One golden eagle, one skull of a male raccoon, skin of one whooping crane

February 9, 2010 in Culture, History | No comments

Despite a tremendous weekend that included Lightning Love and The Daredevil Christopher Wright in Ypsilanti, the Hounds Below at the Lager House, a live conjunto band and dancing at the Blue Diamond, a lot of Blatz, Modelo and PBR and a lot of reading,  all of which should have been plenty of fodder, I’ve been coming down with a little sniffle of writer’s block this week, professionally, bloggingly, and otherwise.

But while I’m convalescing, here are some things you might like to know:

The Night Train now booked (on your FACE)

We’re on Facebook. Befriend us and enjoy more photos, delightful commentary, daily links to interesting things, friendship.

Old Detroit footage at MOCAD

Films from the Prelinger Archives: Lost Landscapes of Detroit is tomorrow night at MOCAD, so get out your shovel and some tough winter boots (no, I still haven’t bought any) and resist the temptation of your warm couch. This should be great. From the press release:

… An eclectic montage of rediscovered and rarely-seen archival film clips exhibiting life; cityscapes, labor and leisure from ‘vanishing Detroit’, as captured by amateurs, newsreel cameramen and industrial filmmakers from the 1920’s to the 1960’s …

“How we remember and record the past reveals much about how we address the future” points out archivist Rick Prelinger, who will be on hand to preface the screening with a brief talk on the value of ephemeral films, on the changing nature of historical memory, and what consequences will arise from the emerging massive matrix of personal records.

You know what’s great? The Prelinger Archives are available for free on the Internet Archive under a Creative Commons License.

Bottled Monsters

If you like Letters of Note, you may or may not love A Repository for Bottled Monsters, the blog of the National Museum of Health and Medicine in Washington, D.C.

Among the many papers published near-daily on the blog are letters home from army surgeons, correspondence from the Surgeon General’s office, thank-yous for donations, inventories both routine and outlandish and requests for authorization to purchase artifacts. Some of this stuff is tedious but a lot of it is absurd and delightful, like this 1878 letter from Francis Atkins, Army Surgeon, to the Surgeon General:

Sir

I have the honor to enclose copy of receipt issued this day to me by Post Quartermaster for one box addressed to the Army Medical Museum.

The contents are,

1)      One Golden Eagle – shot near here Dec 2, 1877. I have roughly dressed it so as to leave the plumage on the skeleton, that the curator may use it as preferred, applying salt or alum.

2)      One skull & bal. [balance] of skeleton of a male Raccoon found dead here Dec 2, 1877.

3)      I also send in behalf of Asst. Surg. W.E. Whitehead the skin & extremities of one whooping crane (I believe) shot near here in fall of 1877 – arsenic and Plaster of Paris were used.

Once in a while this blog also publishes freaky medical photography, intriguing books and fun facts, like: did you know that Alexander Graham Bell wrote a book about eugenics?

I have Suzanne Fischer, Public Historian, to thank for this fabulous discovery.

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Fridays with General Friend Palmer: “Convenience itself”

February 5, 2010 in Books, History | 5 comments

IN the earlier days the streets of Detroit in the absence pavements were very bad in the fall and spring seemed to predominate Cabs and public hacks were in a very lim ted number Peter Cooper colored Jackson a colored barber and George lierron an English barber were about the only persons owning and operating public conveyances and t heir services as may be supposed were taxed to the limit Men wore their heavy boots pants tucked inside and in the outskirts of the city a few boards and planks were laid down lengthwise so that people could manage with difficulty to get along In such a state of things the single two wheeled horsecart was very much in evidence and was a most important institution It was an invention of the old French habitants of the country They were used by all classes and were convenience itself A buffalo robe or blanket was spread on the bottom of the cart two or three ottomans or stools were put in in the absence of other covering for the bottom or floor of the cart hay or straw was used and the horse understanding his business as well as his master off he plodded ofttimes half leg deep in mud to church shopping or to make fashionable calls The carts were mighty enjoyable as I can testify having time and again been the driver on many many occasions sitting perched up in front and the ladies enjoying the bottom of the vehicle protected from the rough boards by soft buffalo robes or other means occasionally the lynch pin that apparently held the cart together would get out of place and the occupants be dumped in the mud!
When General Macomb visited Detroit Mrs Hester Scott took him around the city in one of these French horse carts borrowed for the purpose from Mr HD Harrison the Jefferson Avenue dry goods merchant and it was said that the general enjoyed it hugely Mrs Scott and her three daughters are no doubt well 646
These French carts were very enjoyable also in fine weather on short excursions with the girls into the surrounding woods particularly in October when they had put on their gay autumn attire and the hickory nuts and hazel nuts were plentiful How full of pleasure those trips were The distance to the woods was not great they came down to Elizabeth Street on the west side of Woodward Avenue and down to about Hancock Avenue on the east side and out on Grand River Avenue on the Jones farm not far from Perkins’s tavern and out on Michigan Avenue they came down to where is the hay market once Woodbridge grove and just in the rear of this grove was an immense field of hazelnut bushes which in the season were loaded down with nuts Out Woodward Avenue about where is Farnsworth Street were many acres of blackberry bushes loaded with their delicious fruit in the season And then the excursions in these carts down to that lovely driveway Lovers Lane in the vicinity of what is now Fort Wayne The lane came into the River road about where Winterhalter’s beer garden was and extended out quite a distance toward the Dix settlement My friend Ross in one of his articles in relation to early Detroit says of this lane and as the incident he relates to it is true I copy it

horse drawn cart

[Source]

Welcome back to Fridays with General Friend Palmer! So far it hasn’t been a complete disaster, so let’s continue! This week, General Palmer wistfully recalls Detroit’s bygone horse cart days. Maybe the Streets of Old Detroit exhibit at Detroit Historical Museum should explore incorporating an unpaved thoroughfare or two. It will be immersive! Wear boots!

I like when he casually mentions that sometimes the carts just fell apart.

In the earlier days the streets of Detroit, in the absence of pavements, were very bad in the fall and spring; mud seemed to predominate … Men wore their heavy boots, pants tucked inside, and in the outskirts of the city, a few boards and planks were laid down lengthwise so that people could manage, with difficulty, to get along.

In such a state of things, the single two wheeled horsecart was very much in evidence and was a most important institution. It was an invention of the old French habitants of the country. They were used by all classes and were convenience itself. A buffalo robe or blanket was spread on the bottom of the cart, two or three ottomans or stools were put in (in the absence of other covering for the bottom or floor of the cart, hay or straw was used), and the horse … off he plodded, ofttimes half leg deep in mud, to church, shopping, or to make fashionable calls. The carts were mighty enjoyable, as I can testify, having time and again been the driver on many, many occasions, sitting perched up in front and the ladies enjoying the bottom of the vehicle, protected from the rough boards by soft buffalo robes or other means; occasionally the lynch pin that apparently held the cart together would get out of place and the occupants be dumped in the mud.

Even famous people thought they were kinda fun!

… When General Macomb visited Detroit, Mrs. Hester Scott took him around the city in one of these French horse carts, borrowed for the purpose from Mr H.D. Harrison, the Jefferson Avenue dry goods merchant, and it was said that the general enjoyed it hugely.

And they were even a little flirty in the fairer seasons:

These French carts were very enjoyable also in fine weather on short excursions with the girls into the surrounding woods, particularly in October when they had put on their gay autumn attire and the hickory nuts and hazel nuts were plentiful. How full of pleasure those trips were! The distance to the woods was not great … out on Michigan Avenue, they came down to where is the hay market (once Woodbridge grove) and just in the rear of this grove was an immense field of hazelnut bushes which in the season were loaded down with nuts. Out Woodward Avenue, about where is Farnsworth Street, were many acres of blackberry bushes loaded with their delicious fruit in the season. And then the excursions in these carts down to that lovely driveway, “Lovers Lane,” in the vicinity of what is now Fort Wayne. The lane came into the River road, about where Winterhalter’s beer garden was, and extended out quite a distance toward the Dix settlement.

Sigh. The good old days!

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Legends of Le Detroit

February 4, 2010 in Books, History | 2 comments

If you like flowery Victorian prose, phantasms, grieving widows, pining French girls, French in general, haunted inanimate objects, werewolves,  lyrical two-page long set-ups about a grandfather telling his kid a scary story, or — especially — Indian curses, you are going to love the shit out of this book.

la chase gallerie

I loved this indulgent account of Rene LaSalle’s Griffin. As this totally made-up story tells it, the Indians were jealous of LaSalle’s magnificent brigantine, and he was cocky about it, so they cursed him by the light of the moon and made it sink.

Sensible.

“The shadows of the summer of 1679 had deepened before the little brigantine of forty-five tons approached completion. The commander had decided to name her Griffin, in allusion to the arms of the Comte de Frontenac, whose supporters were “Griffins.”
An expert wood carver from Rouen had carved for the ship’s bows a wonderful image of the fabled monster, half lion and half eagle, with ears erect, emblematic of strength, swiftness and watchfulness. But among the more pious of the band the name was deemed an evil one, and their superstitious natures conjured up disasters to come.
… “At last all was ready for the launch — the crew were assembled and the notes of the Te Deum floated on the air. A bottle of brandy was broken over the bows of the vessel, and liberal potations distributed among the Indians. A salute was fired from the seven guns ranged along the decks, and amidst the enthusiastic shouts of “vive le Roi,” the vessel glided from her ways, and floated on the waters of the Niagara River.

The shadows of the summer of 1679 had deepened before the little brigantine of forty-five tons approached completion. The commander had decided to name her Griffin, in allusion to the arms of the Comte de Frontenac, whose supporters were “Griffins.”

An expert wood carver from Rouen had carved for the ship’s bows a wonderful image of the fabled monster, half lion and half eagle, with ears erect, emblematic of strength, swiftness and watchfulness. But among the more pious of the band the name was deemed an evil one, and their superstitious natures conjured up disasters to come.

… At last all was ready for the launch — the crew were assembled and the notes of the Te Deum floated on the air. A bottle of brandy was broken over the bows of the vessel, and liberal potations distributed among the Indians. A salute was fired from the seven guns ranged along the decks, and amidst the enthusiastic shouts of “vive le Roi,” the vessel glided from her ways, and floated on the waters of the Niagara River.

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Fire and brimstone and Communism at Farmington’s Worker’s Camp

February 2, 2010 in Farmington Hills, History | No comments

A reader wrote to me a few days ago (a decision I highly encourage!) and asked if I’d ever seen the historical marker at 12 Mile and Halsted.  I had to admit that although I knew where it was, I’d never stopped to read it, nor did I have any idea what it was all about, despite having driven by it approximately 100,000 times in my life.

worker's camp fw

The marker is on the south side of 12 Mile, about a half-mile east of Halsted, right before a drive into one of Farmington’s ubiquitous corporate parks (the drive is sunnily named “Investment,”  and it cleaves a near-mile of vacant wooded lots right in half).

It marks the spot where, in the 1930s, a camp for laborers and their families used to be. But the sign doesn’t really tell you the whole ridiculous story. Let’s face it: do you really care that there used to be a summer camp where there are now offices for Alcoa and Daimler Financial? Maybe you do. I don’t know. Better story? It was a Communist summer camp. Allegedly. And their neighbors — and some creepy, violent, be-robed extremists — wanted them out.

You can read the whole weirdo tale in a great (and short!) historical monograph by James Dermody,  “‘Communism’ Comes to Farmington: The Worker’s Camp,” published by the Farmington Historical Commission in 1994.  The marker leaves off in 1930 with the purchase of the camp by the Workers Educational Association and some subsequent ownership changes. But six months after the WEA bought the camp, things started to heat up.

In August 1930, the Oakland County Sherriff raided the camp, seized some “Communist literature” and arrested some of the campers on charges of “criminal syndicalism” that were later dropped. Two years later, the camp was raided again.

It’s bad enough when the Sherriff suspects you’re up to no good. But a month later, a suspicious grass fire started on the camp grounds that would likely have consumed the entire wooded property if  it hadn’t been discovered, by chance, and extinguished. The day before the fire, the camp had received notice that their insurance would be cancelled, indicating that the insurance company had been warned this might happen.

In 1933, arson struck the Worker’s Camp again. This time, two buildings burned to the ground, and the dining hall sustained serious damage. Not to be deterred, the workers built a brand new dining hall. In 1935, that new dining hall was completely destroyed. By a fire. Two months after that, someone tried to explode — with dynamite — the concrete dam the workers had built to make a swimming pool.

How Wile E. Coyote is that? Also why, of all things, would you try to explode … a swimming pool?

Anyway. Early on, the worker’s camp asked the Oakland County Prosecutor to investigate, as recalled by camp member Isaac Smullins:

“I called the Oakland COunty Prosecutor’s office, asking him for an investigation … they informed me that they would let me know. We sent a delegation to Lansing … we were supposed to see the Attorney-General, but we spoke only to his son.
I requested an investigation and protection of the property, and the Assistant Attorney General told us point blank that he had no means to compel the County authorities to act. We asked for the right to arm ourselves to protect the premises, and he informed us that he would refer this matter to the Oakland County authorities. Since then, the camp kept good watch dogs on the premises to prevent further raids.
Shortly after, the dining room was set on fire and was totally destroyed.”
A few months before that fire took place, “The Farmington local paper carried a story about the danger to the community which was kept on the camp and told a story about a horse which was bitten to pieces by our dogs.”

I called the Oakland County Prosecutor’s office, asking him for an investigation … they informed me that they would let me know. We sent a delegation to Lansing … we were supposed to see the Attorney-General, but we spoke only to his son.

I requested an investigation and protection of the property, and the Assistant Attorney General told us point blank that he had no means to compel the County authorities to act. We asked for the right to arm ourselves to protect the premises, and he informed us that he would refer this matter to the Oakland County authorities. Since then, the camp kept good watch dogs on the premises to prevent further raids.

Shortly after, the dining room was set on fire and was totally destroyed.

So the county’s clocked out, someone keeps trying to turn your whole property to tinder, and to top it all off, your neighbors think you’re creeps. A few months before that fire took place, a local paper “carried a story about the danger to the community which was kept on the camp, and told a story about a horse which was bitten to pieces by our dogs.”

A  neighbor eventually confessed to the dam explosion. His motive? He was “annoyed by the noise emanating from the camp at night. He also blamed the loss of fruit, vegetables and chickens from his farm … upon persons in the camp.”

Another neighbor, Floyd Cairns, remembered “placing roofing nails on the roadway to puncture car tires and once throwing a live skunk through one of the building windows.”

Ugh. So, nasty neighbors. Bad cops. And you know who turned out to be setting those fires?

In the fall of 1936, a grand jury decided that the Black Legion — a KKK affiliate — was responsible for all of the Worker’s Camp fires. Is it a stretch to think that if an investigation had been conducted earlier, the murder that ended up busting the whole Legion in May 1936 — and all of the murders, beatings, arsons, bombings and plots in between — might never have happened? (For further reference, Hour Detroit ran an informative piece by Richard Bak last year about the rise and fall of the Black Legion in Michigan.)

worker's camp field view fw

I love how much scary, almost cinematic intrigue, crime and drama is tied up in this unassuming plot of land. It’s mixed-use now — part fallow, part corporate park, bisected by 696 and hedged by the strange family homes, foreclosed mansions, empty lots and abandoned barns along unpaved Howard Road.

blighted barn

The monograph and my inquiring reader alike tell me that the swimming pool that disgruntled neighbor tried to blow up still exists, but on my drive today I found three different candidate ponds, all frozen over and dusted with snow.

So which one is it? And am I crazy enough to nose around in someone else’s backyard for signs of a long-gone not-really-Communist worker’s camp? Whose barn is this? Why is it caving in on itself? Should I go inside of it? Why am I so scared of trespassing tickets?

Tune in next time.

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Fridays with General Friend Palmer: A most exciting fire

January 28, 2010 in Art, Books, Culture, History | 3 comments

I have always approached weekly themed blog posts, especially those involving alliteration, with trepidation. But then I found Early Days in Detroit, the memoirs of historical Detroit old guy General Friend Palmer (1820 – 1906), and I can’t think of any better way to dig through its 1000+ pages, each of them host to at least one illuminating, endearing, hilarious or otherwise just great anecdote, than to share some of the General’s memories of 19th-century Detroit every week.

So, we’ll see if this sticks. But for this Friday, at least, welcome to Fridays with General Friend Palmer. If you hate this I’ll stop it, but I don’t think you’ll hate this.

This week: The General has a whole chapter on Detroit fires that he remembers, specifically fires that destroyed famous buildings. When a wool mill on Randolph street caught fire in the summer of 1832, Friend writes, it “lit up the whole county of Wayne and parts of Canada, apparently … Out where we lived, on Woodward at John R., the illumination was so great one could see to read by it.”

I was really taken with his account of the fire on the steamer Great Western, which went up in flames while it was docked in Detroit sometime around 1838 (his memory was bad when he wrote his book and he died before his editors could help him do rewrites):

One important fire, and so considered at the time … and that was the partial burning of the then finest and most magnificent steamer on the lakes, the Great Western, while lying at her dock, Gillett & Desnoyer’s, near foot of Shelby Street. It happened about 1838 on a summer Sunday afternoon, about 5 o’clock. I have forgotten the exact date. She had arrived that forenoon on her down trip from Chicago to Buffalo. I was present at the fire with engine company No. 4 (that far off time, it seems but yesterday). She was the pride of the lakes, and of her owner and commander, Captain Augustus Walker. She was the first steamer to have her cabins on the upper deck, passengers heretofore having had to dive down between decks if they had any idea of sleeping or eating, and most of them had.

The news that this steamer was ablaze spread like wildfire and hurried everyone to the scene; indeed, all Detroit was on hand. The engines hustling down Wayne and Shelby Streets came near running over the men and boys who had hold of the drag ropes, so wild was the excitement. No. 4 engine company came first in this encounter. It had its station on the dock between the warehouse and the burning steamer, and three of its members had the post of honor during the fire. William Green, the foreman who had the pipe, was assisted by Barney Campau and Kin Dygert. They held the fort, so to speak. They were stationed on the upper deck of the steamer abaft the wheelhouse.

The scene lives in an oil painting by Thomas Burnham, a well known local artist of that day. This painting is now the property of some citizen of this city who should, it seems to me, donate it to the Art Museum or to the present fire department. The upper cabins of the Great Western abaft the wheelhouses and the ladies cabin below were badly wrecked; otherwise the steamer did not sustain much damage. But it was a most exciting fire while it lasted as any one now living who was present at the time will I am sure bear witness.

Okay. I love a sleuth. Where’s this Thomas Burnham painting? Did “some citizen of the city” give it to the now-DIA as General Friend Palmer thought he or she should? Not sure, although an online collection search turns up another Thomas Mickell Burnham painting, First State Election in Detroit, Michigan, 1837 (timely, right?):

And the man was apparently known for his marine and maritime paintings as well, like this one, An English Cutter Gives Chase to a Smuggler, 1836:

So where’s the burning Great Western? Does it indeed belong to the fire department? Is it in some art historian’s special collection of boat paintings or a museum’s American Art gallery?

I’ll put out some feelers. I haven’t really looked yet, having just learned about this painting about a half-hour ago, so if it’s somewhere obvious, tell me now.

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173 years of Michigan statehood

January 26, 2010 in History | 1 comment

1835 michigan map

(From an 1835 atlas)

On January 26, 1837, nearly 150 years after the earliest known use of the name “Michigan” on a map, Michigan was officially admitted to the Union.

For a long time I had this confused, baseless idea that territories just sort of naturally, peacefully shook out into states, in rapid succession, during the first 50 years of the 19th century. I don’t know how that got into my head, but it’s wrong! And in Michigan, the story of the fight for statehood is amazing. Consider this:

In 1831, Stevens T. Mason — whose father John had been sent to the Michigan territory, then to Mexico, by President Andrew Jackson — succeeded his father as Secretary of the Territory at just 19 years old. When Lewis Cass left Michigan to serve as Jackson’s Secretary of War, Mason acted as Governor, even after Jackson appointed a new Governor, George Porter, who spent a lot of time away.

In 1832, a devastating spate of cholera broke out in Detroit, killed Father Gabriel Richard, and panicked everyone. The same year, Mason began a territorial census. Before its completion in 1834, another cholera epidemic wracked the city, killing nearly a seventh of Detroit’s population, including Governor Porter. Stevens T. Mason, at 22, became, officially, the governor — to this day, the youngest state governor in American history.

In September 1834, the finished census confirmed that the territory had a population of more than 87,000 — way over the minimum requirement for statehood. The Territorial Legislature asked Congress for permission to form a state legislature, but Ohio disputed the territorial borders, and Congress rejected the petition.

Thus began one of my favorite episodes in arcane Michigan history: The Toledo War.

Ohio passed legislation in 1835 asserting claims to the disputed Toledo strip and forming county governments within its borders. Mason responded with the Pains and Penalties Act, which made it a crime for Ohioans to govern within the strip. Both states called their militias to the border.

No life-threatening casualties were incurred during the conflict and parties disagreed on whether any shots were ever fired. The “war” was mostly scuffles between roving posses, citizen arrests and mutual harrassment. But President Jackson was really scared that Ohio and Michigan were on the brink of full-out war. So he had Mason, a famous hot-head, removed from office and replaced.

Luckily for statehood, nobody liked the new Governor, John “Little  Jack” Horner, who released war prisoners almost immediately, angering citizens who were already irked by Mason’s removal. Just a month after Horner took office, in October 1835, Michigan voters approved the state constitution and elected Mason governor.

Congress wouldn’t admit Michigan to the Union until it ceded Toledo to Ohio, and throughout 1836, Michigan rejected the President’s consolation — the Upper Peninsula. But the state was almost bankrupt, Governor Mason kept pushing, and finally, in December 1836, a convention in Ann Arbor approved the compromise. Statehood at last!

Good story, right?

Further reading:

Michigan Legislature’s Chronology of Michigan History

Message of the Acting Governor, Stevens T. Masons, to the Legislative Council of the Territory of Michigan: 1835

The Toledo War. Don Farber, University of Michigan Press, 2009

Stevens T. Mason is buried in Capitol Square Park in Detroit, currently undergoing redevelopment. He died in New York in 1843. In 1905, a commission, appointed by Governor Fred Warner, successfully oversaw the relocation of Mason’s remains:

“The Boy Governor Comes Home,” Bob Garrett. State of Michigan Archives, January 2010.

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Lazy Monday flu-ridden round-up

January 25, 2010 in Culture, metro Detroit | No comments

Besides feeling swamped with projects, I’m terrified that I’m coming down with some kind of flu, so here are a few items to keep you busy in the event that I become bedridden or shackled to my (other, metaphorical, paid-gig) desk this week.

Katie Barkel makes neat videos

The MetroTimes music department was kind enough to have me back last week for a feature profile about a precocious lady filmmaker who loves “little kids shredding and old bikers smoking and throwing bottles at each other at the bar.” You can read about her here. I had a really great time working on this; it was the rare story that didn’t make me wonder, “Why didn’t I get a degree in something vocational, like ballroom dancing?”

I also really enjoyed this sweet and funny story about Leroy Haskins by Detroitblogger John, but then again, I am a total sucker for local eccentrics.

We went to the DIA

DIA 010

We are contented little birds in the tree of DIA membership, but as a long-time museum-goer and museum-lover and former museum-employee, I feel like I sometimes hit a plateau with certain collections, where I kind of feel like, “well, I’ve seen all of my favorites 100,000 times, and then there’s all that other stuff there that doesn’t excite me as much.” It’s like round two of the average visitor’s “What do I even do here? Where to start?” dilemma.

This weekend we broke our stride and just ambled around like kids at the zoo, nudging each other and whispering “look at that thing!” and “that guy’s face is blue!” and “wow, this stuff is old!”

DIA 012

We also remembered to go up to the third floor, which is way bigger than either of us ever remember. Usually we just visit the Rembrandt and call it a day. But there’s so much (!!!) more up there, like this room that’s reconstructed to look like an 18th-century French parlor, and when you press a button, it fills up with ambient noise — the strum of a harp, teacups, the clock ticking — and loads of other French decorative artworks and a room full of “fainting lady” paintings. We had a lot of fun, and not just in an intellectually stimulating way. We relaxed and enjoyed ourselves and kidded around. Sometimes art museums are great for that. I also enjoy taking bad, shaky pictures in them.

Also: the exhibition of WPA prints from the 1930s is striking and substantial.

Cocktails

I’m glad Model D is back on a weekly publishing schedule.  This feature about local signature cocktails is a little bit history, but mostly booze. The way I like it.

Tumbling down

Buildings of Detroit is doggedly covering the Lafayette Building demolition (and risking lung disease and dodging falling debris). Citizen journalism at its brave best.

American History Reading Room

The fiance and I got in some dumb argument about the Mexican-American war, or something, then realized that we’ve both forgotten substantial portions of our U.S. History education. Plus, that stuff was kind of boring when I was a teenager and did not understand or respect, you know, time.

We’re thinking about putting together a casual (albeit terrifically geeky) American History book salon to get up to speed. How should we carve out a curriculum? Should we take it chronologically, or thematically? One major event at a time, or through smaller, more regional perspectives? Or through an interpretive lens, like agriculture, or a specific industry, or art?

And what are some contemporary, engaging must-reads?

So, that’s all I’ve got. What have you got? Hopefully not the flu.

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WHO WAS SILAS FARMER?

January 20, 2010 in Books, Local History, metro Detroit | No comments

UPDATE: Silas Farmer’s death certificate is in the Michigan state archives. He died suddenly on December 28, 1902, apparently of a heart attack. He was living in present-day midtown, at 52 Selden, and is buried in Elmwood Cemetery. Next stop, as my mom sassily pointed out to me on Twitter (MOMS ON TWITTER!!), is a real-life library.

**

I wish I knew! The man was apparently one of the most important Michigan historians in history (which seems like a strange thing to say) and wrote dozens of books including the seminal, oft-referenced 1884 tome History of Detroit and Michigan, 1890’s History of Detroit and Wayne County and Early Michigan, as well as lesser known classics like All About Cleveland; The Young Men’s Christian Associations Hymn Book; Guide to the Streets, Street Pavements, street car routes and house numbers of Detroit and The Drinker’s Dictionary (which I would really like to read).

All I know about Silas Farmer at this point is from a foreward to Silas Farmer’s book, Souvenir of The Pointe: Grosse Pointe on Lake Saint Claire, graciously reprinted from a 1974 edition of the book by the Grosse Pointe Historical Society:

Son of John Farmer, Detroit’s earliest map publisher, Silas Farmer began his career by following in his father’s footsteps.  While working on maps, he conceived the idea of writing the history of Detroit and was soon launched on a literary career.

john farmer_district surveyor

John Farmer: Map of the City of Detroit in the State of Michigan, 1835. Library of Congress.

John Farmer, born in New York in 1798, moved to Detroit in 1821 at the invitation of Governor Lewis Cass. He was an admired and eccentric character in the city, as General Friend Palmer recalls in his memoir Early Days in Detroit. Palmer remembers Farmer’s sawed-in-half schoolhouse — with a bell! — and his cartographic fire:  

I think John Farmer lived on the opposite corner of the same streets, in a frame dwelling on the rear of his lot, and I also think he carried on his map-engraving and printing in the same house. This building was once a part of the old wooden building that stood on the corner of Griswold and Larned, where is now the Campau block. When Griswold was widened, it was found that this building was in the way.

… The common council ordered it sawed in two, and John farmer bought the part that was in the street and moved it to his lot on Monroe.

Farmer was a wonderful man in his way, a most competent surveyor and a finished engraver, as the work on his maps show. Endowed with surprising energy, it always seemed to me that the steam engine within him, so to speak, must sooner or later wear him out, and it did. I knew him intimately and when I was in business sold thousands of dollars’ worth of his maps.

All Palmer writes about Silas is that he helped convince the city to rename part of Grand River East “Wilcox Street.”

Silas was born in June 1839; in 1882 he was chosen as City Historiographer of Detroit. And sometime around 1878, Silas Farmer wrote an Illustrated Guide and Souvenir of Detroit, one of a series of guides and souvenirs Farmer published under his own imprint at the end of the 19th century.

I found several endearing passages and illustrations from the 1878 edition, although there are a few updated versions available on the Internet Archive. The whole thing is basically a TOUR ITINERARY, which as you may know is my favorite thing, although on this occasion I feel no reason to actually take the tour, as I’m confident that mostly nothing of it exists anymore.

The guide begins:

The most comprehensive view of the City can be obtained by ascending the tower of the City Hall. Go as early as 9 a.m. Take a field glass with you, and from the window of the tower you will see sights and scenery that will well repay for the rather tiresome climbing of the 200 steps. The whole City, river and islands, and even Lake St. clair, will lie before you like a panorama. Each window of the tower will reveal beautis of its own.

The most comprehensive view of the City can be obtained by ascending the tower of the City Hall. Go as early as 9 a.m.

Take a field glass with you, and from the window of the tower you will see sights and scenery that will well repay for the rather tiresome climbing of the 200 steps. The whole City, river and islands, and even Lake St. clair, will lie before you like a panorama. Each window of the tower will reveal beauties of its own.

Here’s an illustration of the view from the City Hall tower — down Woodward, toward the river — in 1878:

silas farmer_woodward view

And Silas Farmer, as I do, recommends a wandering hour in Elmwood Cemetery:

silas farmer_elmwood cemetery

[From McDougall], A walk of some five blocks on Elmwood Avenue will bring you to Elmwood cemetery, where an hour or more can be spent very pleasantly among the many beautiful walks and drives and monuments.

Again taking Jeffereson Avenue to the eastward, within the distance of a block from Elmwood, you pass on the right the immense stove factory and warerooms of the Michigan Stove Company; and immediately afterwards, the Old Pontiac Tree, like some Rip Van winkle of the forest, stands before you.

Did you know that in the 1880s, Detroit was the stove-making capital of the world? Neither did I, but it seems that the fates of the Stove Company and the Pontiac Tree were intertwined, or at least of mutual interest.

As usual, half of what’s so interesting about these old pamphlets are the incredible advertisements:

silas farmer_shoe ad

silas farmer_turkish bath

Turkish baths? Why don’t we still have those?

And who was Silas Farmer? Where did he live?  Did he write a diary? Or letters? Where is Silas Farmer hiding?

Help me out, America!

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January 19, 1915: The neon sign is born

January 19, 2010 in Uncategorized | No comments

Once you’ve made yourself dizzy with grand leaps about the inextinguishable energy of commerce or the beacon of the American dream or even the fiery sleep-robbing power of business or the loneliness of an OPEN sign on a dark, snowy night:

packard neon light

The first commercial neon sign, commissioned by an LA auto dealer, spelled out Packard.

Feel free to run with that one.

You can read a brief history of neon in New York Magazine, a lengthier history of neon at the website of the American Sign Museum, or just take a moment to appreciate the next few neon signs you see this evening. Especially if they symbolize collapsing industries or broken dreams.

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Martin Luther King, Jr.

January 18, 2010 in History, Meditations | 3 comments

mlk 1963

I have a dream this afternoon that one day right here in Detroit, Negroes will be able to buy a house or rent a house anywhere that their money will carry them and they will be able to get a job.

June 23, 1963: Months before the March on Washington, at the Great March on Detroit, Martin Luther King, Jr. delivers a version of the speech that would immortalize his spirit and his movement.

And so we must say, now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to transform this pending national elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. Now is the time to lift our nation.

When I think about King’s legacy in Detroit, I think about the city’s motto. Gabriel Richard wrote it after a fire that leveled the city in 1805: Speramus Meliora; Resurget Cineribus.

We Hope For Better Things; It Shall Rise From the Ashes.

There’s an easy takeaway that we all remember on MLK Day — the stuff we learn in grade school. Love each other. Respect each other. Strive for the common good. Okay.

But there is another and more brutal truth in his message — the truth of enduring struggle. The fighting, the tireless pushing, and the constant defeat.

Martin Luther King didn’t give Detroit the promise that it would rise. He didn’t promise that in a just and integrated world, leaders would bring progress and people would prosper. But Detroit’s proud and strong black city leaders, thinkers, business owners and activists, whether they succeeded or not, have been able to do so on their own merits — judged not, as Dr. King said, by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.

As much as Martin Luther King gave Detroit the freedom to flourish, he gave it the freedom to fail. And that is, in many ways, a miraculous thing. Martin Luther King’s dream was so vast and so brave, and rereading the speech he gave in Detroit, the first thing I think is: we can still do so much better. And that is a lucky thing to be able to think.

Wayne State University’s Virtual Motor City collection, by the way, has a terrific collection of photographs from the Civil Rights era and other major social movements in the city. Nose around this evening while you’re reflecting on the day.

For a meatier take on the holiday, and the man we honor on the holiday, you may want to read the MLK Day post at  The Edge of the American West, a great blog written by a cabal of erudite history and philosophy scholars. Discussed: King’s 1968 speech in Grosse Pointe (”A riot is the language of the unheard,” King said then), John Conyers and corporate sponsorship of the bill to make MLK Day a national holiday, and the anger and danger in King’s philosophy that are largely diluted in our contemporary portrait of the man and the message.

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