That's the lesson Ypsilantians learned the hard way.In 1907, the city collectively held its breath in anticipation of becoming the nation's Arsenal of Pickles.
Isaac Aldritch, a local representative of Pennsylvania pickle kingpins Lutz & Schram, dispatched a legion of minions to fan out over the countryside around Ypsi and quiz local farmers.
"Say, ever think about why they call cukes the Mortgage Lifters?"
Aldritch sought to secure at least 200 acres of dedicated cuke-fields and rent a building in Ypsi "at a nominal rental," says the February 7, 1907 Ypsilanti Daily Press story at left. (Click for larger view).
Local excitement mounted as Lutz and Scram sent out another representative, one L. D. Hughes, who booked a room at the Hawkins house downtown. Hughes amassed guarantees from local farmers for 60 acres of pickle fields.
Pickles were the subject of many a dinner-table conversation in Ypsilanti as interest fermented.
Things seemed promising, and the pickle company dispatched its "field manager" (heh) to finally nail things down. W. J. Mullins made a proposal to city council: "Give us the Follett House and the Cornell Building for our pickle business." Mullins wanted the buildings for a "pickle station." It was a brash proposal. Had the plan succeeded, the invigorating tang of vinegar might be wafting through Depot Town to this day.
Mayor Paul Schreiber would have a big jar of pickles in his mayoral digs to offer to visiting dignitaries. Cafe Luwak would serve picklesicles instead of ice cream. Dressed in green, the town would flock to the annual Pickle Pride Parade. Carl Sandburg would have memorialized Ypsilanti as "City of the Big Kosher Dills."
But the briny dream faded. Lutz and Schram cancelled their plans.
Farmers around Ypsi looked sadly at the empty fields they'd promised to seed with the golden vine.
Ypsilantians were left with a sour taste in their mouth, though not from pickles.
For a heady two months a century ago, it had seemed to Ypsilantians as though the world was their pickle.
