Published In:
Ypsilanti Gleanings, Winter 2010,
Winter 2010

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Original Images:

Winter 2010

Author: Peg Porter

If you attended Roosevelt, the “lab school” of MSNC, later EMU, chances are you remember Zwergel's. Like most other Roosevelt students you likely made regular visits to Zwergel’s during the lunch hour. Out the door, down the street past Pease Auditorium, around the corner and up the worn cement steps, and there close to the door on the right stood the candy counter. Oh, the decisions to be made. Would you like a rope of licorice or perhaps a piece of Double Bubble bubblegum? How about a jaw breaker? Were you up to handling a Fireball? And if you had more than a couple of pennies you could choose a candy bar or a package of Chuckles. So many choices!

Zwergel’s wasn’t in business to sell penny candy. Yet one of the clerks stood behind the counter patiently waiting for us to choose. We were never pressured nor treated like a minor nuisance (which we probably were). We headed back to school ready to begin the second half of the school day.

J. George Zwergel was born in 1851, to German immigrants, in Freedom Township, Washtenaw County. The family had settled in the County in the 1840’s. J. George left the family farm at age 22 to enter commercial life. He clerked for the John C. Liken Company in two different locations learning the trade. In 1896 he bought a lot in Ypsilanti on Cross Street where he built his store, just across the street from what was then the main campus. Zwergel’s sold books and school supplies as well as groceries and dry goods. For a time, Zwergel also operated an ice cream parlor. The business prospered. His prime location became the campus stop for the Interurban. Passengers would wait on the steps of Zwergel's for their car likely having made a stop at the store first.

Active in city affairs, Zwergel served as alderman for the Third Ward in 1902 and 1903. He was president of the City Council and Chairman of Ways and Means during his two terms. He died in 1915. Upon his passing, his daughter Mary, who had been clerking at the store, took over the business which she managed until her death in 1944. During her tenure the business expanded to include a beauty shop run by her niece Helen Zwergel Bassett. Prior to taking over the store Mary completed a year’s course in Cleary College and worked as a bookkeeper at the telephone company.

The following was written in the January 1, 1932, issue of the Ypsilanti Daily Press: “Miss Mary Zwergel, who heads four business enterprises at 616 and 618 West Cross Street is looking forward to improved conditions in 1932 even though the depression failed to make an appreciable difference in her sales. She is proprietor of Zwergel’s (the store at the Normal), Zwergel’s Beauty and Gift Shoppe, and Zwergel’s grocery and meat market.”

The location and the store’s reputation for customer service combined to create a very successful business that would last for many years. As the college, then University, expanded all around the store, the corner property eventually was acquired by the University, the store was demolished and the grounds of Pease Auditorium were extended to Cross Street.
I have not looked to see if there is any sort of marker to designate where Zwergel’s once stood. If there isn’t, there should be for the store was a vital part of campus and city life for almost 100 years.

(Peg Porter grew up in Ypsilanti and is the Assistant Editor of the Gleanings.)

Photo Captions:

Photo 1: George Zwergel outside The Normal Book Store just after the turn of the Century.

Photo 2: Newly constructed Roosevelt School (c1927). The sidewalk in the foreground leads to Cross Street.

Photo 3: An ad for “Holeproof Hosiery” from Zwergel’s at the Normal.

Photo 4: An ad for “Fresh Meats” from Zwergel’s, The Store at the Normal.

Photo 5: The front cover of Zwergel’s Beauty Review that was published in 1940.

Published In:
Ypsilanti Gleanings, Fall 2010,
Fall 2010

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Original Images:

Author: John Kirkendall

On a summer evening in early July the Ypsilanti Historical Museum was the site of a gala dinner given to benefit Ypsilanti’s historic Freight House. The brainchild of Nat Edmunds, the dinner was auctioned to the highest bidder at an event held at the Ypsilanti Fire Hall. The high bidders, at $800 for a dinner for 8, were Pam Byrnes and Kent Brown. I was the chef for the occasion – and there were lots of talented and experienced people to help pull it together.

As guests entered the museum, they could not help but experience a sense of awe. The cellist, Dr. Robert Reed, known widely for his work with the Detroit Symphony and the Michigan Opera Theatre was playing in the living room next to the fireplace. In the dining room the formal table featured a bouquet of fresh cut, beguiling field flowers, befitting the museum. The flower arrangement was courtesy of Bonnie Penet, Co-Chair of the Friends of the Freight House (Nat Edmunds is the other co-chair.) The table itself was bountiful with sparkling crystal and gleaming Havilland – the china donated to the Museum by the estate of Judge Edward D. Deake – and polished to a fine gloss by Karen Nickels and Kathryn Howard in anticipation of the dinner. The kitchen was alive with aromas of the Beef Wellington and other culinary treasurers awaiting the guests.

Meanwhile, Nat had discovered an area new to her behind the second dining room that housed a double sink – perfect to keep dishes, glasses and silver washed as they were used. Many were recycled for several uses during the dinner. She will likely have dishpan hands for some time! Her principal assistant was Dick Robb who dried and buffed as the dishes were recycled.
Our team of servers was exemplary. The team was orchestrated by Dr. Susan Gregory, Director of the Hotel and Restaurant Management Program at Eastern Michigan University. Our credo was Service, Silence and Safety. There was no unnecessary conversation among our team during the dinner and service was ever present without being obsequious. Pam herself mentioned she had never experienced such service.

Andrea Linn handled the “staging” of the plates. They looked magnificent, each course overshadowing the previous. In the meantime, I was in the kitchen trying to get the courses out in order. (Andrea was also instrumental in the preparation of several other phases of the dinner.)
Wines were paired with the various courses by Jerry Hayes and he arranged to have the wines as well as the champagne donated to the Freight House dinner. Jerry does catering for people and organizations around our community and his largess and expertise was much appreciated.
The delicate museum crystal was used as it was originally intended - much to the delight of the assembled dinner guests.

The evening went like clockwork. Thanks to our team. The director of the Museum, Al Rudisill, was on hand to make sure no need that arose was unmet. The servers were Dick Robb (former EMU Regent and dentist,) Jim Baker (who, along with Bonnie, was our photographer,) Bob Taylor (retired firefighter, who appeared with the fire extinguisher with great effect as the flaming dessert was ignited,) and Tom Tobias (retired school teacher.)

The menu for the dinner included:

• Appetizers: Amuse-Bouches and Champagne; Michigan Country Paté with buttered, toasted pain de mie rounds; Smoked Upper Peninsula Whitefish.
• First Course: Vegetable Crepe Gateau; fresh tomato sauce; Blanc de Blanc Leelanau Michigan wine.
• Second Course: Vichyssoise, a cup served with warm River Street French Bread with Basil Butter and Unsalted Butter.
• Between Courses: Minted Pineapple Lime Sorbet with Moravian Ginger Cookie served in Sesquicentennial shot glass (yours to keep).
• Entrée: Tenderloin of Chelsea Beef Wellington; Crisped Potato Baskets with Buttered Snow Peas; Upright Romaine with Maytag Bleu Cheese dipping sauce; Selection of Michigan Reds by Mawby Winery.
• Dessert: Genoise ice cream roll with Traverse City Cherries Jubilee.

The museum itself provided an elegant backdrop for a wonderful evening. The evening began with a professional tour led by Nancy Wheeler, a thoroughly knowledgeable docent dressed in period clothing. By the time the evening concluded, our out-of-town guests were totally impressed by, and enthusiastic about, an important historical resource available in and for our community and, in fact, a resource used by many others from distant locations.

I have a feeling we will be seeing these guests again.

(John Kirkendall, retired judge and an active chef, prepared the feast that benefitted the Ypsilanti Freight House renovation.)

Photo Captions:

Photo 1: Pam Byrnes and Kent Brown with their guests enjoying one of the many courses of food served at the dinner in the dining room of the YHS Museum.

Photo 2: Servers joining Chef Kirkendall were: (left to right) Tom Tobias, retired teacher; Dick Robb, retired dentist and former EMU regent; Kirkendall; Jim Baker, retired box designer; and Bob Taylor, former firefighter.

Photo 3: Dinner guests were entertained throughout the evening by cellist Dr. Robert Reed, widely known for his work with the Detroit Symphony and the Michigan Opera Theatre.

Photo 4: Al Rudisill, (right) YHS President, greeted the guests at the front door of the Museum and Nancy Wheeler, (left) provided a tour of the Museum and Archives.

Photo 5: Pam Byrnes was the high bidder at $800 for the “Dinner for eight in the YHS Museum Dining Room.”

Published In:
Ypsilanti Gleanings, Fall 2010,
Fall 2010

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Original Images:

Author: Peg Porter

Introduction: The summer issue of Gleanings included a call to our readers to share their memories of restaurants that had once been an important element of the town’s social and business life. A number of readers responded including three who live in other parts of the country. In our research we found that close to 100 restaurants have opened and closed since the beginning of the 20th Century. We focused on those establishments that our readers mentioned. In addition we added several others that reflect Ypsilanti’s social history.

“Fast Food” arrived early in Ypsilanti. Familiarly known as Snappy Joe’s, this short order eatery opened its doors in 1932 on Pearl Street next door to the Weidman Ford Dealership. By 1954 it had relocated to 109 1/2 West Michigan, where it was housed in a narrow building (e.g. half a storefront). The interior contained a long counter with stools and a kitchen behind. Popular with the downtown lunch time crowd, the menu consisted primarily of hamburgers, hot dogs, and soup. Often there would be a bean dish, such as chili, prepared ahead of time. Maxe Obermeyer recalls a line outside waiting for a stool to open up. Joe's Snappy Service would continue on Michigan Avenue until the early seventies.

Further east on Michigan Avenue, across the river, stood Russell's Diner, later known as Averill's. This diner offered curb service during the 1930's. (see picture). The diner was opened by the parents of the late Red Averill. After the Averill’s separated, Red’s mother moved the diner further east to the site of what is now The Bomber. Red Averill would go on in the restaurant business. He took over management of The Bomber, and then later opened three Big Boy Restaurants.

A note about the picture of the diner: the service station and garage next door was first the George Fosdick filling station, and then became the location of Thompson Autos. The ornate building in the background was the Worden House. The land where these buildings stood is now vacant and is part of the Water Street Project.

Not everyone wanted or needed to get their food in a hurry. Dining out was still considered a special occasion for most Ypsilantians. The “white tablecloth” restaurants were the best. When the Huron Hotel was completed in 1923 in time for the city’s centennial, the hotel restaurant, The Huron: Ypsilanti’s Community Tavern, opened with great fanfare on January 1, 1923. Harvey Colburn writes, “…on the afternoon and evening of that day three hundred guests gaily celebrated the occasion around its tables.” The restaurant flourished during the late 1920’s. A Christmas Dinner buffet featured a large selection including an Oyster Cocktail, a shrimp and crabmeat Newburgh, ham, turkey, and steak as well as five desserts with three kinds of pie. All of this for a cost of only $1.50 per person.

Constantine Alex, a Greek immigrant, opened the Avon Restaurant in 1930 at 205 W. Michigan. The restaurant was named for the River Avon in England and was decorated in the Tudor style with dark oak, beamed ceilings and leaded glass. Architect Ralph Gerganoff worked with Alex on the design and décor. Alex chose to use red and white or blue and white checked damask tablecloths. Harold Goodsman described Alex in an Ann Arbor News article, as “…a genteel, personable, almost dapper man. He was very gracious.” Alex was known as “Connie” to his patrons. He quickly learned the names of regular customers and seated them at their favorite booth. My mother, Ruth Porter, shared her memories in the same 1997 News article. “Every Sunday, my husband and I would go to the movies and then go over to Connie’s for a bite to eat afterward. We had our own booth and Connie always knew what we wanted without us telling him.”

The Avon seated 100 and featured an extensive menu. The Avon Annex featured a shorter menu for breakfast and lunch time diners. Prior to World War II, the Avon also served Chinese (or rather Chinese American) food such as chop suey and chow mein. The war brought other changes to the restaurant. Gone were the male waiters who were replaced by waitresses. After 42 years in the business, Connie Alex retired in 1972. The Avon is still fondly remembered by Ypsilantians. Our own John Dawson recalls, “It was an institution here in Ypsilanti. It was a nice place to eat. And it was a gathering place for local business people. The menu never changed. It was always the same. My favorite was breaded veal cutlets with mushroom sauce.”

The 1920s and 1930s saw a number of restaurants open in private homes. My grandparents,
E. H. Porter and Ellen Craig Porter, owned and operated The Blue Bird Tea Room in their home at the corner of Brower (now College Place) and Washtenaw. Their path to the restaurant business was circuitous. Both of them were born in Canada, he in Nova Scotia and she in Ontario. My grandfather attended Guelph Agricultural Institute (now the University of Guelph) where he trained as a dairyman. He met my grandmother when he was working on an experimental farm owned by the Massey family, manufacturers of farm equipment and machinery. From 1907 until about 1917 he managed large dairy farms in Missouri and Michigan. The hard work with minimal help due in part to the World War caused my grandfather’s health to decline. My grandparents then managed White Lodge on the Huron Chain of Lakes for a couple of summers. They met people from Ypsilanti at the Lodge who urged them to move to town and open a restaurant.

Their clientele included numerous Normal faculty as well as retired faculty members. Normal students served as waitresses for a meal and tips. My grandmother, an unusually kind and generous person, had a group of “distressed gentlewomen” who relied on her for food. Granny would tell them to pay when they could. Not the best business decision perhaps, but certainly in keeping with her character.

Porter’s was known for its good home cooking and Granny’s marvelous desserts, often made with fruit. She did cobblers, pies, applesauce cake as well as the best oatmeal and raisin cookies around. The frosted molasses cookies ran a close second. The restaurant closed in the early 1940’s; my grandfather died in 1944. A few years later, our grandmother returned to Canada to live with her remaining siblings.

The Gondola first opened in the 1930s in the basement of a home on Marion at Packard. It was first named LaGondola. The restaurant, owned by Laurino (Louie) Agosti served Italian food. Several of our readers remember going to the Gondola with their family when they were young. Pat Cleary recalled eating there with his parents and his sister, now Ann Cleary Kettles. Joe Lawrence said he and his Dad thought the restaurant was o.k., but his mother, Christine, “hated it.”

The Gondola thrived, however. The business was purchased by the Simpson family in the 1950s. The business relocated to a new restaurant on Washtenaw at Cornell, keeping The Gondola on the west side of town and greatly expanding its seating capacity. By this time Ypsilanti had “gone wet” allowing the serving of liquor by the glass in addition to beer and wine. The new restaurant featured an extensive bar and expanded menu. Bill Simpson managed the operation. Mike Kabat, co-owner of Haab's, remembers going to The Gondola for a prom night dinner while he was in high school. In 1966 Bill Simpson sold the restaurant to a group of Ypsilanti business and professional men who renamed it “The Wigwam.” The Wigwam was relatively short-lived. Later, the building was demolished. A CITGO gas station now occupies the property.

Other restaurants were popular with families. Evans White Gables, located at 1004 West Michigan, was owned and run by Helen and Earl Evans. Pam Shepherd DeLaittre, Judy Morey, and I all remember eating there with our families. Mamie Schell Adair and her sister were waitresses at the Gables while they were in high school. She writes from Clearwater, Florida, “There were two dining rooms. The smaller contained one very long table which was filled each lunchtime by local business people who usually ate the “blue-plate special.” A typical “blue plate” was meatloaf, corn and mashed potatoes and included a drink for the price of $1.00. A piece of homemade cherry pie ala mode added 35 cents to the bill. The typical tip was 10 cents, which was earned by waitresses from the neighborhood and college students. It was their total pay, including a meal. On Sundays families dined in the big dining room….It was a busy restaurant.” The building that housed Evans White Gables is now a Mexican restaurant.

While not within the city limits, a number of readers recalled The Farm Cupboard. This restaurant was a popular destination for Sunday dinner. Everyone would get in the car to take a drive through the countryside to Dixboro. Maxe Obermeyer especially recalls Easter Sunday when the lawn of the old farmhouse would be filled with families in their Easter best. The farmhouse opened as a restaurant in the 1920s. It later changed ownership and became The Lord Fox. Just recently the restaurant has undergone renovation and is now Roger Monks.

Talk to local Boomers or their older brothers and sisters about restaurants and their first words will be Casa Nova. Owned by the Falsetta family, the first Casa Nova opened in what is now the third dining room of Haab's. The restaurant quickly became known throughout the area for its pizza. The Falsetta’s moved across Michigan Avenue to a larger, new building. Don Porter, my brother, writes, “This special place was our favorite restaurant. The pasta dishes were fantastic and the sauces were loaded with garlic and rich in flavor. However, the most delicious item on the menu was the antipasto salad with the homemade tomato-based dressing. During Tammy’s (Eberle) first pregnancy she craved that dressing. So I would head to the restaurant and pick up some cartons to go. A few years ago, my nephew obtained the recipe for the special dressing. We made it and it was okay, but it tasted better when we had salad at a table for two at the Casa Nova.”

Sadly, family health problems resulted in the closing of Casa Nova in December, 1977. It lives on in the memories of many former customers who continue to rhapsodize about the pizza, and, of course, the antipasto salad.

Readers mentioned a number of other “lost restaurants” including Marken’s just west of the Casa Nova on Michigan Avenue, first opened in 1944; The Old Town Restaurant in Depot Town, formerly Turner’s that opened in 1941; The Spaghetti Bender, at 23 N. Washington; and George’s Huron Inn, owned by the Beaudette family from the mid-1930s until 1984.

So, what about the “Survivors,” those restaurants that have continued in business throughout the decades? For this article, we identify three, two of which were mentioned earlier: Haab’s, The Bomber, and The Tower Inn. I talked with Mike Kabat of Haab’s about why restaurants, including popular ones, close. He noted that very few restaurants survive beyond one generation. Why? The restaurant business is very hard work, long hours, and subject to increasing regulation. Staffing can be difficult as wages are relatively low. Ypsilanti is blessed with a University whose students fill many wait staff positions although the downside is frequent turnover. Mike discouraged his own children from going into the business. However, after a stint as a paralegal, his son Dave expressed an interest in joining his father and is now Junior Partner. “I failed.” said Mike. Most Ypsilantians would disagree.

Author’s note: my thanks to everyone who contributed to this project. It required a lot of “digging.” Special thanks to the Archives staff, Maxe Obermeyer, Joe Lawrence, Bill Nickels, Mike Kabat, Don Porter Jr. and Penny Schreiber.

Information, including pictures, is sparse especially about businesses. All people interested in local history are urged to look through their scrapbooks, their files or boxes and consider contributing information to the YHS Archives. Photographs can be reproduced and the original returned to its owner.

Photo Captions:

Photo 1: Russell's Diner, later known as Averill's, offered curb service during the 1930's. It was later moved to the site of the current Bomber Restaurant.

Photo 2: The menu for the 1927 Christmas Buffet at the Huron Hotel. Quite a spread for $1.50.

Photo 3: Harold Goodsman described Constantine Alex in an Ann Arbor News article, as “…a genteel, personable, almost dapper man. He was very gracious.”

Photo 4: The Avon Restaurant, located at 205 W. Michigan, was named for the River Avon in England and was decorated in the Tudor style with dark oak, beamed ceilings and leaded glass.

Photo 5: The 40th anniversary of the opening of the Avon Restaurant was celebrated in 1970.

Photo 6: This is a partial menu from the Avon Annex, which had a more casual atmosphere than the main dining room.

Photo 7: E. H. Porter and Ellen Craig Porter owned and operated The Blue Bird Tea Room in their home at the corner of Brower (now College Place) and Washtenaw. The house still stands.

Photo 8: A menu from the Gondola. Note the “U.S. Choice Top Sirloin with Mushrooms” for $3.25.

Photo 9: The interior of the Gondola Restaurant (#2) which was located on Washtenaw Avenue in c1960s.

Photo 10 - Photo 11: The Bismark Café located at 14 North Washington Street provided service to people passing through Ypsilanti on Interurban Railroad Cars.

Published In:
Ypsilanti Gleanings, Winter 2009,
Winter 2009

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Original Images:

Author: James Mann

For many years, from the end of Prohibition until the year 2000, the Orange Lantern was a popular Ypsilanti landmark, even if it was just across the county line in Van Buren Township. Named for some light fixtures inside, the Orange Lantern drew its clientele from the factories, foundries and tool-and-die shops in the Ypsilanti area. At times the place was so crowded each patron who was coming in had to wait for someone to leave. This was a neighborhood bar, the kind of place where a guy stopped by for a beer while on the way home from the factory job. That may be why it was so popular for so long.

The Orange Lantern opened in 1933, just after the repeal of Prohibition. It was one of the first bars to be granted a liquor license. Then, the land around the Orange Lantern was soybean fields and maple sugar woods. Back then, the Orange Lantern was the last stop for liquor by the glass until Indiana.

During World War II liquor rationing for bars was set by the amount sold before the war, and, it is said, the Orange Lantern had the largest liquor ration in the state. Workers from the Willow Run Bomber plant, where the B-24 Liberator was built, enjoyed the friendly atmosphere of the place. The war years were the heydays of the place, when workers from the plant found it a convenient place to unwind. The regular clientele, it is said, included the woman who was the model for Rosie the Riveter.

The bar was run for years by Bill Eberts, and then for years after by his son, Dick Eberts and Bud Fahndrich, a nephew. Dick Eberts worked at the bar from the age of 18, with four years out for service in the army during the World War II. “It’s my life,” he told the Ann Arbor News for a story published on September 1, 1996. “It’s meeting new people and experiencing different things.”

Over time the number of customers declined, and no one had to wait for someone to leave before they could enter. Still, the regulars came and new ones stopped in. It was a place where everyone knew most everyone else. Dick Eberts died at the age of 83 on October 15, 1999. Fahndrich vowed to keep the Orange Lantern open, and did so for the rest of his life. He died in December of the same year. The doors of the Orange Lantern were closed and the lights turned out for the last time on February 4, 2000. The place is gone, and the memories are fading.

(James Mann is a local historian and author, a volunteer in the YHS Archives and a regular contributor to the Gleanings.)

Photo Captions:

Photo 1: The Orange Lantern neighborhood bar that opened in 1933 and closed in 2000 (Photo by Jim Rees).

Published In:
Ypsilanti Gleanings, Fall 2009,
Fall 2009

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Original Images:

Author: George Ridenour. Lyle McDermott

The Sidetrack Bar and Grill – A History
By George Ridenour & Lyle McDermott

In 1838 the first train arrived in the newly founded Ypsilanti. Around the depot and freight house area a new part of Ypsilanti developed that has been referred to over the years as “Depot Town.” The Ypsilanti City Directory of 1860-61 lists the Pavillion Saloon at the location that later became 56 East Cross Street where the Sidetrack Bar and Grill is now located. City directories for the years 1861-1873 are rare and we were unable to find the history of the bar during those years.

1873-1874: William Leach had a saloon and Restaurant at the SW corner of East Cross and River Streets. At that time in Ypsilanti history there were no street numbers.
1878-79: Ms. Siva Leach had a dining hall at the same location.

Now listing as 56 East Cross Street the following businesses and time-line:
1892-1910: Nicholas Max Saloon.
1910-1918: Joseph Hock Saloon.
1919-1920: With Prohibition name changed to: Joseph Hock soft drinks/lunches.
1921-1924: Louis Caldwell Soft drinks/lunch.
1926-27: Mike Smith Soft drinks and lunch.
1928-29: Niel Holk soft drinks and lunch.
1930-1933: George Cristos soft drinks and lunch.
1934-1954: George Cristos Tavern and Restaurant (Repeal of Prohibition).
1955-1979: Central Bar & Tavern.
1980- present: Sidetrack Bar &Grill.

In 2000, 54 East Cross Street was added as “Frenchies” which was a banquet facility and overflow for the Sidetrack Bar and Grill.

Local Legends, Lores, Lies and Possibilities: Buffalo Bill stepped off the train at the Ypsilanti depot on a July, 1900 morning. He had 46 box cars to unload. Among his most famous performers was Miss Annie Oakley. They arrived for a one day only show. The parade route was almost three miles long! He arrived a little more than 100 yards from our saloon. Again, he returned in 1910 for his Farewell Tour. He again brought tons of equipment and a cast of hundreds to entertain the locals. We found as well that he had “shirt tail” relatives in the area that we were able to verify he visited at times when he came to Michigan.

Bill was known to have loved his libations. The saloon, only a hundred yards from the train station, would be a tempting site for a man fond of his drink. Having carloads of hungry and thirsty actors and stage hands and being greeted by the local dignitaries gives rise to speculation. Speculation that perhaps Bill came in for a cool one to help relieve his anxieties and tension at all the commotion going on out in the streets…….maybe?

Next door to the Sidetrack during the early 1900’s “The Horse Exchange,” a betting parlor, was housed. The walls, covered in blackboards, welcomed a daily exchange of up to 80 gentlemen (every day on the 2:00 pm train) from the Detroit area to place wagers on horse racing tracks around the country. The results would come in via the wire and fortunes were made and lost on this early form of “off track betting.”

Next door was our saloon where these gentlemen could have drinks, food, and relaxation from the gaming establishment. If a gentleman was so disposed to want fillies of a human kind or “sporting ladies,” Ma (Mary) Bush’s Boarding House on the second floor could provide entertainment for a nominal fee. The gentlemen, at 5:00 pm boarded the train and returned home to Detroit after a day of work at the Horse Exchange. Such was life in Depot Town.

A Day in Sidetrack History: Local historian George Ridenour recounts the day the train hit the Sidetrack-as told by a pet canary who witnessed it all.

“My name is Bobbie. I survived the train wreck of 1929. I am a pet canary. I was sitting in my cage in Mrs. Caldwell’s apartment on January 21, 1929. I was sipping a little water, eating some seeds, and singing my heart out. Mrs. Caldwell, the owner of the building where the Sidetrack is now located was lucky, as she had just gone out of the building and was next to the garage away from the building and to the rear of our building. BAM, BAM, the lights went out and the whole room turned upside down. I was tossed out of my cage and was falllllllllliiiiiinnnnnngggg.

A freight train was just passing through Ypsilanti when the 12th car of an 85 car train went off the tracks! It jumped the track just west of the main depot. The car, carrying a load of lumber, broke its coupling, lurched across the Cross Street intersection and crashed into the restaurant on the first floor of the building owned by Mr. & Mrs. Ollett.

The building (where the Sidetrack is now housed) was severely damaged. The Ypsilanti Press of January 21, 1929 reported: “The East wall was caved in, all effects in the building strewn in the street; the roof of the building was sagging precariously. It fell in about an hour after the accident, leaving only the Cross Street wall standing which was torn down soon afterward. The basement was opened and many of the bricks were tossed into the basement as part of the cleanup.

Oh, yeah, back to the important part. They found me about 4:00 pm, seven hours after the accident, bruised, trying to sing, and lying in a heap of rubbish. When you sit on the patio next to the track you are in fact sitting where the train hit on January 21, 1929. Oh, not to ruffle your feathers, but could it happen again? (Bobbie, the canary, 1929).

Finally, GQ Magazine rated the burgers at the Sidetrack Bar and Grill in the top 20 in the United States. All you have to do is try one and you know why the Sidetrack Bar and Grill in Depot Town, Ypsilanti, Michigan is “the place” not only to eat but to be seen and to see the who’s who of Ypsilanti and the surrounding community.

(Lyle McDermott and George Ridenour are both volunteers in the YHS Archives and regular contributors to the Gleanings.)

Photo Captions:

Photo 1: If you look close at the building on the right you will see the building attached to the “Sidetrack” that was destroyed in the 1929 train wreck.

Photo 2: This picture shows the “Sidetrack” after the corner building had been removed following the train wreck of 1929.

Published In:
Ypsilanti Gleanings, Summer 2009,
Summer 2009

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Original Images:

Author: Derek Spinei

Classic food served with a heaping side of nostalgia has kept one Ypsilanti Township drive-in restaurant from driving off into the sunset. The Chick Inn at 501 Holmes Road first opened in April of 1953 in a small build- ing which previously housed a soda fountain. Founders Jim and Charlotte Allen were em- ployed at the Willow Run Kaiser-Frazer plant at the time, but Jim was a baker by trade. He had been looking for a place to start a bakery when he found the site at the corner of North Prospect just begging to be transformed into a drive-in. The Allens set up shop and could soon afford to raze and replace the original structure with the current one in 1955.

Business was booming through the ‘60s, so much so that a time limit of 30 minutes had to be imposed on parked customers, and an employee was required to pace the lot to monitor and enforce the flow of traffic. What made the Chick Inn so popular 56 years ago is the same reason it is popular today – the food. Ordered through an intercom and quickly brought out by a carhop, the food requires some tough decision-making on the part of patrons. The Hammy Sammy (ham and cheese sandwich) competes with foot long hot dogs and cheese steak hoagies for popularity, but nothing compares to the Paul Bunyan. While it does not cost the same 25 cents it did in 1953, this massive hamburger accompanied by a famous peanut butter banana milk shake continues to be a must-have for anyone cruising town on a Saturday evening.

The Allen family continued to operate the Chick Inn for 50 years. Jim Allen retired in 1990 but Charlotte continued with the help of their daughter Debbie until 1997 when rumors began circulating that the establish- ment might close. Fortunately, the Allens’ son Mark and his wife Patti took over the business, making several improvements and upgrades to the property while keeping the original character intact. The Chick Inn finally left the Allens’ hands in 2003 when it was sold to a former automotive engineer, Kevin Lim, who is currently replacing the badly faded menu signs.

At a time when most drive-ins have long since been put out of business by fast food chains or banned by local ordinances (a result of late night noise and littering), the Chick Inn lives on because of its bargain prices, sentimentally loyal locals, great atmosphere for car lovers to show off their pampered rides, and the novelty of year-round curb service.

In 1999 the Chick Inn was honored by the Ypsilanti Heritage Foundation with a historic marker, a result of its retained vintage appearance featuring distinctive rooster graphics, neon signage, and rotating “TIME TO EAT” clock below which is their quaintly illuminated alphanumeric telephone number, HU3-3639, just as it has always been. The drive-in has been further honored by being included as an official member of the Motor- Cities National Heritage Area as defined by the U.S. National Parks Service.

The drive-in’s reputation has also reached out- side of Ypsilanti. In 1983 the restaurant was featured in a promotional film for the Dodge Daytona. In 1990 a Detroit rock band, The Gories, even recorded a devotional song to the drive-in aptly titled “Chick-Inn” – an excerpt from which follows:

Well there’s a place I go every Saturday
It’s up in Ypsilanti and it’s here to stay
The Chick-Inn Wooo yeah! Yeah! Yeah!
The Chick-Inn
Now I’m going there baby
It’s ‘cause I’m feeling so hungry
I’m gonna get me a Hammy Sammy, yeah!
Wooo with that secret sauce
On a Paul Bunyan roll, babe it’s really boss
The Chick-Inn, wooo hooo, the Chick-Inn
Well I’m going there baby, can’t miss it alright
It’s got a chicken on the sign and a neon hotdog
Wooo, yeah! Hammy Sammy, strawberry banana milkshake
Wooo, yeah! and you can get it in chocolate too...
C-H-I-C-K-I-N
Yeah!
C-H-I-C-K-I-N
Wooo!
Chick-Inn
Alright!

While its’ founding proprietors have passed on, the Chick Inn remains a destination for all occasions, from casual first dates to wed- dings and wedding anniversaries. It serves as a lasting memorial to the days when drive-ins outnumbered “drive-thrus” and kids slid from car to car to talk to their friends rather than typing in front of a computer screen.

(Derek Spinei is a student in the graduate program in Historical Preservation at Eastern Michigan University and is serving as an intern in the YHS Archives.)

Photo 1: Jim Allen, original founder of the Chick Inn in 1954.

Photo 2: Charlotte Allen, original founder of the Chick Inn in 1954.

Photo 3: At a time when most drive-ins have long since been put out of business by fast food chains or banned by local ordinances, the Chick Inn lives on.

Photo 4: Chick Inn Drive-In.

Published In:
Ypsilanti Gleanings, Fall 2009,
Fall 2009

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Original Images:

Author: Ted Badgerow

“Now that the train is stopping here again, I think you’ll see a resurgence of Depot Town.” – Linda French, owner of the Sidetrack Bar and Grill.

One of the movie industry’s highly touted new forays into Michigan recently brought film stars Hilary Swank and Minnie Driver into one of Ypsilanti’s historic buildings, the home of one of its oldest restaurants: the Sidetrack Bar and Grill. It’s the perfect location for a fictional Irish pub. An honest bar and grill, the Sidetrack has served up good food and drink for decades. And it’s likely to do so for decades to come, judging by the restaurant’s steady popularity and the numerous culinary plaudits from GQ, USA Today, the Oprah Winfrey Show, and local diners.

If there’s a better way to pass a summer eve- ning than watching Depot Town fill up with antique cars in the company of good friends and a pint of fresh local ale, I have yet to find it. I make no claim to be a disinterested observer, having been a patron of the establishment since its establishment. Back in the early ‘80s, when I was head brew master and assistant bottle washer of the Real Ale Company in Chelsea, I supplied fresh bottled ales to the Sidetrack. A few years ago I installed the tile and marble work at Linda’s renovated home on Huron Street, within walking distance of the bar. And at her behest, I play and sing holiday requests at the Sidetrack every December whenever I please.

This historic edifice at the intersection of Cross Street and the railroad is built of bricks fired before the Civil War, when Michigan’s 14th and 27th Infantry Regiments occupied the barracks across the tracks. It has contained a saloon since at least 1894, owned and operated by Nicholas Max, Joseph Hack, and George Christos, among others. Through the years it has housed a blacksmith shop, a drug store, a barber shop, a candy store, and a photo and publishing business. Perhaps the most famous, or infamous, venture was the Lewis Horse Exchange, where about 70 Detroit sporting men gathered daily to play the ponies in a setting that conjures up images of Robert Redford and Paul Newman in The Sting. From 1900 until 1911 Warren Lewis ran a notorious and successful operation, calling horse races off the telegraph wires with a “peculiarly penetrating and exciting quality.” When, against prevailing public sentiment, the gambling house was shut down by a prosecu- tor, Mr. Lewis posted a sign across the door: “Closed, sixteen people out of Work here.”

The building underwent an instantaneous renovation in January of 1929, when the 12th car of an 85-car freight train, hauling lumber, left the track and crashed into what quickly became the former Caldwell Building. The owner, who lived upstairs, had stepped out briefly. The restaurant operators, Bert Ollett and his wife, were alone in the restaurant. Pedestrian Laura Kelsey, 17, was struck and knocked unconscious. Scott Sturtevant, a motorist, backed his car out of d anger just in time. Miraculously, no one died.

An historic epicenter of river and railroad, Depot Town has seen its busts and booms, hard times and good times. Next year, after a hiatus of some twenty years, passengers will once again board and disembark from the original freight house. With the announcement of a sizeable federal stimulus grant for the project, portents are favorable for the continuing revitalization of Ypsi’s old junction. Will we see the revival of past glories such as Mr. John Laidlaw’s internationally fa- mous Michigan Central Railroad landscaped gardens? Will pretty young girls once again present nosegays to ladies on the train? We can only hope. Ribbon-cutting is projected for autumn of next year.

A local spearhead for Depot Town renewal, Linda French came to Ypsilanti from Northville to attend Eastern Michigan University. As a young businesswoman she jumped into this ancient center of commerce with an antiques shop, now Frenchie’s. In 1979 she bought the old Central Bar next door and transformed it into the Sidetrack. As a local resident and business owner, Linda has long been, as she puts it, “vested in the area.” Her mother, Nancy Jane French, has worked at the Sidetrack “since day one,” and daughter Jessica, a Kalamazoo College graduate, is learning the ropes of the business.

In March we sat down for a chat in her small brick office at the restaurant. A woman who obviously loves what she does, Linda French has no slow gear. She’s articulate, passionate, and as those who know her will affirm, voluble. Here’s what she has to say about the bar, the building, and her role as caretaker: “My role in life has been to preserve the Sidetrack, and to carry it on to the next generation.”

The following interview with Linda was conducted on March 12, 2009.

What are your earliest memories of the Sidetrack? It was a workingman’s bar, it still had a canopy. The whole front was a 1940’s aluminum, and it had an aluminum white door and a small window. If you went inside it had a beautiful tin ceiling and an old antique back bar to die for.

How old are the oldest bricks in this building? 1850’s. When we tore out a staircase we found little shoes from, like, 1870. And it’s such a cool thing because you can see your place in time, because four generations earlier there was some- body else who sat here. I’m sitting here right now, and in a hundred years there’ll be someone else sit- ting here. This was a railroad town. It was rough. From the Depression on, it was a blue-collar area, and this was a blue-collar bar. If you were near the railroad, it was considered to be “blue-collar”. People didn’t want to live on the other side of the tracks. Now they’re cleaner, safer railroads. They don’t have the dirt and the grime.

How about the boom and bust periods in Depot Town? It rises and falls with the railroad, so now that the train is stopping here again, I think you’ll see a resurgence of Depot Town. I think you’ll see more than just a few entrepreneurs who’ve picked up historic buildings, a new wave of entrepreneurship in the area that’s much more substantial because of the train stopping here. The train hasn’t stopped here in twenty years. They’ll be stopping here again in October of 2010. Now you’ll see a resurrection, an economic boom in the area, that’ll cement Depot Town in.

How do you feel about being a caretaker for this beautiful old historic building? I feel fortunate. In time, I’m just a person who’s taking care of this place. It’s my turn, and my job is to preserve it for the next generation. The old owners have come through with their relatives, people from back then, ‘way back before it was the Central Bar, and actually started crying. They remember it from when they were little and are so glad that it’s the Sidetrack now, and that it’s being carried forth. I’m now the caretaker, and I have to carry the torch. All the karma that’s been laid out here is being carried on, this is a bar filled with good karma. I lucked out, and I’m fortunate in time to be the person in this generation to take care of the Sidetrack. I didn’t let it go to hell. I really believe that if you take individual people who are willing to put their labor into it, and build a sense of community… it takes people who own the building who have businesses inside of them, and not just landlords. Historically, the person who owned the building always was the caretaker of the Sidetrack. That’s really the key to all that.

It’s been really easy to work with, because it’s so sound – three bricks deep. And everything you do, you do for the future. From the fireplace down to every window that we’ve installed, it’s a fifty-year plan, as permanent as we can make it – so that the next person who gets it, if it’s my daughter or whoever, in the future whatever they go to work on, it’ll be that way – permanent. Not much has changed here. There’s really not a lot of stuff you can do to this place. We have a lot of room for expansion here too…we have nothing upstairs, it’s all open, brick wall to brick wall. We haven’t developed it…right now we’re just so busy doing what we do that we don’t have time to do more. The whole building is still evolv- ing, and I want to keep something for the next generation. It won’t be my dream, it may be my daughter’s dream – not something I want to do, but something she wants to do.

We work really hard at what we do, and we re- ally love what we do here. So everybody takes a personal interest – we’re a bunch of foodies, and we all love our beer, so we try to serve the things that we like.

You’ve always had the best selection of beers in town. How many do you have on draft? Sixteen taps. We do Michigan beers and micros, and we have some great imports. We take our beer real seriously. We sell great beer at reasonable prices; we’re the workingman’s bar that has good taste. You can afford to eat here. Handcrafted food, handcrafted beer – that’s what we do here. We know our beer and we know our food.

What’s your best seller? Bell’s Oberon. It has been forever. We sell fifteen kegs a week – that’s a lot of beer.

What’s your bestselling food? Burgers. We have our own formula. We buy as local as we can – 75% of our suppliers are local. And they have been since ‘way before local became popu- lar. I know the suppliers, and we handpick our supplies. If you do it long enough, you learn who’s good and who isn’t. You can tell by the taste.

Do you have any favorite patrons? We have a huge amount of regulars. Most of our customers are regulars. It’s a cast of characters that come in here.

What idiosyncrasies does the old building have? We have one stool that vibrates, at the end of the bar. It’s right above the beer cooler. The generator kicks on and there’s so much concrete it just vibrates. What are your favorite memories of the Sidetrack? I have great memories of some of the personal weddings that have been in here, when the place is closed down. And the wakes – some of the very touching things are when a customer has called me when they’re dying and asked if I will do their wake for them – a celebration of their life. I’ve gone to the hospital and talked with them and planned the wake together. I’ve had some wakes that will bring you to your knees, and I’m very fortunate to have a place that people love that much. They said they couldn’t think of anywhere else they would do it but here. No matter what was going on, I would make sure that we’d clear the joint out and have their wake. There are some things you just have to do. It means a lot – that as a bar we have touched that many people’s lives. Do you have any “worst” moments? One winter a pipe froze and exploded upstairs. The ceiling started to bulge. The customers were all seated in here, and it started to drip, and we ran for our umbrellas, and the tin ceiling started to bow, and we had to take an awl and popped it, and the water gushed down…it was an insurance claim. Another time, last summer, the whole place was packed on all the patios, with a private party next door in Frenchie’s,and a car pulls up on the sidewalk of the front patio, on fire. The woman gets out and starts to run because she thinks it’s going to explode. Meanwhile, everybody’s having their dinner, the flaming car’s on the sidewalk, and then they’re all fleeing the building. Oh yeah, all my customers thought it was going to explode. My staff called me, screaming. They grabbed the fire extinguish- ers and rushed out and kept it under control until the fire department got here and hosed down the whole patio – it was wild! Sounds like a scene in a movie.

How big is your staff? Fifty-five, sixty-five. We have three generations, my mother works here too, and she’s worked here from day one. I have one daughter, Jessica, who graduated from Kalamazoo College, and is here working to see if she likes it. It’s a test of time, to see if the place will be passed on through future generations. At the core beginning of the Sidetrack, everything was done over a beer and a napkin. We were sitting in the old Central Bar here when we thought of the name “Sidetrack.” It’s been here for 160 years. And I hope it’s here for another 160 years."

So the next time you’re sitting on the patio by the tracks, enjoying your handcrafted burger and fresh local brew, please note the curious angle of the building and imagine twenty tons of timber hurtling straight at you. The place still shakes as the Amtrak comes through, but nobody raises an eyebrow or lifts a glass. After all, they’ve rumbled by for a hundred fifty years.

Perhaps some hazy day sixty years from now a patron will see a faded photograph on the wall of the Sidetrack. “Who are those hot ladies in the old-fashioned dresses? Hilary Swank? Minnie Driver? I never heard of them. I think they were actresses. Remember when they used to have movies in theaters? I hear they shot scenes right here at the Sidetrack, ‘way back before Michigan became the film capital of the world…” Some things change - and some things just stay the same…

The curious are well advised to read Tom Dodd’s and James Thomas Mann’s excellent history of the depot district, titled “Down by the Depot in Ypsilanti.”

(Ted Badgerow is a local businessman, a musician involved with a number of local and area musical groups, and a frequent visitor to the Sidetrack.)

Photo captions:

Photo 1: Linda French (owner of the Sidetrack) and daughter Jessica welcome guests to the Sidetrack.

Photo 2: Linda French (left) and Marilyn Collins] in March of 1979 when the old Central Bar was restored and renamed the “Sidetrack.”

Photo 3: A front view of the Sidetrack showing patrons dining outside in the area demolished by the 1929 train wreck.

Published In:
Ypsilanti Gleanings, Summer 2009,
Summer 2009

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Original Images:

Author: Jeff Davis

After losing everything in the great depression in the 1930’s John Batsakis left Chicago (where he had owned a candy store) and came to Michigan, first to Detroit and then to Ypsilanti. Born in Greece in 1899 John came to the United States as a young boy. When he arrived in Ypsilanti in the early 1930’s John bought the White Palace restaurant in 1932, which was located where the Honda car dealership is now on Michigan Avenue. After selling the White Palace in 1938 John got a job at the Wolverine at 228 West Michigan Avenue and by the end of the year he was the new owner. John owned and ran the Wolverine until 1963 when he sold it to his nephew Greg Batianis who came to the U.S. from Greece in 1956. John continued to keep his upstairs apartment and six days a week came in and worked the counter nine hours a day. He did this for the next 20 plus years and never asked for pay. John once stated, “For me, it’s not work. I love this business; it’s a pleasure for me just to be here meeting all my friends.” Sadly John passed away in 1986.

Greg continued to run the business and during his time there he hired a waitress in 1979 named Deloris Emerson. In 1995 a newspaper article was written about Deloris stating that she puts in 57 hours a week and intends to stick around for many years to come. Well, 14 years later Deloris has stuck around, just like John, serving the customers that she loves. She says “customer service is the name of the game” and she has been proving that for the past 30 years.

When you first walk into the Wolverine Grill and look up on the wall behind the counter you will see the 127 pound, 85 inch long hammerhead shark that Greg caught in Florida back in 1972. Now the Wolverine Grill is owned by Greg’s daughter Debbie Cromer who bought the restaurant in 2008. Debbie’s dad Greg is doing the same thing that John did after retirement. Greg still comes in early every morning and helps get everything ready for the day ahead. Even Debbie’s children Nick & Mallory have worked at the Wolverine Grill. Waiting on customers alongside Deloris is Debbie’s sister Juanita. The Wolverine Grill is only the 2nd restaurant in Ypsilanti to go non-smoking. So next time you are downtown looking for somewhere to eat, stop in at the Wolverine Grill and check them out. The food is great and everyone who works there treats you like family.

(Jeff Davis is a volunteer at the YHS Archives and a regular contributor to the Gleanings.)

Photo 1: John Batsakis in 1984 at 85 years of age. He was still counting change, squeezing lemons and scooping ice cream at The Wolverine Restaurant.

Photo 2: The Wolverine Grill in the 1980s.

Photo 3: Greg Batianis and Deloris Emerson in 1993 on the 30th anniversary of the Wolverine Grill. At that time Deloris had been a waitress at the Wolverine for 15 years.

Published In:
Ypsilanti Gleanings, Fall 2006,
Fall 2006

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Original Images:

Author: Heidi Nielsen and Marcia Phillip

Tubal Cain Owen (1843–1913) was named for the Biblical character in Genesis 4:22 who was a pioneer in metallurgy. Perhaps these high expectations were the motivation that led him to try his hand at several business enterprises (including attempting to build a flying machine) before pursuing the marketing of mineral water. Often described as “flamboyant,” “cocky,” and even a “bit peculiar,” he married Anna Foote, the daughter of Normal College music professor E.M. Foote. He bought property on West Forest Avenue where he built a pagoda-shaped house, and later would drop a well.

Between 1880 and 1900, Ypsilanti became known far and wide for its mineral water enterprises. In 1882 the Ypsilanti Paper Company bored a well, seeking pure water but found what was then perceived and marketed as medicinal mineral water. Various sanitariums sprang up in a vigorous rivalry. Tubal Cain Owen jumped into the fray when he sank an 808 feet deep well in 1884 at 360 feet north of Forest Avenue, behind his house (presently near the northwest corner of the east wing of the Roosevelt Building on the Eastern Michigan University campus). He named the well “Atlantis” and by 1885, acquired patent number 13127 for his trade mark for Ypsilanti Mineral Water. He found darker, even murkier water then his competitors, which at that time was believed to be more beneficial. It was reddish brown and described as having an “odor that sent strong men reeling toward the saloon,” yet was sold as far as Boston and with great popularity particularly in Chicago. The water's chief ingredient was bromine and was sold for $8 a barrel under the labels of “Atlantis” and “Paragon,” the labels becoming works of art in themselves.

The Owen home and connected out-buildings began to draw visitors to the many promised healing activities that included bathing as well as drinking. Owen's promotional material stated that the water was marketed “to fulfill its errand of mercy,” even if the effect was not always merciful. For instance, the instructions for the treatment of cancer included that “the water must be taken freely, three or four glasses a day, no matter how nauseating it may be.” (Ironically, all three of Owen's children would die of cancer.) Eventually, the water was also packaged as soap, bathing salts and ointments and later used to make ginger ale.

The following introduction was published in a promotional book used to publicize the Ypsilanti Mineral Water:

On the beautiful banks of the Huron River, some thirty miles west of Detroit, and a very short distance below the city of Ypsilanti, in Michigan, are located the old Paper Mills of the Ypsilanti Paper Company, and also the Ypsilanti Mineral Spring. That company owning, in that region, paper and pulp mills some six in number, has for over twenty-five years supplied white paper to various newspapers of the land, among others the Chicago Times.

By a mere chance, the Company bored for pure water at a point a few rods across the road from the old Mill. The drilling was for a deep, or artesian well, which it was hoped would reach an unfailing supply of pure water, needed in the processes of paper making. The Company desired a water different from that found in the pretty river which turns the wheels of the Paper Mill. Such an artesian well had been long contemplated, and it was at last commenced by experienced borers, brought from the oil regions of Pennsylvania. The spot chosen is a beautiful one in its general surroundings; the Mill, the river, and the City, with trees and hills in the foreground or beyond, make a pretty picture.

The pure water which was sought for, was never reached, but in its stead a far more precious water was found. A healing water, rich in mineral ingredients was struck by the drills, below the rock of various kinds and thicknesses, at a total depth of 740 feet from the earth's surface. That discovery was made on the 14th day of December, 1882 and may be well regarded by those acquainted with the subject of healing waters, a remarkable event. Compared with the medicinal properties of its waters, those of the celebrated Springs of Europe and America are indeed mild. From the earliest antiquity till now nothing so valuable in the way of curative waters, has been known to man. Many valuable Mineral Spirits existed, but none equal to this.

The Ypsilanti Mineral Water has consequently reached a success without parallel in the history of Mineral Wells. The discovery of the water was quickly followed by its general use in Ypsilanti and by cures so remarkable as to attract attention elsewhere, and to create a demand for shipment to various parts of the country. That demand has been increasing ever since, until now it is used in every State in the Union. The well is still owned by the Ypsilanti Paper Company, one of the largest and most responsible paper companies in the United States.

The discovery of the peculiar water and the development of the healing power it possesses, was entirely unexpected; and, indeed, the proprietors were the very last to give any serious credit to the stories about relief and cures brought to their office by those who came to procure the water. Hence, at first no charge was made for the water, but it was given out freely to all who wished it. Strange to say, people came after it regularly and soon began to cart off, not only in bottles and jugs, but in barrels and kegs.

The reports of relief and even cures, were numerous within a few weeks; but before six months had passed there was no doubt about it whatever. The cases of Mr. Kimbel and Mr. Guild, currently believed to be genuine cancer cases,-and scores of cases of rheumatism, dyspepsia and kidney troubles cured, set the town of Ypsilanti in an uproar of interest, not to say excitement. Meantime friends had informed friends, and the water was shipped away and used in distant parts, without even the knowledge of the owners of the mill, until long afterwards reports of the cures in cases never dreamed of by them came back to their notice. A remarkable case in New York City — a very wealthy lady (as it is said) with cancer of the womb, a case in Toledo, Ohio, one at Bay City; several cases of dyspepsia, kidney complaint, eczema, etc. in Chicago, followed in rapid succession. Demand for the water increased. Arrangements were made, circulars printed and stationery prepared, jugs and casks were brought by the hundreds, for shipping; and the Mineral Water Department of the Ypsilanti Paper Company became an established fact. All this was literally without design or previous plan. It was forced on the proprietors by the simple merits of the water.

The following interviews, chosen at random, will, when read, give a fair idea, not at all overdrawn, of what the waters are doing and what its patrons claim for it. The proprietors make no pretensions whatever in the matter; but the water is offered to the public on what is said of it by those who have used it. Wherever it is introduced it makes its own way.

The promotional book includes a series of testimonials regarding the healing qualities of the Ypsilanti Mineral Water. Here is the first testimonial from John J. Kimbel:

The following interview was had with the first person cured by the Ypsilanti waters. The statement here given was made at Ypsilanti on August 12th, 1885, and is worth perusal:

“What is your fill name, your Residence and your present occupation?” “My name is John Jonas Kimbel, my residence is Ypsilanti, and I am in the express business; I drive a dime express.” How long have you lived in Ypsilanti?” “Most 39 years. I was born and brought up here.” “How long have you been in the express business?” “About a year and four months.” “Before that, what did you do?” “Working in the paper mill.” “What paper mill?” “Cornwell's — the Ypsilanti Paper Co.” “How long did you work for the Paper Co?” “Just three years.” “Were you working for that Company when the Ypsilanti Mineral Spring was struck?” “Yes.” “When was it struck? What year?” “I cannot say. They have it down stairs though.” [December 14, 1882.]

“It is said you had a cancer when the Ypsilanti well was struck; it that so?” “Yes sir. Four years. Well, it was six years a coming. It was from the time I first noticed it until they struck the water, six years.” “Did you use the Ypsilanti Water for your cancer?” “I did.” “How did you use it, and what was the effect?” “Well, I bathed my face, my nose, ten or fifteen times a day. Then I drank the water as free as I would pure spring water.” “How much would you drink in a day?” “Well, I will tell you,-that would sound a little big to anybody — but the room that I worked in was very warm and close, and I drank on an average about two quarts of the Ypsilanti water every day. I drank it before they knew the benefits of it.” “How long did you continue to drink that water in that way?” “Four months.”

“Please describe your trouble,-the condition of your cancer at the time you commenced to use the water?” “Well, it began from an itching, the same as if needles would be darting through my nose,-pricking like that, and through the sides of my face.” “How did the sore look at that time?” “Well, it was a dark spot,-considerable of a raise on the end of my nose, as large as a silver five-cent piece.” “Had it broken the surface of the skin on your nose?” “Yes. Well, I will tell you. Every full moon, that would drop off, then it would fester and come on larger.” “Was it always painful?” “Always, Mostly in the night and when my blood would be a little warm.” “Did you consult any physician as to your case?” “Yes sir, I did; I consulted ***** doctors in Detroit, Michigan. Also two other doctors in Detroit — I do not remember their names. Then there was one Indian Doctor from Toledo, Ohio, he heard about it and came out to my house.” “What did those doctors tell you about your case, or their opinions of it?” “Well, they pronounced it cancer, and all advised me to let them make an operation on it, it would save me trouble in time. But my conscience always told me not to meddle with it.” “Did you consult any physician here in Ypsilanti?” “Yes sir. Let me see, Dr. *****.” “What did Dr. ***** say about it?” “He thought it would be all right in a little while,-that is all he said to me.” “Did he say whether it was cancer or not?” “He did not say. He was doctoring my mother then,-she was dying with a cancer then.”

“Do you mean to say your mother died of cancer?” “Yes sir. In the stomach her cancer was.” “How do you know it was actually a cancer in her stomach?” “Well, all the way I know it was by the way the doctors all claimed.” “Now, coming back to your own case, please state what effects the Ypsilanti Mineral Water had upon your nose, or in any other way.” “In two weeks after bathing my face it showed signs of coming off — the scab,-and it came on again the same as it had before, but not quite so large, and then in four weeks it came off and left a raw place, and it began healing up from the edges to the center. And my body was covered with little boils from drinking the water. Then the prickling sensation and soreness ceased, and I have not been troubled with it any since.”

“Have any other members of your family had cancer?” “My sister,-they claim,-taken the same as my mother.” “Did she use the Ypsilanti Water?” “She did.” “How long did she use it?” “She has used it over a year.” “Is she now free of her trouble?” “She claims she is.” “Please state fully the present condition and appearance of your nose, where the cancer was located?” “In changes of weather it shows plainer where the cancer was located. My nose is perfectly smooth now.” “Do you ever have any pains now?” “No, only when I press there I can feel a little pain. In the winter time when it is cold I have to keep my hand on the end of my nose,-it stings and burns.”

There's forty new baths going, And all the healing waters flowing, Better days and health bestowing, On many a weary one.

In the above case the Ypsilanti Mineral Spring Water was used by simply bathing the nose (and cancer) many times a day, and drinking the water freely. A perfect cure resulted.

In the same book promoting Ypsilanti Mineral Spring Water the Ypsilanti Sanitarium contains and ad claiming:

“… This water is the MARVEL of the age in which we live for its CURATIVE and MEDICAL PROPERTIES. Also, NATURAL SPRING water of EXTRAORDINARY PURITY; both are NATURAL RESTORERS to health and have performed MANY MIRACULOUS CURES. To these are added ELECTRICITY, AIR, STEAM, FURM, MINERAL and SOFT WATER baths in the varied forms and at ALL TEMPERATURES required; also the VIBRATORY EXERCISER, WALKING and KNEADING machine and BED-COUCH, with a JUDICIOUS use of MEDICINE, which constitute in part our MATERIA MEDICA.”

The promotion continues with”… This SANITARIUM is located on the west banks of the Huron River in a BEAUTIFUL PART of the City of YPSILANTI, Michigan; with a surrounding country free from the low grounds and malaria breeding marshes. — Also it is THOROUGHLY VENTILATED, with SEWERAGE GOOD; consequently it has had FOR YEARS an INCREASING PATRONAGE from all parts of the UNITED STATES and CANADA, ITS PATRONS having ENJOYED the benefits of its UNRIVALED facilities for the TREATMENT of all forms of ACUTE and CHRONIC diseases.”

The healing waters business took a major hit after the passing of the 1906 Pure Food and Drug Act which required an accurate listing of ingredients. Truth in advertising would have dictated that Owen's water be undoubtedly described as “foul-smelling muddy water.” Also, local residents complained of the yelling of the patients at Owen's house of healing so the state condemned the property, claiming that the sanitarium posed “a serious menace to the social life of the Normal College,” allowing it to then “acquire” the land for the college's use. The Roosevelt Building was constructed on the site of the former Owen home as a high school for teacher training. The March 10, 1904 issue of the Ypsilanti Daily Press expressed the sentiment, “One wonders whether the Michigan State Normal College will ever put the water to work. Since educators have tried everything for juvenile delinquency-why not line up all youthful offenders and see what Tubal Cain Owen can do for them?”

Bibliography:

John Knott and Keith Taylor, ed., The Huron River, Voices From the Watershed, (Ann Arbor, MI: The University of Michigan Press, 2000).
Harvey C. Colburn, The Story of Ypsilanti, (Ypsilanti, MI: Ypsilanti Bicentennial Commission, 1976). Knott and Taylor.
Healing Waters Found at Ypsilanti. Ypsilanti Paper Company.
Ad for Owen's Mineral Water Toilet Soap

Published In:
Ypsilanti Gleanings, Spring 2006,
Spring 2006

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Original Images:

Author: Gerry Pety

The prohibition of the manufacture, sale, and distribution of alcoholic beverages at the national level was to cease on January 6, 1920, through the passage by congress of the Volstead Act. However, Michigan was one of the first states to vote in prohibition and by 1910, 36 of Michigan's 83 counties were already dry and more than 7,000 saloons and 10 breweries had been forced out of business. On November 7, 1916, Michigan voted “dry” and Detroit was the first major city in America to go dry.

With the demise of commercial brewing, home brewing continued to grow in spite of the fact that police closed down hundreds of home brewing operations and restrictions were placed on the distribution of brewing ingredients. The emergence of home brewing was reminiscent of colonial times and techniques for making beer were relearned and improved. Making beer had once again become a family endeavor and Michigan and Ohio quickly became the center for large scale smuggling of ingredients as well as brewed beer.

It is estimated that 75% of the liquor smuggled into the U.S. during prohibition arrived along a route from the mouth of the Lake Erie and St. Claire Rivers, nick-named the “Windsor-Detroit Funnel.” Lake St. Claire itself and the Detroit River are dotted with many small islands which, with a short transit of less than a mile, were a smugglers paradise. Lake St. Claire was often referred to as the Jewish Lake because of the quantities of “hooch” being brought over the border by “The Purple Gang,” a Jewish mobster group of the period.

Stroh's brought to market “Hopped Malt Syrup” with a label stating “Baking, Confections and Beverages with a Rich Bohemian Hop Flavor, Light or Dark.” This did not sound like advertising for making cookies. Another popular item that came on the market was a “Bottle Capper” that could be used for the application of “crown” type caps used in the making of root beer. The machine sold for about $2.00 and usually came with a large quantity of caps so consumers could get a head start on the new process. The directions that came along with the machine indicated the product was “not to be used with ingredients such as malt, dried hops, yeast and water.”

Part of President Roosevelt's platform in 1932 revolved around the repeal of the Volstead Act which many feel really helped in his election. Eventually on that glorious day, December 5, 1933, it was again legal to produce and distribute beer nationwide. President Roosevelt was one of the first to taste legal brew on that date as brewers were allowed to “gear up” for production months in advance.