Michigan's "bearded lady," Grace Gilbert

During the late 19th and early 20th centuries, circus sideshows were popular forms of entertainment. Carnival barkers lured audiences into darkened tents with stories of tattooed men, sword swallowers, and human skeletons. Spectators thrilled to the daring deeds of strongmen, fire breathers, and glass eaters. And, of course, no sideshow was complete without a bearded lady. One of the era's most popular bearded ladies hailed from Michigan and is, in fact, buried in Maple Grove Cemetery in the northern Michigan community of Leetsville. That woman is Grace Gilbert.


Grace Gilbert, the "Bearded Lady"

Gilbert was born in Ohio in 1876, the youngest of Giles and Arosina Gilbert's four children. Within minutes of her birth, Gilbert's parents knew that something was different about their new addition. At an age when most babies have smooth, clear skin, the infant's body was covered with fine, silky hair that only became thicker as she aged. By the time Gilbert was 18 months old, a newspaper article was reporting that the hair on her head was a foot long, and that she had three- to four-inch-long whiskers on her face. The phenomenon, according to the reporter, was "the greatest living curiosity we have ever seen."

As Gilbert reached adulthood, she realized that career opportunities (and, in all likelihood, marriage prospects) were limited for a woman with a full beard, so when she was 18, she began appearing in sideshows. In 1901, the same year that Gilbert moved with her family to Kalkaska County, she signed on with Ringling Brothers Circus, one of the nation's largest big tops. She was a sought-after attraction, as her beard, at 18 inches, was significantly longer than those of other bearded ladies at the time. In 1903, Gilbert left Ringling and joined its competitor, the Barnum & Bailey Circus. She stayed with Barnum until 1905, then signed on with a few other circuses, which afforded her the opportunity to tour England and France.

Unlike many sideshow acts, bearded ladies didn't perform feats of strength or skill. Their only job was to appear before audiences in all their feminine, yet hirsute, glory. Personality-wise, Gilbert was very much a lady, and enjoyed stereotypically "female" pursuits like sewing. However, she also had a stocky physique that lent itself to physical labor. Gilbert was happy to use her strength to assist with chores around the circus, and often helped raise the big top (i.e., the main tent) at each new stop.

By 1910, Gilbert had been traveling with sideshows for about 16 years. Despite the fact that she had been on the road for so long, she was able to find romance with a childhood sweetheart---Giles Calvin, whom she married that year during a ceremony in South Bend, Indiana. Gossips immediately got to talking, and not only because of the fact that the Bearded Lady was now married. Calvin was Gilbert's cousin, and Gilbert had, in fact, lived with him after her father died in 1907. The suspicious-minded insisted that the marriage was a publicity stunt. To prove them wrong, Gilbert announced her retirement from sideshows and went to work on her husband's farm in Kalkaska.

However, by 1906, realizing that the circus life was more lucrative than farming, Gilbert returned to the circuit and began appearing at Coney Island, New York. For the next eight years, she and her husband spent summers at Coney Island, then returned to Kalkaska during the off season. Gilbert kept up this schedule until the winter of 1924, when she fell ill, complaining of a sore throat. Unfortunately, her ailment proved fatal, and she died on January 24. She was buried in Maple Grove Cemetery, next to her parents. Her husband joined her twelve years later, after he died in 1936.


Additional Information:

According to people who lived in the Kalkaska area at the same time that Gilbert did, the bearded lady was forced to wear a veil around town so that her appearance wouldn't startle pregnant women who might be walking along the street with her.

What caused Gilbert's hairy countenance? While it can't be stated for certain in her case, many "bearded ladies" have hormonal imbalances or a disorder known as hypertrichosis, both of which can cause abnormal hair growth.

Le Nain Rouge: Detroit's "red dwarf"

If you're ever in Detroit and see a goblin-like creature heading toward you, clad in fur boots and rocking red eyes and rotting teeth, you might want to head the other way (and, ladies, not just because it might be a creepy guy trying to hit on you). The creature is probably Le Nain Rouge, "the red dwarf," who, for more than three centuries, has appeared in Detroit to signify the impending occurrence of something bad.

I would think the simple fact that the dwarf
 appeared would be bad enough itself.

Stories of Le Nain Rouge encounters have been around since at least 1701, when Detroit's first white resident, Antoine de La Mothe Cadillac, is said to have met the dwarf shortly after arriving from Canada. Cadillac chased away Le Nain Rouge, but couldn't escape its prediction of doom, for the explorer ended up losing his fortune not long after the encounter.

Le Nain Rouge has appeared in Detroit several other times, dancing and doing back flips (as one does) before tragic events in the city. A partial listing of the crises that drew Le Nain Rouge to Detroit includes:


*1763---the Battle of Bloody Run, in which Ottawa Chief Pontiac's men killed several British soldiers who were attempting to end a Native American siege of Fort Detroit. (In this case, looked at from Pontiac's point of view, Le Nain Rouge was basically a good luck charm.)

*1805---the Detroit fire, during which the city was, for all intents and purposes, destroyed.

*1812---the surrender of Detroit to British forces during the War of 1812.

*1967---the Detroit riot, which lasted five days, cost forty-three lives, and led to arson- and looting-related damages of 40 million to 80 million dollars.


Though most residents of a city that has its own harbinger of doom might shy away from provoking it, Detroiters do the opposite. Since 2010, the city has held the "Marche du Nain Rouge," a parade and festival during which participants burn an effigy of the dwarf, thereby banishing him from Detroit for a year. Festivalgoers wear costumes so that the dwarf won't know who they are in case he somehow returns to wreak vengeance.

Taking the opposite tack, the Detroit Beer Company decided to honor Le Nain Rouge by naming a beer after it. "Detroit Dwarf" lager has become the company's house specialty. Maybe someday, if Detroiters can arrange a truce with their impish terrorizer, Le Nain Rouge will be more than happy to settle down on a bar stool, a pint of Detroit Dwarf in hand, and regale the city with tales of mischief and devilry. Until then, every year during the Marche du Nain Rouge, Detroiters will have to tell the little guy, "Sorry...you gotta go."

The Michigan Dogman

Forget Bigfoot. Michigan has its own bipedal beast that stalks the woods. That creature is the Dogman.

Stories about a canine-type beast that walks on two legs have been passed around Michigan for centuries. The Odawa told tales of a creature called the wendigo, which tempted tribesmen to kill and eat their families. French settlers spoke of the loup garou, a human who could change into a wolf. ("Loup" means "wolf" in French, while "garou" means something similar to "werewolf.")

The Michigan Dogman has been described as seven feet tall (when he stands on two legs) and 400 to 700 pounds. He has brownish/grayish fur, and differs from a werewolf in that he's not a human who changes into a wolf, but rather a creature that remains half dog/half human all the time. The first known modern sighting of a Dogman occurred in Wexford County in 1887. Two lumberjacks claimed they saw a creature that had the body of a man and the head of a dog. They chased it, but the creature "screamed," frightening the lumberjacks so badly that they hightailed it out of there. Other encounters with the Dogman (or with Dogmen) have occurred sporadically since then, with run-ins reported in such communities as Paris, Manistee, Cross Village, Luther, Onaway, Chelsea, and the UP's Garden Peninsula. 

The Michigan Dogman remained a semi-obscure state legend until 1987, when Steve Cook, a disc jockey at WTCM in Traverse City, played a song called "The Legend," which was about the various encounters Michiganders have had with the Dogman. Cook, who recorded the song, intended it as an April Fools' joke, but ended up receiving several calls from listeners who claimed to have seen the creature themselves. Here's the song, which became one of WTCM's most-requested tunes:

The Dogman received more media attention in 2007 with the discovery of "The Gable Film," which purported to show a Dogman attack on camera. The video, which appeared online, has a grainy quality that makes it look like a film from the 1970s. It shows images of a family doing mundane things like driving snowmobiles and chopping wood. Everything is all fun and games until the last scene, which contains blurry footage (and, really, isn't the footage in all these types of videos blurry?) of a creature staring at the cameraman from a few hundred feet away. The creature charges on four legs at the cameraman. One of the last images is of the Dogman's teeth hovering over the lens...then the camera drops to the ground, and all is still. Watch the video and then, below the clip, I'll let you know what I thought the first time I saw it. (Caution: If you're not a fan of wiggly camerawork, you might not want to watch this.)

Ready....?

Yeah, that's a guy in a dog suit.

As it turns out, that's exactly what the creature really was. (Actually, it was a guy in a ghillie suit, which is a type of camouflage that's supposed to look like plants, but close enough.)

In 2010, the History Channel show "Monster Quest" (don't get me started on how far away from "history" the History Channel has fallen) devoted an episode to the Michigan Dogman, and looked into the authenticity of "The Gable Film." Ultimately, the show revealed that the video was a hoax created in 2002 by Mike Agrusa, who was a fan of Cook's song. Agrusa made another video, "The Gable Film Part 2," that claimed to show the police investigation that occurred after the attack in Film 1---and that included footage of the cameraman's body. (Agrusa substituted painted foam insulation for the unfortunate victim's blood and guts.)  I was going to post that video here, but the image YouTube was going to show as a placeholder is of the body in question, so in the interest of not making anyone squeamish, I've chosen not to include it. If you want to see the film, just go to YouTube and search for "Gable Film Part 2."

Here's a clip from the "Monster Quest" episode that debunked Gable Films 1 and 2:

"The Legend"---the song that some might say started it all---recently celebrated its 25th anniversary, and the website michigan-dogman.com offers CD and DVD copies of the tune, as well as other Dogman-related products. Profits from these sales go to several animal rescue groups throughout the state. Whether or not the Michigan Dogman is fact or fiction, his existence helps other Michigan dogs (and cats) find safe, happy homes, which I think is a cool thing (and I bet the Dogman does, too).


For more information:

If you're interested in the Dogman stories and legends, check out Linda S. Godfrey's book, "The Michigan Dogman: Werewolves and Other Unknown Canines Across the U.S.A."


In 2012, the story of the Dogman came to the silver screen in the form of "Dogman," a movie starring Michigan native Larry Joe Campbell (best known for the TV show "According to Jim"). Reviews have not been kind, but you can see the trailer below. The movie must have done well enough, because a sequel, "Dogman 2: The Wrath of the Litter," is scheduled for release in 2014.

Wisconsin has its own version of the Dogman, called the "Beast of Bray Road." Check out more information about it on Wikipedia.

In 1975, Kiss played at Cadillac High School's homecoming. Really.

If there wasn't photographic and written proof that the following event actually happened, I wouldn't believe it.

In the fall of 1974, Cadillac High School's Viking football team was down in the dumps. The year before, it had gone undefeated and reached the state playoffs. Now, two games into the new season, the Vikings had suffered two straight losses. Figuring that their players simply needed to "loosen up," Viking coaches played music from the rock band Kiss in the locker room. Their goal was to help the players blow off steam. It must have worked, because the team won the rest of its games---victories that it credited to the face-painted rock band.


Nothing says "football victory" like these guys.



The story could have ended there, but Kiss members heard about the credit they received for Cadillac High's winning season, and decided to thank the players and the community in person. The next school year, in October 1975, the band arrived in Cadillac for a two-day celebration during the school's homecoming week. Kiss members Paul Stanley, Gene Simmons, Ace Frehley, and Peter Criss first met with face-painted players and cheerleaders on the football field. Then they went into the high school for question-and-answer and photo sessions with students.

 

I'm not sure where to begin with a caption for this photo.

That night, in the school gymnasium, the band held a concert that was so loud, residents who lived two miles away could hear it.

Kiss in concert at Cadillac High School

The next morning, band members met for breakfast with Cadillac's mayor (whose face Simmons painted, Kiss-style) and members of the city council, then appeared in the high school's homecoming parade. The band ended its visit by taking off in a helicopter that had landed on Cadillac High School's football field.

The event must have been a dream come true for Cadillac High students, but it also made an impression on the band. Simmons later said the visit "was like landing on planet Kiss,” and remembered it as “a lifetime memory and a source of pride for us."


For more information:

YouTube has lots of videos about Kiss's visit to Cadillac. Here's one of them.

In 2012, news reports indicated that a movie based on Kiss's visit to Cadillac High was in the works, and was set to be filmed in Michigan. However, I haven't been able to track down any information indicating that the project proceeded beyond those initial reports. If you have an update, let me know!

Aloha to Christmas, Moscow to Hell: Weird Place Names in Michigan

Ever look at a map of Michigan and wonder, 'How the heck did that place get its name?'

Following are some of the more, shall we say, uniquely named locations in our state, and where those names came from.

 

 

1. Aloha (Cheboygan County) --- Named by James B. Patterson, who ran a sawmill around which the township formed, and who was inspired by a trip he had taken to Hawaii.

2. Battle Creek (Calhoun County) --- We hear this name so often it doesn't really make an impression, but when you think about it, "Battle Creek" is kind of unusual, right? The city got its name from a skirmish that occurred between a government survey party and two Native Americans during the winter of 1823/24. The altercation led settlers to name a nearby waterway the "Battle Creek River," which itself inspired the naming of Battle Creek.

3. Center Line (Macomb County) --- Received its name during the mid-1800s because it was located on the middle of three Potawatomi trails that led away from Fort Detroit.

4. Christmas (Alger County) --- Named in 1938 after a Christmas ornament and gift company that operated in the area at that time.

 

 

I couldn't find a good picture to represent Germfask,
so here's where it's located on a map.

5. Germfask (Schoolcraft County) --- This township's founders had the following last names: Grant, Edge, Robinson, Mead, French, Ackley, Sheppard, and Knaggs. Take the first letter of each, and what do you get? An oddly named town!

6. Hell (Livingston County) --- No list of weird place names in Michigan would be complete without Hell. No one knows exactly how the community got its name. Some say that it's a derivation of the phrase, "So schön hell," which means "So beautifully bright" in German, and was supposedly said by German travellers visiting the area in the 1830s. The other theory is that George Reeves, the area's original resident, said that he didn't have an opinion regarding what name the community received, declaring, "You can name it 'Hell' for all I care."

7. Lum (Lapeer County) --- Named in 1884 after Colonel Charles M. Lum, whom one of the community's original residents had served under during the Civil War.



Pictures of Mio were hard to come by, so here's a photo of my cat, Milo.

8. Mio (Oscoda County) --- Originally named "Mioe" in 1881 after the wife of one of its founders; the "e" was dropped from its name two years later.

 

9. Moscow (Hillsdale County) --- Apparently, this township received its moniker because someone drew the name "Moscow" out of a hat. I couldn't find out who placed the name "Moscow" into the hat to begin with, or why he or she did so.

Photo of a pawpaw tree

10. Paw Paw (Van Buren County) --- Named after pawpaw trees, which once grew in large numbers along the nearby Paw Paw River.

Alexis St. Martin: The man with a hole in his stomach

Alexis St. Martin lived one of the weirdest lives on record. Not only was he unfortunate enough to have part of his stomach blown off during an accidental shooting on Mackinac Island in 1822, he also spent the next ten years as guinea pig to a doctor who, among other things, dangled bits of food into St. Martin's unhealed wound to study the effects of digestion (a process that wasn't well understood at the time).

(Now that you've read the above paragraph, let me issue a disclaimer: If you're at all squeamish, it might be best to skip this post [or at least parts of it]).

St. Martin was a 20-year-old Canadian voyageur who, in June 1822, worked as a fur trader for the American Fur Company. (Side note: Some sources claim that St. Martin was born in 1794, which would have made him 28 in 1822, but this information is incorrect. St. Martin had a brother, also named Alexis, who was born in 1794 and who died in 1802. It's the older Alexis these sources are inadvertently referring to, not the "guinea pig" Alexis, who was born the same year his older brother died, in 1802.) During a stop at a Mackinac Island trading post, a fellow voyageur accidentally discharged his musket, spraying birdshot into St. Martin's left side. Dr. William Beaumont, a physician at nearby Fort Mackinac, was quickly summoned, and though Beaumont treated the victim, he expressed doubt that St. Martin would survive.



St. Martin in his later years, proving that he did, in fact, survive.

St. Martin defeated the odds and overcame his injuries...except for one. The edge of the wound in his stomach had attached to the edge of the hole in his skin, forming a fistula (in essence, a passageway) that provided easy access to whatever was going on in St. Martin's stomach. Beaumont realized the research opportunities that St. Martin presented. Because the voyageur's injury prevented him from going back to work for the American Fur Company, Beaumont hired St. Martin as a laborer, assigning him chores like chopping wood, hauling heavy items, and letting Beaumont dip bits of food attached to silk strings into his stomach so that the doctor could observe the digestion process. Beaumont made many discoveries and published his findings, becoming known as a preeminent expert in human digestion, and eventually earning the very specific title of "Father of Gastric Physiology."



Dr. William Beaumont

 

In 1825, Beaumont moved to Fort Niagara in New York, and St. Martin accompanied him. However, the former voyageur grew tired of his work with Beaumont, and returned to Canada, where he married and eventually fathered several children. (St. Martin could live a relatively normal life by putting a plug in his fistula to prevent things from getting in or out.) St. Martin intermittently reunited with Beaumont so that the latter could conduct more experiments, but their partnership ended in 1832 when, while working with Beaumont in Washington, D.C., St. Martin received word that one of his children had died in Canada. St. Martin left, and though he and Beaumont discussed plans to resume their experiments, he never returned.

Beaumont eventually moved to St. Louis, Missouri, where he died of a closed-head injury in 1853 after slipping on ice. St. Martin survived for a few more decades, dying in 1880. To dissuade curiosity seekers who might want to conduct illicit autopsies on him, St. Martin's family left his body in the sun to decompose, then buried him in a secret location that wasn't revealed until 1962.

While St. Martin's position in history has essentially been that of a footnote, Beaumont is still esteemed, especially in the state where his revolutionary experiments began. He is the namesake of William Beaumont Hospital in Royal Oak, Troy, and Grosse Pointe, as well as the Oakland University William Beaumont School of Medicine. To try to even the score, albeit in a small way, I'll end this post with a photo of Alexis St. Martin and his wife, Marie, obviously well into their golden years, but still enjoying each other's company. (Well, at least Alexis is....I'm not so sure about Marie.)

Marie and Alexis St. Martin

For More Information:

In 2012, the "Radiolab" radio show ran a piece that, in part, told the story of William Beaumont and Alexis St. Martin. You can find it here: "Holey Cow"

In 1956, the television show "Medic" aired an episode dedicated to the Beaumont/St. Martin story. Here's the clip, from YouTube: "Who Search for Truth"

Author Jason Karlawish has written a novel about the Mackinac Island incident and its aftermath, called "Open Wound." I own this book, but haven't read it yet. It's gotten rave reviews, so I can't wait to dig in (no pun intended). You can find it on Amazon here: "Open Wound"

The sordid saga of the Michigan Relics

James Scotford stuck his shovel into the ground, hefted a pile of earth, and heaved it to the side. He was digging postholes in the Montcalm County community of Wyman that day in 1890, and so far his labors had been routine. That all changed when his shovel plunged into the earth again and struck something hard. Scotford cleared away dirt from his find and lifted the object for a better look. In his hand was a clay cup with strange symbols, almost like hieroglyphics, scattered across its surface. Whether or not he knew it at that moment, Scotford's life was about to change forever.

James Scotford

The laborer had unearthed the first of what would turn out to be thousands of "Michigan Relics," objects that Scotford and his eventual business partner, former Michigan Secretary of State Daniel Soper, claimed were evidence that civilizations from what we now know as the Middle East had traveled to the New World. The artifacts have long since been exposed as forgeries, but the background behind their "discovery" and the conspiracy surrounding it is just as interesting as the tall tale that Scotford and Soper insisted was the relics' true origin story.

After Scotford "found" the cup, he quickly unearthed several other artifacts around Wyman. Though academics who examined the finds quickly denounced them as fakes, several believers maintained they were proof that ancient Asian civilizations had lived in Michigan. Ministers were especially interested in the relics, as some of the finds featured scenes from the Bible and seemed to be the work of people who had once occupied the Holy Land.

"Michigan Relic" made of clay

Soper's role in the ruse came about a few years after Scotford made his first find. The former Secretary of State had been forced to leave office after committing various financial shenanigans, and lived in Newaygo County (immediately to the west of Montcalm County) at the time Scotford was making his phony discoveries. Soper participated in his first dig with Scotford in 1907, and eventually became the duo's spokesman, criticizing any academic attempt to discredit their finds. 

Daniel Soper

Eventually, searchers found such relics as coins, pipes, boxes, figurines, and tablets in sixteen counties across Michigan. Scotford had a standard procedure he followed when conducting digs. He would create artifacts with his sons and sons-in-law, plant the artifacts in the ground, wait a few weeks for nature to erase any signs of recent disturbance, then hire a digger to search the area. (Sometimes, Scotford was bold enough to sneak an artifact into the ground while the digger was at work.) Scotford invited members of the local community to watch, and when an artifact appeared, the observers were so excited, they quickly signed affidavits attesting to the relic's authenticity.

"Michigan Relic" made of copper

Though Scotford and Soper had their defenders, including Father James Savage, pastor of Most Holy Trinity Catholic Church in Detroit, who purchased a significant number of Michigan Relics, the weight of their detractors' arguments continually grew. In addition to the college professors, archaeologists, and historians who insisted the artifacts were fake, individuals who knew Scotford and his sons (including Scotford's own stepdaughter) insisted that they had seen the men make the relics themselves. Critiques ran along the lines of what one researcher concluded in 1891, after Scotford found the first relics:

The articles were bad enough in the photographs. An examination proved them to be humbugs of the first water. They were all of unbaked clay and decorated with bogus hieroglyphics...On opening one casket we found that the lid had been dried on a machine-sawed board.

 

And from another critic, writing in 1892:

 

The inscriptions are largely a horrible mixture of Phoenician, Egyptian and ancient Greek characters taken at random from a comparative table of alphabets such as is found at the back of Webster's Dictionary.

 

A "Michigan Relic" tablet

 

Scotford and Soper never admitted their finds were frauds, and even today a few scholars insist the relics are authentic, arguing that they offer evidence of ancient Christian civilizations in Michigan. However, modern historians are in near-universal agreement that the artifacts were constructed with contemporary tools by men who, by selling the artifacts to eager believers, committed fraud as a means of achieving fame and making money off people willing to pay for a piece of history.

Lansing makes "Playboy" history (don't worry, this article is "G" rated)

Twenty-five years ago yesterday, on July 31, 1988, the last Playboy Club in the United States closed its doors. That club was in Lansing, and was located in the Hilton Hotel on Saginaw Highway.

This a publicity pic from the NBC series "The Playboy Club" and does not represent actual Lansing "bunnies."
I used it because I did not anticipate seeing what would develop if I typed the words "Playboy Club Images" into my computer.

The club had opened in September 1981, at a time when the ethos of "cute waitresses in bunny costumes" was already on its way out. Originally, the club was a "members only" type of place, but its policy changed in 1987, when it opened its doors to the general public in an effort to attract more business. Obviously, that plan didn't work.

I was nine years old at the time the club closed, so I can't say I know too much about it. (Nine-year-old girls were obviously not the club's target demo.) My family lived about 30 miles from Lansing, which was the nearest "big city," so we often passed the club on our way to Meijer, the mall, or other exciting destinations. The club didn't really stick in my mind one way or another, but now that I know it was the last one to close in the United States, I feel a small measure of pride (mostly because of the fact that such a cheesy place heard its death knell in Michigan).

Playboy tried to resurrect its club concept in the U.S. by opening a new location in Las Vegas in 2006, but the club closed in 2012. Now, the only Playboy clubs in existence are overseas.

The true story of the Paulding Light

Since I was a kid, I wanted to check out the Paulding Light, an eerie orb that glows in a valley outside Paulding, in the western Upper Peninsula. The light is supposed to be swamp gas, or some kind of geological phenomenon, or the ghost of a railroad brakeman, or the ghost of a mail carrier, or the ghost of a Native American, or....well, you get the drift. Suffice it to say that no one could really agree on what it was, but everyone could agree that it was spooky.

However, it looks like the Paulding Light is nothing more than...drumroll please...car headlights. Check out this video recorded by students from Michigan Technological University, who investigated the phenomenon. (The first video on the website shows the light, the second video shows the students' investigation.)

Paulding Light Videos

They do a pretty good job of debunking the myths, and establishing that the lights are, in fact, car headlights shining through the night from US-45.

Kind of a no-brainer, but also kind of a bummer. I didn't really believe the Paulding Light was the ghost of some unfortunate soul, but it's always fun to let one percent of your brain believe these kinds of things.

Another website on the Paulding Light, this one less skeptical:

The Paulding Light