming involved as this develops.

There seems to be no way around this. It’s the end of the road for Ed Cole’s dream house, the last of six homes along that drive, all of which sat high above Lake Michigan. “We will demolish the house and try to restore the land back to its condition as well as we can, just as we did with the other homes along that drive,” Ulrich said.

Cole’s gardens, which required such special care, will no doubt succumb to what is native and natural to the area.

For a fascinating look into the history of how the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore was born, how the community fought it, and what has happened since then, visit Nps.gov/parkhistory/online_books/slbe.