The Wandering Groom

Among its many riches the Ypsi Archives offers a microfilm reader and scores of old newspapers on microfilm. In the depths of microfilm a visitor can discover such stories as:

The Wandering Groom

Courting a potential spouse can be an intricate and drawn-out process, full of shy glances during dinners out, picnics, and long walks. A century ago, one man decided instead to try the direct approach. His method attracted the notice of the October 1, 1903 Ypsilanti Sentinel-Commercial. “Ypsilanti has long been famous for its underwear,” said the paper, “its brainy councils and its enterprising business men, but now it bids fair to become noted in an altogether different way.”

Grand Rapids stonecutter William James Pearce arrived in Ypsilanti in September of 1903. Five feet six and stocky, with a sandy mustache, he wore a grey suit and a black derby. Pearce walked around town clutching a tiny notebook. He stopped strangers on the street and told them he was looking for a wife, and might the stranger know where he could find one? If, instead of walking away, his startled listener tried to stammer out a reply, Pearce opened his notebook, listened intently, and bent his head to take notes.

Pearce crisscrossed several Ypsilanti neighborhoods, continued his interviews, and “asked more questions than a census taker and had more nerve then a book agent,” said the newspaper. “He explained that he was looking for a lady, not a beautiful lady nor a rich lady, but just a lady, and he had matrimonial intentions. He did not care whether she was a widow of a maiden lady, but . . . [h]e did not want a hired girl, as all they would want would be his money to buy cheap perfume and chewing gum, and besides he did not want an old man’s darling, but just a wife.”

Pearce explained, to those who listened, that he was worth $11,000, owned a $3,000 home in Grand Rapids, and was ready to give his bride $2,000 on their wedding day. It was evidence of admirable thrift for a stonecutter who earned $4 a day.

Pearce encountered women on his peregrinations, and approached several. He told the women that he had a kind, loving nature, and wasn’t the type of man to swear, drink, or stay out late at night.

He also told them he didn’t snore.

Then he proposed.

“[S]o far he has met with marble hearts and icy mitts,” noted the newspaper.

Then Pearce vanished, not before asking one of his prospective brides for thirty cents to get to Ann Arbor. Perhaps he intended to continue his search there. At the same time, Pearce’s son was searching for his father, and arrived in Ypsilanti a few days later.

Pearce’s son revealed that his father, who actually lived in Pontiac, had been struck on the head six weeks prior by a block of stone. The blow knocked him unconscious. When he came to, he had total amnesia. Doctors decide to operate the next day. But sometime that night, Pearce wandered off, and was later spotted in Dearborn, Wayne, and Delray. He was briefly arrested in Dearborn, but released. His family searched for him, following rumors of possible sightings.

Pearce’s son soon hurried off to Ann Arbor,. He hoped to find the owner of the red notebook that contained kind strangers’ impromptu matrimonial advice that, now, would remain useless.


The Wandering Bride

Stoney Creek resident George Van Blarcum hurried to Ypsianti with the marriage license he’d just purchased in Ann Arbor. His fiancé, Anna Belle Throop, had agreed to meet him in Ypsilanti for the ceremony. Van Blarcum had met Throop at a party near Ypsilanti in 1900. She enchanted him. A married woman, Throop told Van Blarcum, a former York Township deputy sheriff, that if he could help her obtain a divorce, she would marry him.

Van Blarcum paid the lawyer’s fees. After several setbacks, the divorce decree finally was granted to Throop. “He also gave her money to purchase her wedding outfit,” said the March 12, 1904 edition of the Ypsilanti Evening Press. “When he was working for the Northwestern Electric railway, near Farmington, and also while working at the Sibley quarry near Wyandotte, he sent her all the money he earned besides what he paid for board and clothes. In all he gave her over $400 on her promise to marry him.”

She never appeared for the November marriage ceremony.

The two rescheduled the wedding date. Throop delayed again, citing a different reason. And again, with yet another pretext, and possibly additional times. Then she vanished.

Van Blarcum hired a detective and found Throop in Detroit. She refused point blank to ever marry him—then vanished again.

Van Blarcum asked a Judge Gibson to issue a warrant for her arrest. He made an ultimatum: either Anna Belle would return his gifts, or marry him—and if she did not marry him, he wouldn’t allow her to marry anyone else. The warrant was refused. Van Blarcum couldn’t obtain the document he wanted to use, and he couldn’t use the document he’d obtained.

Later, “he found her the last time working in an underwear factory in Ypsilanti,” said the newspaper. But she was out of reach now. The only thing left in his grasp was one hard-won piece of paper, now useless.