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."
If the stories are to be believed, a ghostly presence stalks
Mayo Hall, a dormitory in the West Circle complex on the north side of Michigan State University.
For decades, students who lived in the Tudor-style building have reported eerie
goings on—strange noises, lights that turn on and off, a piano that plays by
itself. Some residents have seen the apparition of a woman, while others report
being watched by the piercing eyes of the dorm’s namesake, Mary Mayo, as she
stares at them from a portrait on the first floor.
Portrait of Mary Mayo. Okay, I'll admit I'd be a little
freaked out if I thought that she was watching me.
Whether or not Mayo Hall is home to a ghost may be up for
debate, but the fact remains that several of the rumors that led to Mayo Hall’s
reputation as the most haunted building at Michigan State are simply not true.
Believers insist that it’s Mayo’s ghost that haunts the building, and that she
either killed herself or was murdered. Some versions of the story hold that she
actually died in Mayo Hall itself. The truth is that Mary Mayo died in 1903 after
an illness, and did so a full 28 years before the residence hall bearing her
name was even built. That’s not to say that her ghost doesn’t haunt the
building. However, it does beg the question: Why, if Mary Mayo is the hall’s
ghostly resident, would she spend her afterlife scaring students in a
building that, when she died, didn’t even exist?
Mayo Hall
Nothing in Mayo’s background indicates that she would become
what many believe is Michigan State’s most notorious specter. Born in 1845 in
Battle Creek, she married husband Perry in 1865, and raised two children, a son
named Nelson and a daughter named Nellie. Mayo was a teacher, and believed that
women should have access to a quality college education. As a member of the
Grange, a nationwide social and advocacy group that promoted the interests of
rural residents, she spoke about the need to create women’s programs in
universities, including Michigan State (which at the time was called State
Agricultural College). Her wish came true in 1896 when SAC created a women’s
curriculum. Mayo died a few years later, in 1903, and is buried in Austin
Cemetery in Calhoun County’s Convis Township.
Her earthly remains may rest in southwest Michigan, but apparently
many people believe that Mayo’s spirit traveled sixty miles north to spend
eternity in a Michigan State dormitory. Reports of hauntings have persisted
since Mayo Hall opened as a woman’s residence hall in 1931. The rumors passed
from one class to another, and became even creepier when students began talking
about a “red room” on the building’s fourth floor, where unknown people were
said to have conducted satanic rituals. Spirits are mysterious creatures, so
the question of whether or not Mayo Hall is haunted may never be answered.
However, we do know that Mary Mayo was a groundbreaking crusader for the rights
of women in academia, and it’s this achievement—not the possibility that she
wreaks ghostly havoc in Mayo Hall—that should be her real legacy.
This past weekend, my husband and I took a "ghost tour" of Kalamazoo. It was sponsored by the Kalamazoo Jaycees, which runs the "Ghosts of Kalamazoo Historic Tour" as a fundraiser for Warm Kids, an organization that provides winter weather gear to children who need it. The tour schedule has wrapped for the year, but keep an eye out for the next round of tours during the 2014 Halloween season. We had a great time, and learned a lot about the history of downtown Kalamazoo as well as the ghostly inhabitants that haunt it.
One of the stories our tour guides mentioned was about "Thelma Mertz," a ghost that is said to lurk the halls of the Kalamazoo Civic Theatre at 329 S. Park Street. No one really knows when Thelma began her supernatural wanderings, but reports of her ghost have been made since at least the 1950s. Thelma's true identity is a mystery, as is her real name. (She became "Thelma Mertz" in the 1970s, when members of a summer youth program at the Civic gave her the moniker. I wonder if she's any relation to Fred and Ethel.)
The Kalamazoo Civic Theatre, home to Thelma the ghost
Whoever she is, Thelma seems to be a benign spirit, preferring mischief to terror. The Civic's flesh-and-blood inhabitants have reported the sound of footsteps walking across the stage when no one was on it, and have also felt a ghostly presence, as though some unseen person was in the room with them. Thelma has played the theatre's piano, then stopped when someone entered the room to check on the noise. Sometimes Thelma moves items across a room, or opens and closes dressing room doors. Her playfulness isn't restricted to backstage areas. On occasion, actors report, she has messed with their costumes while they were onstage.
For the most part, Thelma's pranks are harmless, and while some Civic Theatre regulars believe her story is more legend than reality, almost all of them embrace their unknown visitor. Like curtain calls and standing ovations, Thelma has become a part of the theatre itself.
Most people find the thought of dropping over Niagara Falls in a barrel unappealing, to say the least. A few young daredevils might consider it the "ultimate rush" (or whatever the kids are saying these days), but most of us who are happily settled into adulthood need nothing more than to look at a photo of the falls, or maybe gaze at them from behind the safety of a barrier, to satisfy our desire for adventure.
Yep, that about does it for me.
Technically, Bay City resident Annie Edson Taylor wasn't looking for a thrill so much as a paycheck when she became the first person to survive a trip over Niagara Falls in a barrel. However, Taylor was definitely at an age when most Michiganders were dipping into their pensions, not plunging 167 feet over one of North America's best-known waterfalls. Taylor made the trip on October 24, 1901---her sixty-third birthday.
Annie Edson Taylor
Taylor was born in 1838 in Auburn, New York, and experienced tragedy at an early age. Her father died when she was 12, and her only child with husband David Taylor died a few days after birth. David himself died not long after, in the Civil War. The newly widowed Taylor moved around the country looking for work, and eventually ended up in Bay City, where she opened a dance school at the corner of Center Avenue and Saginaw Street. She attracted a number of students, but, because she tried to maintain the well-to-do lifestyle she had enjoyed as a child, she quickly spent most of her money. In 1900, Taylor moved to Sault Saint Marie, where she taught music, but still wasn't earning enough to support herself. Taylor and a friend traveled to Mexico City, where they hoped to find jobs, but had no luck. Defeated, Taylor moved back to Bay City and considered ways she could avoid the poorhouse.
After reading a newspaper article that mentioned Niagara Falls, Taylor hatched a plan. The falls, located along the border of New York State and Ontario, were a major tourist attraction. Taylor figured that, by becoming the first person to survive a barrel plunge over them, she could parlay her experience into fame and fortune. She approached staff members at the West Bay City Cooperage Company to design a barrel that could withstand the tens of thousands of cubic feet of water that plunge over the falls every second. She also solicited local promoter Frank M. Russell to serve as her manager. The cooperage came up with an oak-and-iron barrel that Taylor could stuff with a mattress to cushion herself from the beating she would take in the rapids below the falls. The barrel also contained an anvil at its bottom, so that it would stay balanced in the roiling water. Thus equipped with her ticket to wealth, Taylor headed for the falls on October 12, 1901.
Taylor may have been desperate for money, but she wasn't crazy. Before she took her historic plunge, she wanted to see whether the barrel---and consequently, she herself---would survive it. A few days before her scheduled trip, Taylor stuffed into the barrel what at the time was the world's unluckiest cat, and sent it over the Horseshoe Falls, the largest of Niagara's three cascades. Surprisingly, the cat survived, and Taylor posed for photos with it, determined that she, too, would live through the ordeal.
Let's give credit where credit's due; technically, the cat was the first
living thing to survive a trip over Niagara Falls in a barrel.
On October 24, 1901, Taylor and a few helpers crowded into a rowboat in the Niagara River, ready to make history. Taylor's helpers held the barrel at the rowboat's edge and Taylor climbed in, clutching a lucky pillow to her chest. Her associates secured the lid, then compressed the air inside the barrel with a bicycle pump. They used a cork to plug the air hole, and set the barrel adrift, watching as it began the first portion of its twenty-minute journey to the Horseshoe Falls. Taylor's trip over the waterfall itself lasted a few seconds, but her barrel remained at the falls' base for a significant amount of time before rescuers could retrieve it. Nervous about whether the barrel had, in fact, become Taylor's coffin, rescuers opened it to find a bewildered but very much alive Taylor, who had survived the ordeal with nothing more than a cut on her head---though she latter gave the press some choice words about her experience. "I would sooner walk up to the mouth of a cannon, knowing it was going to blow me to pieces, than make another trip over the fall," Taylor said.
Taylor being helped to shore after her trip over the falls
Her goal achieved, Taylor got ready to rake in the money. However, her luck after the falls escapade was just as bad as her luck had been before it. Russell, the manager she had brought with her from Bay City, made off with Taylor's barrel, and she spent a significant amount of money on private investigators to track it down. Though Taylor earned some cash posing for photos and selling souvenirs, she ultimately had to pursue other lines of work to make ends meet. Poverty-stricken, Taylor died in 1921 at the age of 82. Though Taylor's deed failed to bring her material wealth, it did write a place for her in the history books. Taylor is buried in Oakwood Cemetery in Niagara Falls, New York, in an area known as the "stunter's section," which is the final resting place of individuals who made names for themselves by challenging one of the continent's mightiest waterfalls.
For more information:
Annie Edson Taylor isn't the only Michigander to travel over the Horseshoe Falls. In 2003, Canton resident Kirk Jones made the trip---and did so by himself, with no barrel or gear to protect him. The 40-year-old was unemployed, and said that his plunge over the falls was a suicide attempt, though his family said he had undertaken the stunt as a way to become famous and make money. Jones jumped into the Niagara River a mere twenty feet from the Horseshoe Falls, then pulled himself out of harm's way once he reached the bottom. Emergency responders took Jones to a hospital, but he suffered nothing more than a few minor rib injuries. Jones's trip over the falls ended up costing him money. Officials arrested him for causing mischief and performing a stunt in Niagara Parks, and he pled guilty, paying a few thousand dollars in fines.
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).
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.
Sorry I haven't been posting regularly for the past week or so. I've been a bit under the weather, but I'm starting to feel better, so I'm back with the first in a series of articles about "creepy Michigan things"---legends, crimes, paranormal activities, etc. It's my homage to Halloween---just a week away!
As far as I'm concerned, the main reason Halloween exists
is to make dogs dress up in costumes.
I used to live in Grand Rapids, and everyone there knows the story of the Ada Witch. (Ada is a township located a few miles east of GR.) The short version is this: During the 1800s, a young married woman was having an affair, and met up with her honey at a woods near what is now Findlay Cemetery, on 2 Mile Road. The woman's husband found out about the tryst, and caught the couple in the act. Furious, he killed his wife, then turned his attention to her lover. The two men struggled, but were evenly matched, and eventually both died from injuries they sustained during the fight.
Now, according to legend, during the full moon, the woman's ghost haunts Findlay Cemetery and areas surrounding it, including the nearby woods, Seidman Park, and Honey Creek Avenue. She's described as being either a beautiful girl dressed in white, or a disfigured woman bearing the injuries inflicted by her husband. Visitors to the cemetery also claim to have seen eerie mists and orbs, as well as heard the sounds of fighting---presumably the battle between the cuckolded husband and his wife's lover. Other creepy occurrences have been reported---the sounds of footsteps, weeping, and screams, as well as the feeling of being tapped on the shoulder.
Drawing of the "Ada Witch"
Nowhere in the legend does it say that the woman was, in fact, a witch, so I'm not sure how her nickname developed. Likewise, historical records don't provide any information regarding an incident in which three people died in the woods near Ada in the 19th century, so, to my mind, the story is highly suspect. Findlay Cemetery does contain a gravestone where people leave trinkets, presuming it to be the final resting place of the "Ada Witch." That gravestone belongs to Sarah McMillan, a young woman who died in 1870. However, McMillan died of typhoid, not from a midnight struggle with her husband, so she is definitely not the witchy woman of legend.
I love hearing and reading about paranormal activity, but I'm also a bit of a skeptic, so, for me, the Ada Witch is nothing more than a legend that has made visits to Findlay Cemetery a bit more exciting for those who want to believe. That said, there's no way you'd find me in Findlay Cemetery at night during a full moon. Or at night any other time of the month, for that matter. A dog wearing a Halloween costume is spooky enough for me.
For more information:
Several websites about the Ada Witch exist. Just do a Google search for "Ada Witch," and you'll find information about the legend, as well as stories and photos from people who claim to have seen her ghost.
Check out the book "Haunted Houses of Grand Rapids," by Gary Eberle, which contains a chapter on the Ada Witch. The book is twenty years old, but has a lot of interesting stories about supposed haunted places in Grand Rapids and surrounding areas. I own this book, but haven't read it in a while, so I might have to break it out for another "creepy read" before Halloween.
"Ghosts of Grand Rapids" by Nicole Bray, Robert DuShane, and Julie Rathsack is another book that contains information about the Ada Witch. It was published just this past summer, and though I don't own it, I'm looking forward to reading it.
From 1999 through 2008, the United States Mint produced a series of fifty quarters, each representing one of the nation's fifty states. The Mint released five new quarters every year, basing their order on the date each state entered the union (or, in the case of the thirteen original colonies, the order each state ratified the Constitution). Michigan's turn came in 2004, when, as the 26th state, its quarter became the 26th design the Mint released. This post is about the Michigan quarter---who designed it, how it was chosen, and what it symbolizes about the Great Lakes State.
Michigan's state quarter
The Mint let each state select the design for its quarter, but released a series of guidelines for designers to follow. No living person could appear on a state quarter, nor could logos or symbols for businesses, organizations, religious groups, or sports teams. Because coins typically circulate for thirty years, each design would have to be just as relevant to people in the 2030s as it was to people in the early 2000s. The design also had to represent the experiences of all of a state's inhabitants, not just those of a few, and, of course, it could not be inappropriate or controversial.
Michigan began the design process in 2001, three years before its coin's release. Governor John Engler established the Michigan Quarter Commission, which solicited designs from state residents. The commission received 4,300 submissions, which it narrowed down to designs that represented five themes. Each theme featured an outline of the state of Michigan, but also included elements that set it apart from the other options. Ultimately, the governor would choose which design appeared on the quarter, but state officials conducted an unofficial poll to determine which design Michiganders liked most. The designs and poll results (as well as my unsolicited opinions) appear below.
Michigan State Outline with Great Lakes and State Icons: 14,333 votes.
This quarter received the most votes, which surprises me; the design is okay, but it seems a little cluttered.
Michigan State Outline with the Mackinac Bridge and Automobile: 10,141 votes.
This design is my favorite, as it seems the most "balanced" out of all five themes.
Michigan State Outline with Great Lakes and Automobile: 7,641 votes.
I like this one too, but that is one big car.
Michigan State Outline with Great Lakes: 6,298 votes.
The eventual winner; it's not bad, but seems kind of boring.
Michigan State Outline with Great Lakes and the Mackinac Bridge: 2,166 votes.
This looks scary, like the bridge is overtaking the state.
Governor Jennifer Granholm eventually chose "Michigan State Outline with Great Lakes" as the winning design and, after some minor tweaking, the coin was released on January 26, 2004---the 167th anniversary of Michigan's statehood. The design commemorates the fact that Michigan is the only state to touch four of the five Great Lakes, as well as the fact that so much of Michigan's history and economy has been tied to these "inland seas." No matter where a person goes in Michigan, he or she is never more than 85 miles from a Great Lake, so despite the fact that residents preferred other designs, the simple "Great Lakes" theme probably does the best job of portraying something that's an important element in the lives of most Michiganders.
