Lay in Spit, Nail Tipsy, Slain Pity, Sanity Lip, Spy in Tail.

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Ever Wonder What Happened to the Old Ypsi Press Delivery Gang?

Hey, ever wonder what happened to the old gang who used to hang out on the Ypsi Press loading dock, bikes parked nearby, waiting for their papers?

Dusty D has just finished a three-month investigation, at her own expense, to track down these onetime Ypsi boys, and see how their early experiences as hard-working Press paperboys shaped the rest of their lives.

Their stories can now be told.

Although BIRK KLEINFELTER in this picture is folding a newspaper, he looks as though he's shaking a martini. In that, the picture is strangely prescient, since Birk went on to become a part-time bartender at the Sagging Hammock in Milan, Michigan. He attributes his success to his early Press exeriences. "If not for the Ypsilanti Press," Birk told this reporter, after making her one of his custom Dirty Elbows, "I'd be a nobody." Birk was the Sagging Hammock's Employee of the Month in October of 1992.

BRENT BRADFORD always did have a keen eye for money. Who can forget his hilarious stunt in middle school--"borrowing" the lunch money from the cafeteria cash register? How we laughed! And he wrote that beautiful poem afterwards about what he called his "vacation" in juvenile detention--it even rhymed. Brent's history is a bit blurry for a few years after his formative Press experiences and he won't discuss it--who knows what that scamp was up to--but he's recently surfaced in a pre-manufactured micro-estate homes community in the Thumb, where he breeds fighting pit bulls. A wordsmith since youth, perhaps he's working on a book of poetry about his handsome animals!

EUNICE SNORD was cut out to serve God from his earliest boyhood days. When other Ypsi kids were fishing for carp in the Huron, Eunice was watching "The 700 Club" and making plans. Big plans. Today he runs a successful religious business right from his own home down by the river! Eunice can mail you everything from magnetic rings dipped in Lourdes water to holy candles, ballpoint pens personally blessed by the Pope, and your own lucky lottery numbers. Of his early Press experiences, Eunice says, while lighting up an odd-looking cigarette, "I remember those days, I think."

GODFREY POMERANIAN leveraged his pivotal Press experiences into a lucrative career. Now second-in-charge of canapes on the Royal Malthusian Cruise lines, he has nowhere to go but up. "I run it all--the sardine plates, the lutefisk table, the carved walrus centerpiece. I don't actually carve it--you have to go to school for that. But I do arrange it, and I put those little paper things on the tusks there." When not plying the sunny waters between Greenland and Iceland, back and forth, Godfrey likes to stare vacantly off into space, or nap.

Godfrey never dreamed that his character-building experiences as a young Press delivery boy would result in such a glamourous career--but it did! Why don't you sign up your young'un for the kinds of boy-building, healthy, uplifting experiences that the "old gang" has benefited from? Remember, "The Ypsi Press Delivers!"

Heritage Fest Awesomeness: Mime Michael Lee Mesmerizes Crowd (and us) on Cross Street

Dusty D and sweetie were enchanted by mime Michael Lee on the Cross Street Bridge Saturday. We parked our butts on a nearby picnic table for most of an hour, absolutely mesmerized by the manner in which he controlled a huge crowd of onlookers merely by doing...nothing.

Mr. Lee was bedecked in silver makeup and white-spattered grey clothes which made him look like a shadowy old-timey figure from an old B&W photo, cut out and mysteriously glued into our full-color world. He sat motionless on a chair. He had a Walkman with old-time tinny tunes coming from it. Next to him was a bucket of flowers. When someone came up to put a dollar into his money-tin, he miraculously came to life in a robotic fashion, gave a flower to the donor, and tugged his hat in salute.

"He's only got two flowers left," Dusty D whispered to her equally rapt sweetie. When the flowers ran out, he improvised interactions with passers-by. When someone took out their cameraphone to photograph him, he nonchalantly took out his own Blackberry to snap the picture-taker, to laughs from the crowd.

Bemused, smiling crowds kept forming and re-forming around Mr. Lee on the bridge. Dusty D laughed and actually got a bit teary-eyed, to see the wee children, who couldn't quite parse this strange silver man, receive flowers and back away, staring up at him with wonder and smiles. Dusty D and sweetie agreed later over a Luwak reuben that Mr. Lee had been the best part of Heritage Festival (beating out even car-crushing in Depot Town!) We hope he returns next year to enchant us again.

Monday Mystery Artifact on AnnArbor.com

Howdy historical peeps. Please allow me to apologize to you for not updating this weekend; our Internet went down. Dusty D's brainiac sweetie figgered out that it was the transformer thingie-box with the pluggie doodads...as Dusty D stood by, slackjawed. Anyways, he fixed 'er up in record time and we're back in business. Odd that the transformer blew out...hmm, makes me think of arc lights and Tesla and all sorts of neato electrical topics--I should scurry off to my files to find an electrifying story for y'all. In the meantime, here is the Monday Mystery Artifact--good luck!

Portraits of Ypsilantians: Samuel Ballard; Pioneer Poet, Prohibitionist, and Husband to Harmonical Philosopher

"Samuel P. Ballard, who is a representative citizen of Augusta Township, is a native of Monroe County, N. Y., where he was born January 20, 1824. He is a son of Asa N. and Elizabeth (Henry) Ballard, the former being a native of Massachusetts, and the latter of New York. Our subject's paternal grandsire was a soldier in the Revolutionary War. Early in the Territorial history of Michigan, in 1828, and when our subject was in his fourth year, he was brought by his parents to this county, coming hither by way of the Erie Canal and the lakes to Detroit, thence to Ypsilanti by stage while the goods came to Rawsonville by flat-boat. Asa Ballard was one of the earliest settlers of Ypsilanti Township, their first home here being made in the midst of the woods.

"After combating with the difficulties and privations of pioneer life, our subject's father departed this life in the year 1844, and his wife followed him in 1861. They were the parents of seven children, of whom only three survive. They are Forbes H., Celinda, the widow of James Pierson and Samuel P., of whom we write. Our subject was reared to manhood amid scenes of pioneer life, and prior to coming to his present location, he cleared up an eighty-acre farm in Ypsilanti Township, besides doing much other pioneer labor. He has witnessed the growth of the country from a primeval state of wilderness to its present productive and rich agricultural state, On first coming here wolves frequently made the night hideous about their cabin with their howls, and bears were frequently seen, deer and wild turkeys were also easily attainable by anyone who could use a rifle, and fish were to be had for the catching in the many streams with which the country abounded, and it was not necessary to worry over fashion, for as long as a garment remained whole, it was suitable for wear. Indians were numerous, and our subject was often permitted to see them congregate in thousands to engage in the war dance. These questionable advantages were however offset by the meagre opportunities offered for acquiring an education, but where there is a will there is a way, and our subject made up for many of the deficiencies of his early training by reading all that he could lay hands on by the light of the hickory fire in the long winter evenings, and as papers became more common, he endeavored to keep himself thoroughly well posted, not only with the issues of the day, but all current events.

"Mr. Ballard was married February 10, 1846, to Miss Huldah Ann Phelps, who was born October 17, 1826, in the old Bay State. She is a daughter of Norman and Huldah Miranda (Harvey) Phelps. Her parents emigrated to Michigan in 1830. This marriage was blest by the advent of one son into the family to whom they gave the name of Norman A., but who is now deceased. Our subject purchased the farm upon which he now resides in 1862, but did not locate upon it until 1863. His tract is not a wide one, containing but forty acres, but it is kept in the most perfect order, and cultivated to the greatest possible extent. There is upon it an elegant residence that is fitted out with the most modern conveniences, and furnished most beautifully, showing that the taste employed in bringing the various articles of decoration, use and vertu [virtue] is of the most refined and exquisite nature. On entering the home the visitor is impressed with a sense of the culture and refinement shown in all the appurtenances of the place rarely found in rural homes.

"Mr. Ballard has served in various capacities in local offices of the township, having been Commissioner of Highways for six years, Justice of the Peace for four years, and since 1863 he has been prominently identified with the Grange society, and has served in various capacities. He belongs to Grange No. 52, Augusta Township, having for several years been Master of the fraternity. He has also served as Secretary, and for a number of years has been Lecturer. Prior to coming here he was Treasurer of Pomona Grange, located at Ypsilanti. He is a member of the Masonic order, and prominently known in the State as the writer of articles that most ably set forth the advantages pertaining to Grange societies, nor does he confine himself to this, but discusses in the topics which he takes up, the leading issues of the day. He has much ability in metrical writing, and his poems are characterized by a delicacy as well as strength. Politically Mr. Ballard is a Prohibitionist. He is a prominent and representative pioneer of the county.

"Our subject and his wife have ever been useful and interested members of society, and are now enjoying the consciousness of a life well spent. For a number of years Mrs. Ballard was before the public as a lecturer. The general subject of her discourses was harmonical philosophy, and under this head she lectured on various topics, and acquired a pleasing reputation throughout the State. She was also frequently called upon in years past, to preach funeral sermons, and offer consolation to bereaved families. She is a lady of large and varied mental ability, and is a fit companion for her talented husband. Both are highly esteemed and respected members of their community. They have numerous friends who wish them many years of enjoyment of the good things of this life. They are known far and wide for their extended hospitality which is dispensed with a lavish hand."

--Portrait and Biographical Album of Washtenaw County, Michigan; 1891, Biographical Publishing Co., Chicago.

The 1874 Diary of Ypsilanti Teen Allie McCullough

Part of a year-long weekly series of excerpts from Ypsilanti teenager Allie McCullough's 1874 diary, from the last year of her life.

You may remember that last week Allie was enlisted as a volunteer piano player for one Mr. Dudley. She found a four-leaf clover and hung it over the door, and a "Mr. P." was the "first one under the clover," which, as one helpful person pointed out, was a belief that "if you hang a four leaf clover over the door, the first single man through the doorway will be yours." Sadly, this would never come true for Allie.

Aug. 21 Fri. Had made up my mind not to go home with Ma when Emma's sister came to take her home, so I ran upstairs to get ready and did so in two minutes. While there J.B. sent up word to see if I would ride with him. Sent back I thought not, so he and John went together. Got home, went out to the well and they came through the shop and spoke to me. I asked them in, but we had other company besides Mrs. Gill, Mr. P. and they would not come. Rained hard in the afternoon.

Aug. 22 Sat. If I had been superstitious people we would have made ourselves miserable on account of breaking the looking glass and Alex being gone. Run away from home a week ago today. No one knows where. Len Bradley went with him. I don't know what we are coming to. A very happy week I have spent in spite of everything. I am confident that I have gained something.

Aug. 23 Sun. I am about sick, but all of my diary seems pleasant enough, but that is because I write only the surface of everything and every day. I do not need to put down miserable things in order to remember them. I never can forget what is happening all these days to make me unhappy, never [underlined], but there is much that is pleasant. Will has gone to campmeeting. All of the others went yesterday afternoon.

Aug. 24 Mon. Joe Neller was here this morning. They are moving up to the other side of Carrie N.'s. We had other callers. A man came to get subscribers for a music book. It is very nice. He played quite a good many pieces out of it for me. I have subscribed.

Aug. 25 Tues. We have had callers again today. I was going up to Joe's tonight. Reading a letter I got from Flint, when right by --N.'s I heard someone call. When I turned around there was Mr. N. and Durbin. Had a long talk with Durbin. They want me to go back tomorrow night with them and then some back with will on Thursday.

Aug. 26 Wed. Went up to another meeting of the Young Ladies Society this afternoon. There were very few there, but we organized. When I got home we had callers. Do not think that I will go down to Carrie's. Do not feel very well. Mr. N. called for me, but I did not go.

Aug. 27 Thurs. Was sick last night and this morning. My music book came and I had quite a nice time practicing. Have had company this afternoon and Uncle Tom B. was here tonight. Will has gone to Flat Rock. It was a beautiful day.

Aug. 28 Fri. Mary and I went to John Harwoods today. Stopped and got Mrs. Clark. Did not get there until almost noon and came away after supper, but for certain reasons did not get home until almost eight o'clock. Mary stayed. Had a nice time.

Thanks for reading; tune in this coming Friday for another chapter!.

The Concrete Origins of Ypsilanti's Heritage Fest

Curious about when and how Ypsilanti's Heritage Fest started out? Take a gander at my story about when it all began, in today's AnnArbor.com.

Mad props to Tom Dodd and James "Bad Boy" Mann for their invaluable help in writing this story! (flashes historical gang sign).

Open Letter to the Anti-Pole-Vaulting-At-Heritage-Fest Contingent

The grapevine says that some history-minded folk in town are raising eyebrows, and questions, concerning this year's Pole Vaulting exhibition. "Pole Vaulting?" they whisper. "What in the Sam Hill does that have to do with Ypsilanti Heritage?"

Dusty D chuckles indulgently as she reaches for her copy of Harvey Colburn's book The Story of Ypsilanti. Little do these well-meaning nay-sayers know that this sport was a part of our urban fabric when that fabric was still just a single thread--and that shining blue thread is the Huron River. Open your books, please, to page 51:

"Jonathan G. Morton, Ypsilanti's first store-keeper, had visited Woodruff's Grove in August, 1824, he being at that time twenty-two years of age. Morton was a native of Massachusetts. At the age of seventeen he had procured a horse and wagon and a stock of "Yankee notions" and, before coming to Ypsilanti, had peddled the country from New England to Ohio. Visiting Detroit, he determined to explore the country and set out on foot along the Indian trail. Arriving at the Grove, he was favorably impressed by the new settlement and determined to open a business. Returning East, he bought a stock of dry-goods and shipped it to Detroit. The following spring he had his merchandise poled up the river in a small boat."

Many others did the same, in an era when the forest between Detroit and Ypsi was well-nigh impassable to wagons. Now, ask yourself. Once you've poled your boat all the way up the river, what's the quickest, easiest way to get ashore? In lieu of wading through the leeches and slimy rocks and moray eels. Of course! You'd use all that upper body strength you'd built up on the Huron and with a quick graceful movement, simply pole vault to shore, yessir. The historicity of this activity is now documented thanks to me. So let's not have any more of this quibbling and sniveling--join Dusty D in embracing this historical event as the modern-day analog of an activity from our earliest history.

The Inaugural Iteration of Heritage Fest Was Not Derailed by the Untimely Death of Morris the Cat

But it was arguably a close call. The local paper certainly took note.

On Thursday, July 13 1978, the Ypsilanti Press reported that Morris, the beloved star of cat food commercials, had passed away in Chicago at the age of 17. The paper ran a photo showing a leonine Morris perched on "some of the hundreds of fan letters he received each week," said the caption.

A couple of days later, the paper gave a heads-up on its upcoming Sunday stories. "The death of Morris the Cat has left a void in the cat world," noted the blurb. "In his Sunday column on the Editorial Page, Managing Editor Joe Matasich tells how one local feline took the news."

On Sunday, the Press published that promised editorial. It is Dusty Diary's privilege to reprint it here in its entirety.

"When a member of the family, or a friend dies, we humans have a way of expressing our sorrow," Matasich philosophised.

"But what do you tell your household girl cat when the Clark Gable of the feline world--Morris of 9 Lives fame--kicks the bucket at the ripe old are of 17? (That's equal to 90 human years).

"Do you shake her paw? Give her more vittles? Less vittles? Write a message in the sand in her litter box?

"We checked folks out at other cat houses and it seems the problem was probably universal.

"Our snobby Motu went under the bed and sulked for hours when we broke the news that the star of TV commercials had checked out of this world.

"We offered to send a note or flowers to his owner Bob Martwick of Chicago.

"Even a pledge to offer up a Mass wouldn't budge her.

"But in true Morris style--aloof, finicky, stubborn, and independent--Motu hung in there under the bed and didn't come out until 4 a.m. when she directly walked up the patio screen.

"We took this as an indication that old cagey Morris made it Upstairs.

"Anyone who went from a mangey car rescued from an animal shelter after an alley brawl to 10 years of TV stardom just has to go on to higher things.

"Contrary to the Detroit News headline that: "Morris the cat--sorry, he didn't have 9 lives."

"Morris does live on.

"Out on the Merrill. In the heart of Motu."

"P.S. How do you explain to neighbors when your kitty slinks around with a black paw band for three days?"

1982 Heritage Fest: Professor Malarkey Sells a Secret Elixir

From the August 29 edition of the Ypsi Press.

Jerry Meadows impersonates an ole-timey patent medicine salesman in Depot Town. His sign bears his name, something I can't puzzle out in the middle, and "Secret Elixir" on the bottom.

Dusty D hopes she catches a glimpse of something as equally charming, not to mention historical, over the festival-time. Photo by Dennis Dunleavy.

Wednesday Mystery Spot: Early Airplanes and Extend-A-Slides

We have a winner. Building Place correctly guessed that this scene is, in fact, Recreation Park! Yay!
Where did this wonderful, dangerous, wonderfully dangerous play equipment go? I don't know, but it's a shame it's gone--in my opinion. Of course, I used to hang out way up in a tree as a kid for fun. On my homemade "rope platform". Yeah, that was safe. Phew.

At any rate, here's this week Mystery Spot. I had to do some creative cropping here to remove glaring clues! But based on past experience I'm pretty sure you falcon-eyed, eagle-eyed, peregrine-eyed folks will suss it out. There's one B I G clue I left in there that should make it easy for the more historically minded folks. But we'll see. Have fun!

Before Luther Burbank, Walnuts Made Us Sad

Why not make your last summer book this story of the man who created so many of the wonders in your garden?

Dusty D received this marvelous volume from her in-laws for my birthday. It details the rise of the (eccentric, natch!) Luther Burbank from humble origins to the maestro of a sprawling farm in California. The book is full of fascinating details about plants you grow that likely you never thought twice about, such as the fact that Burbank's potato is the one Monsanto chose to further tweak by adding the insecticide Bt. The gifted finaglings of an offbeat plant guy a century ago are still good enough for a giant food corporation.

Burbank's twiddling with walnuts, and the disappointing (yet humorous) experience most folks had with walnuts prior to Burbank, gave rise to the title of this post, not to mention [geek marriage] a printed-out motto on our fridge. The most memorable image in the book? Burbank's "mother trees" or "nurse trees" in his nursery--each one with over a hundred different slips grafted on, blooming with a hundred different-colored flowers in the spring--and they still exist today! Seek out this marvelous book before summer ends.

"Cash for Clunkers" in 1938 Ypsilanti

Hey historical peeps, here's a story I think you will enjoy, and have likely never heard before (as I had not, before I researched and wrote it!). Hope you like it!

Zonolite Week Promoted the Installation of Deadly Insulation in Your Ypsilanti Home

"It used to be that only the wealthy few could enjoy the luxury of insulation. . . of having their homes protected against the chill of winter and bake-oven heat of summer."

Zonolite Week was a 1938 Ypsilanti promotion for a new type of fluffy, pourable insulation, one you could install yourself.

Just one little drawback for the men in the picture, working for hours in the attic among all that exposed zonolite, without any respirators.

Zonolite contained one of the most dangerous types of asbestos, from a contaminated Montana mine known to have caused illness and death in numerous Zonolite employees and nearby community members. The plant owners knew about the deadly properties of the insulation by the 1950s.

They continued to sell Zonolite until 1985.

The insulation may still be in "millions of homes," notes a website about mesothelioma, the disease caused by the product. The EPA reckons that about 35 million homes still contain the substance, and notes that renovations and home repairs can dangerously stir it up.

Zonolite was sold in Ypsilanti 72 years ago. Tragically, it is still with us, and its story is still being written.

Has Your Child Lost His Marbles?

No worries! Moms, you can get a whole new bag of 'em for a paltry 4 cents, or, two two-cent canisters of Morton's Salt, according to this March 3, 1938 Ypsilanti Daily Press ad.

"Each bag contains an assortment of 15 "glassies"--plain, mottled and striped--in a wide variety of colors. Given away absolutely FREE with 2 packages of Morton's salt solely to induce you to use this famous non-caking brand with a spout that won't tear out!"

So no shooters...although, hmm, one marble in the upper right looks like a shooter. Dusty D remembers her big green glass shooter of ages past. This marbles offer was "at all grocers!"--making one wonder: how popular would it be today?

The 1919 Diary of Ypsilanti High School Teacher Carrie Hardy

Part of a year-long weekly serialization of Ypsilanti high school math teacher Carrie Hardy's diary.

Kind readers may recall that Carrie was sick for most of last week, with "heart and nerves troubling" her.

Aug 18 Mon. Sick.

Aug. 19 Tues. Sick.

Aug. 20 Wed. Sick--

Aug. 21 Thurs Sick

Aug. 22 Fri. Signs of improvement.

Aug. 23 Sat. But awful sick.

Aug. 24 Sun. About same.

Aug. 25 Mon. Better. Sat up in bed.

Thanks for reading; tune in next Tuesday for the next series!

Beekeeping's Venerable History in Ypsilanti: 1863 Diary

Beekeeping in Ypsilanti goes back a ways. Way back. Take a look at these excerpts from the 1863 diary of a farmer's wife--Mary Seaver, who helped work the old Seaver Farm just south of town. You remember the Seaver Farm: it's "on the west side of Huron Street, north of the U.S. Post Office," says the Courier.

Wednesday July 15. So cold we had to have a fire and dress in thick clothes.

Thursday July 16. Put the bees in the new hive this eve. Got 35 lbs of honey out of the new hive. Very cold all day. Frost at night + it killed one [piece?] of [husband] Hiram's corn.
. . . .
Sunday July 19. Tonight pleasant looks like rain. Mrs. Starkbridge told us our bees were swarming but they were leaving the hive. James Holms + Fannie [Shandnou] called. James stayed to tea.
. . . . (one more just for atmosphere)
Thursday November 19. This forenoon, Julie, Mattie, Hiram Jamie + myself took a walk to look at the farm, came back, took dinner, cracked nuts & jokes. Then all rode all round the city then left the girls at the depot, kissed them good bye and came home."

There you have it. Beekeeping was a part of Ypsilanti since at least the Civil War.

Readers: Please Consider Installing a Telephone: For the Children!

Kind readers, far be it from me to butt into your business. But have you ever considered getting a telephone installed in your home?

This poor babe in the March 15, 1938 Ypsilanti Daily Press entreats you. "And if I do get a touch of colic...or have a nervous breakdown...do you know what'll bring it on? Worry! Yes sir, worrying about how long it would take to get the doctor."

Poor li'l tyke. Now, I know kind readers have a million other expenses...but this is just a gentle reminder that it might not be a bad idea to go ahead and get one of those Michigan Bell phones in your very own home.

Just a thought. Poor kid.

Monday Mystery Artifact on AnnArbor.com

If you'd like to peek at the Mystery Artifact over on AnnArbor.com, it's here.

Here's this week's new entry. Last week was a bit tough! We're going for an easier Mystery Artifact this week. Can you divine what this item is, on the wall of the Historical Museum? Take a guess, even if others have previously guessed what you think it is; there can be more than 1 winner! Bonus points to anyone who can name the item just to its left! Good luck!

Ypsilantian Trains Squadron of Ninja Fishes

For all those who would dismiss "Ypsitucky" as a backwards town without any spark of ingenuity, I proudly offer up our most eminent trainer of fishes, Don Rochester.

A worker with the state wildlife conservation division, Mr. Rochester trained his fishes to snap at predatory birds who threatened the younger, vulnerable fishlets Rochester was attempting to introduce into Michigan waters. He led a squadron of Terror Trout.

The March 14, 1938 Ypsilanti Daily Press says, "Heavy losses through attacks by predatory birds, he said, were stopped when by tying feathers to grasshoppers which he fed to the fish, he taught the fish to lunge from the water and seize fish-eating birds as they swooped down upon the smaller fish. Thus instead of losing fish to the birds, the birds were eaten by his trained fish."

You might want to be a bit careful the next time you're kayaking down the river. Some of the descendants of Rochester's killer trout squad might be lurking in the shadowy pools under the trees. Like right over there. Wait, what's that--that shadow? Right there by the bow. Get the oars!--GET THE OARS! I thought I saw...AIEEEE!