Racially Restrictive Covenants in Ypsilanti

Many neighborhoods, especially those with HOAs, have deeds with restrictive covenants that govern the use of the property. Such covenants may, e.g., specify a certain setback as an easement for public utilities, define what constitutes a forbidden nuisance to neighbors, or describe the types of structures that may (or may not) be built on or added to the property.

In 1926 the Supreme Court allowed the explicit use of racially restrictive covenants in land deeds. Subdivisions all over Southeastern Michigan (and elsewhere) wrote such covenants into their deeds, and Ann Arbor and Ypsilanti were no exception. One such example for Ypsilanti may be seen in the 1941 deed for the subdivision of College Heights, just north of Washtenaw and west of the EMU campus. Below is a map of the original development.

The deed to the property contains a number of restrictive covenants. One stipulates that the value of the house built upon a given piece of property must be from $4,000-$6,000 [$59,000 to $88,000 in today's dollars], with specific minimum values for certain sizes of lots. Another forbids all farm animals. One forbids the removal of any earth, sand, or gravel from any lot. The erection of any house, garage, fence, or wall had to be approved by the Subdivision Committee. Restriction #7 pertains to race:

The College Heights deed is dated 1941. Seven years later the Supreme Court in Shelley vs. Kraemer forbade racially restrictive covenants in land deeds. However, there were other means, both widespread and local, of segregating neighborhoods, such as redlining or denying home loans to black Ypsilanti residents. Both practices are related in oral histories of black residents collected by A. P. Marshall and stored in the Ypsilanti Archives.

Such aspects of Ypsilanti history as this restrictive covenant are painful to acknowledge. However, it is important to preserve and be aware of items like these for an honest portrayal of the past.

Turning the Crank

This pic documents a major turning point in Ypsilanti utility history. FASCINATING. Here we see a bunch of white guys turning a crank. It is the crank to officially turn on the new natural gas system in town in I believe 1948. The old municipal coal gas plant at Forest and Huron was decommissioned and thus ended the three-decade era of municipal gas. Photo legend:

"DOING THE HONORS are Mayor D. T. Quirk (left) and City Manager N. G. Damoose (right), who are turning the valve releasing natural gas to Ypsilanti. Ceremonies were conducted at the gas plant on Clark Road. Michigan Consolidated Gas Co. officials and Ypsilantians watching the proceedings are (left to right) Walter Hochrein, assistant superintendent of the Liquid Petroleum Plant; Creston Myers, city councilman; Charles Henderson, general manager of the district; Will Kendrick, Ann Arbor, and Walter Butler, service department head."

The Milkman in Willow Run, 1947

These two notes suggest that Willow Run had at least one milkman servicing the complex. Note how polite the yellow note is! You can't quite see it on the note, but it has four creases indicating it was at some point folded in half and then half again, perhaps to insert in the top of a milk bottle?

Mr. Milkman-- Jan. 25, 1947

Please leave our quart of sweet milk--and one quart of chocolate milk.
We're leaving a few extra pennies behind the bottles--in case chocolate milk is more than 20 cents a quart.
In the bottle here is 19 cents qt. sweet milk 20 cents qt. chocolate [total] 39 cents
Thanks a lot!

Click for larger image.

Construction of Willow Run Bomber Plant, Spring 1941

A photographer perched on the catwalk on top of a nearby train overlooks the groundbreaking of the bomber plant. Click twice for full size image.

64th Anniversary of Death of Henry Ford

On this day in 1947, readers of the Ypsi papers learned that the 84-year-old "elder statesman of the automobile industry" had died at his home in Dearborn. His influence changed the demographics, economy, and even the very geography of Ypsi in ways that have lasted to this day. DD thinks of Ford Lake as a passing titan's footprint that filled up with water in his wake.

Now himself a historical figure, Ford is often misquoted, and misquoted without context, concerning his alleged quote "History is bunk." He did not say this as quoted, and a more thoughtful analysis of what Ford meant may be found in a 1999 Globe and Mail column by Robert Fulford:

"A few years ago, in an essay called 'Doing History,' [historian Eugen] Weber analyzed Henry Ford’s famous remark, 'History is bunk.' Since Ford was a bigot and a tyrant, that's usually quoted as an example of ignorance. But Weber used it to demonstrate that we can understand nothing except through context. Ford actually said 'History is more or less bunk,' which is slightly different, and he said it in 1916, in the middle of the First World War.

"Ford thought that devotion to the past prevents us from grappling with the present and may encourage us to make war out of historical grievance. In 1914 all the European leaders knew history, Ford said, yet they blundered into the worst war ever.

"On another occasion Ford recalled looking in American history books 'to learn how our forefathers harrowed the land'; he discovered that historians barely mentioned harrows, the iron-toothed rakes essential to modern farming. Harrows, Ford argued, meant more in history than guns and speeches. When history 'excludes harrows, and all the rest of daily life,' then history is bunk.

"Maybe Ford felt strongly about harrows because he manufactured them, Weber says; even so, he was right when he argued that history should tell how ordinary people lived. And Ford won. The rise of social history began in the 1920s with the Annales movement in France, and has spread ever since. As Weber says, 'The sort of history that Ford wanted is pretty much the history that we do today'."

Past and Present, N. Huron Police Station (1941)

Ypsilanti Thanksgivings in a Hard Time

Husband and I had for tonight's dinner "Thanksgiving Hash," a delicious mishmash of mashed taters, cooked yam, gravy, stuffing, and turkey all warmed up together.

There is a tower of reusable tubs in the freezer with at least six portions of leftovers for upcoming lunches.

But there was a time when such lavish, easily-obtainable amounts of food was simply not the case in Ypsilanti. It was during World War Two.

Thankful for the Laundry

A couple of ads in the postwar local papers give a glimpse of life for the average housewife over six decades ago. Story.

Percentage of Rural Farm Homes with Four Technologies, 1930-1950

Hey, check out this chart. Who knew that 12 numbers could have so many fascinating implications? Bear in mind this was true locally too--Augusta Township, Ypsi Township, Superior Township.
First of all, did you try to guess the four technologies? Did you get them all right? I got one wrong. Instead of "telephone," I guessed "sewer system." But I shouldn't have, since this is from a book called Out of the Dark: A History of Radio and Rural America, by Steve Craig. I checked it out from Halle Library--yes, you, fellow average non-student Ypsilantian, can get a FREE library card at Halle! And check stuff out! When I found that out I was like JESUS I just got A WHOLE NEW LIBRARY!!! They charge you an arm and both legs to do that at U-M. But I digress.

1. Amazingly, car and telephone ownership is pretty much steady over these two decades. Why is this so? Well, of course, because cars became available shortly after the turn of the century, so by 1930 they were an established technology. Same with telephony.

2. But wait, why is electricity different? Like telephony, electricity also requires a wiring infrastructure (and as a commercial technology is roughly the same age as telephony). Yet as you can see the vast majority of rural residents wanted electricity--it really caught on as the rural infrastructure kept expanding post-war. Telephones, not so much. Why is this? With a telephone you could save the life of someone who just got injured on your farm. Wouldn't that be the vital, demanded thing?

3. And strangest of all, the least practical technology of all in terms of getting things done in daily life is the most wildly popular. Just look at that adoption rate soaring. And radios were EXPENSIVE---console radios were priced at what is comparable to larger plasma TVs today, hundreds to over a thousand dollars when you adjust for inflation. (There were smaller, cheaper radios too of course). Here are two examples that were on sale in Ypsilanti in 1932. Why would a practical subsidence farmer waste money on this frippery?

4. Comparing telephone and electricity again, it's interesting to note that the initial adoption rates of these two roughly contemporaneous technologies vary. This may be due to a number of reasons, but I'm guessing one big one was that the rural demand for electricity was initially not as strong. After all, rural residents got by previously with daylight and kerosene lamps. Absent a houseful of electric appliances, electricity does not add anything new per se. But the telephone does, so perhaps a larger group was initially willing to pony up for it.

5. Last, a mere seventeen years before DD was born, a 62% majority of homes in areas like Augusta Township did not have a phone. Contrasted to today, that is astonishing. How were people's lives changed by this absence, compared to today? Were their minds quieter? Were their lives calmer? Did things move more slowly? What else might have been different?

What strikes you about this intriguing chart?

Scanning the Skies for Enemy Bombers

Last Saturday a house-rattling explosion on Ypsi's northeast-ish side sent residents buzzing about it on their FB pages. One official's alleged explanation that it was a "firecracker gone wrong" was greeted with skepticism to say the least. At one point in her history, Ypsi had a better system in place to deal with such surprises...

Plumbing History

Sometimes history is written in unexpected scripts...like the loops and curls of ancient plumbing pipe underneath our poorly-draining kitchen sink. Husband bravely explored crawl space and found a weird situation.

In this drawing, the kitchen is the little add-on room at the top. #2 is the washing machine, #3 is the kitchen sink. #10 is some twirly flexible pipe added from the tankless water heater above the washer to the kitchen sink. At any rate, the kitchen sink and washer are draining into a big pipe that heads east out of the east end of the kitchen.

This big pipe appears to have once been connected to the toilet (#5) and tub (#7) drains. Now, the big pipe is severed. A newer pipe, (#6), takes the bathroom drainage out the front, or western side, of the house towards the street, in which there are manholes that YCUA occasionally accesses.

Our 1948 one-street subdivision, optimistically named "Audubon Gardens," consists of mostly tiny 780-square-foot homes. Was there an original sewer line to the east? Was this cheaply or inefficiently done? Was a later better one built under the street? Why was only part of the home drainage left connected to the eastward one? Where is that eastward effluent going?

Our effort to solve the mystery of the slow kitchen drain has raised more questions about the house's history than it answered.

The Holeproof Hosiery Bonus Club

Nissly's, as old-timers are well-aware, was a dry goods shop (later a hat shop om the 50s) on 16 N. Washington, the current site of Biggie's restaurant. This ad is from May 19, 1949. I find "It Pays to Make Your Own Garments" notable. That used to be the norm of course, but the fact that they feel the need to remind folks of that suggests to me that making one's own garments was going out of style at this time; I could be wrong.

One thing I have noticed in old dry goods ads is that there are often a plethora of names for various fabrics that are completely foreign to me. At one time, all the nuances of fabrics were lexicalized--each variation was important enough to have its own word. Now, we just buy an off-the-rack shirt or what have you, without necessarily knowing what kind of fabric it is (and there are far fewer fabrics in general today in the general pool of clothes for sale). If I were given samples of organdy, dotted swiss, taffeta, Indian head suiting, White Indian head, and faille, I truly doubt I could label them all correctly. Just the taffeta...maybe. Why is this? It's a curious hemming-down of what used to be a luxuriously wide world of fabrics. Odd.

At any rate, you can see that one of the items available at Nissly's was "Holeproof Hosiery." Dusty D is not sure how one would make as evanescent a thing as hose "holeproof" but I'll take their word for it. At any rate, Nissly's had a hosiery customer loyalty program. They specially printed up coupons that you could save up for free hose. They're beautiful little artifacts, nicely printed. I got to handle them today, wondering which lady of Ypsilanti's past had them in her purse, long ago, as she walked up to Nissly's front door.

Do You Have a Man to Please?

Readers, if so--then please that man this Christmas with one of these dapper Lounging Robes!

Look how elegant yet comfortable they are. The gentleman on the right, after working hard all day to provide for the family, is kickin' back in his formal shoes, nice trousers, and lounging robe, and lighting a cheroot.

The gentleman on the left is sporting a slick bow-tie-lounging-robe combo. Nice!

Wouldn't your sweetie look even more handsome than usual in a nice, hot, slippery Rayon Robe? How about a Cocktail Coat? Those have smart satin stripes and are fully lined. At day's end, mix up a shaker of martinis, have your guy peel off the grey flannel suit and pop on the dashing Cocktail Coat, and watch his stress just drain away.

Make your selection over at Mellencamps (don't forget to pick up some war bonds and stamps while you're at it).

--Ypsilanti Daily Press, November 27, 1942

Baby Stolen from Buggy

When an Illinois mom left her baby in its buggy in front of a store, as was normal in 1942, she emerged only to find it gone--and the kidnapping was so unusual it made national news.

"The kidnapper had left the baby's pink blankets in the perambulator. The distraught parents asked the radio stations to broadcast the baby's food formula in the hope the kidnaper would take good care of him."

A police chief "said the kidnapper must be a demented person. He added, 'It's the most unusual case in my 30 years on the force.'" People were aghast that anyone would make off with any one of the babies commonly left outside stores while moms shopped.

Today, of course, they might arrest the mom instead, if she left her stroller outside Meijer's or Wal-mart.

--Ypsilanti Daily Press, November 25, 1942

Peek Inside an Ypsilantian's WWII Ration Book

Many families are "rationing" luxuries and treats--even some staples--today. Back in WWII it was mandated. Take an image-rich peek at the contents of Eileen Harrison's ration-book purse and see what she carried around town in 1942 just to do her shopping!

Here's the story; enjoy!

Michigan Beet Sugar: A Testimonial

Some time ago Dusty D instructed kind readers to use, and boost, Michigan Beet Sugar.

Here is Vrouw Boerenkool to check up on you and testify. "All authorities tell me," she says in her heavy, guttural accent, "Michigan Made Beet Sugar has no superior. . . In addition, I believe in standing by Michigan farmers."

"Every 100 pound bag of foreign refined sugar bought in Michigan means that one American worker loses a day's work."

Dusty D is gonna make sure her next 100-pound bag contains only pure, delicious Michigan beet sugar. As the gruff yet caring voice of the Farmers and Manufacturers Beet Sugar Association (Saginaw), Vrouw B. is pretty convincing. --Ypsilanti Daily Press, January 11, 1940

Traffic Boners Are On The Way Out

Traffic authorities say 25% of all Stop-and-Go driving will be ended if we end traffic boners.

Public opinion can do it!

My Shell station is local headquarters for the Share-the-Road crusade.

We'll attach the emblem to your car--give you the booklet showing how "Screwdrivers" snarl traffic.

Now you're all set to help cut Stop-and-Go driving 25%!

That's swell!

--Ypsilanti Daily Press, January 10, 1940

"Onions make your nostrils quiver...

...They're elegant with tender LIVER," claims this 1939 ad from Ypsilanti's Wolf's Grocery.

"The French call it "Liver soubise" but your family will call it "delicious." And the little vitamins and proteins and minerals seem to make liver their main basis of operation. It's easy to make, too--and so inexpensive you can serve it often."

Dusty D likes to think she has catholic tastes in food, but here is one item I can do without. The liver is the body's filter, like a furnace filter. Just as the idea of a furnace filter casserole fails to appeal to me, a heaping plate of steaming animal filter leaves me reaching for the Brussels sprouts and mashed parsnips. To each his own. If you feel like serving this delicacy, just stop by 309 Miles St. or phone 974.

Author Calls Own Ypsilanti-Themed Book "Piece of Crap"

An anonymous reader has contributed another volume to the shelf of books about Ypsilanti: "Willow Run," by Glendon Swartout. Review:

"Willow Run was Glendon's very first published novel, in 1943, written after putting in nine-hour days as a riveter at the famous B-24 bomber plant outside of Ann Arbor, Michigan. He wrote it in six months, for he knew there was a market for a patriotic book about the war effort on the home front during this biggest of all wars. Sure enough, he got a small advance from a publisher and the novel was hurried into print after a page one rewrite. Glendon always acknowledged it in his backlist of titles, but he was embarrassed by Willow Run, referring to it sourly as "a piece of crap" in a short autobiography he wrote the year before he died, which is included in the latest compilation of his short stories, Easterns and Westerns, to be published by Michigan State University Press, summer of 2001."

"Willow Run is a novel about blue-collar workers at this defense plant and is somewhat heavy on win-the-war speeches and lacks story and character development. While the book rhapsodizes about the details of building airplanes and a bit obvious in its symbolism, it does give a glimpse into the mind of factory workers under stress. Willow Run remains an amateurish first effort by a 23-year-old novelist dying to break into print, and is of interest solely to book collectors dying to own the entire Swarthout oeuvre."

"Swarthout's conception of his novel is an interesting and ambitious one and his book, in spite of weaknesses and inadequacies in creative ability, has a definite rhythm and vitality. . . His ear is excellent in catching the locutions of the various workers who move through his scenes and episodes. One is left with the impression that he has fine material for a good novel but that he hasn't sufficiently absorbed and developed it." ---Rose Feld, New York Times Book Review.

"The brevity and crispness of the book is to be commended though the plot could have been rounded out a little more. The main characters might have been dealt with more fully in order to make the reader better acquainted with them. Nevertheless, it is good reading, a book that helps one pass a very good evening and leaves the reader with a great deal to think about." ---Ralph Hammett, Some Michigan Books.

The Golden Age of Free Parking in Ypsilanti

Hey, peeps, didja know there was a time in Ypsi history when you didn't have to pay a dime for parking? It's true--and it's covered in my "From the Archives" column in today's Courier, which I hope you picked up/have a sub to like me. In case ya missed it, here's the text! Enjoy!

Ypsilanti’s Golden Age of Free Parking: 1900-1942

From around the turn of the century, when a few cars began appearing on Ypsilanti streets (most of them unpaved), to WWII, when the streets faced an influx of Bomber Plant workers’ cars, parking in the city was free.

It just hadn’t occurred to anyone to charge for it.

During WWII, the Ypsilanti Salvage Committee held huge scrap metal and rubber drives. Housewives were even told to save pan drippings from roasted meats, for “scrap fat” used to make glycerine for the war effort. The entire city was economizing and doing without. Perhaps it was this atmosphere of frugal austerity that led the city to seek more sources of revenue.

“Ypsilanti’s 300 parking meters are today being installed and will go into effect at 9 a.m. Thursday,” announced the July 8, 1942 Ypsilanti Daily Press.
“Instructions for their use are found on the meters themselves. Cars may park for 12 minutes for one cent, 24 minutes for two cents, 36 minutes for 3 cents and 60 minutes for a nickel.” The metered time was 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. every weekday and 9 to 9 on Saturdays.

The paper went into detail about the workings of the mysterious meters. “The meters are automatic; only the insertion of a coin or coins being necessary to start meter operating. Deposit of the coin brings into view a clock face with hand ticking off the minutes. At the end of the allotted time the clock face and indicator drop from sight and patrolling officers can see that the car is illegally parked. . . Meters in Ypsilanti have been installed for a six months trial period. If found unsatisfactory at that time, they will be removed.”

In addition to the instructions printed on the meter and the newspaper’s explanation, “[b]ooklets explaining the use of meters are now being distributed at various business places about the city where motorists may secure them.”

The next day, the Press reported “[s]trange and interesting were the reactions of motorists this morning as they surveyed the city’s new parking meters.”
“Some walked slowly toward the meters, viewing them skeptically. Others tried not to look as foolish and inexperienced as they felt while reading instructions on the meter. The “old hands” walked with a confident stride, and in businesslike fashion inserted their coins and were on their way. And many were still either coldly surveying the machines and refusing ‘to play’ or else dashed off without so much as a look in the direction of the meters.”

Adoption of the meters was not immediate. “A check within the first hour that meters were in effect showed 21 violations out of 50 cars. Violations were by no means confined to side streets either, for a considerable number were counted on Michigan Ave. Even the nearness to the police station didn’t frighten some, for there was little legal-sounding ticking in meters in the same block as police headquarters.”
The city was abuzz with debate about the new machine, which “furnished a new topic for conversation. . . motorists were seen and heard discussing the relative merits of the new devices.”

A week and a half later, Chief of Police Dan Patch informed City Council that the meters were expected to bring in between $1,200 and $1,500 in July. Officer Perry Burrell was given the meter coin-collection beat, and soon gained meter savvy. The July 21 Press said, “[Burrell says] use old nickels in preference to new five cent pieces, as the old ones work better in the meters.”

Police Chief Dan Patch’s prediction was correct. By August, the meters had collected $1,648.78 in revenue. After deducting the cost of installation and Officer Burrell’s $180 per month salary, the meters netted the city $412.60 ($5,400 in today’s dollars).
Faced with this profit, city officials’ talk about removing the meters after 6 months vanished—and Ypsilantians have been digging into their pockets for coins ever since.