Living in da Yoop part III

My life in Rudyard is a collection of memories mostly related to winter and the third grade and of course, riding with my dad and other truckers when ever possible. My teacher was a young black woman who during the school year got married to an Air Force pilot stationed at Kinchelo AFB. She was a great teacher who celebrated each child’s birthday by sending a couple of us kids to a nearby store to pick up her order of cupcakes, cookies, and other party supplies which she paid for out of her own pocket. She also was a very encouraging teacher who spent quality time with each student not only for bookwork, but also for arts and each child’s individual dreams for the future.
Mrs. McDonald drove home my fathers teaching that skin color made no difference, but that each individual should be judged by their own qualities. I sometimes wonder what happened to her, and hope that her life was as happy as she made all of us who were blessed to have her for a teacher. I remember the day that her fiancé came to class in his dress blues and proposed to her in front of all of us. She launched herself into his arms and they kissed and swung around just like you see in the movies. We were all so happy for her and went absolutely nuts clapping our hands and hollering so loud, that many nearby teachers came to see what the commotion was about.
The only classmate’s name that I remember is Douglas Douglas III. But my best friend was Randy. He looked like Lou Diamond Phillips when he played the son of Lucas McCain of “The Rifleman” TV series. They lived at the top of valley just south of town on old US-2 in a big Western ranch style home that had a big double fireplace that separated the dining room from the living room. One of his chores was to help feed and water the many Shetland ponies that his father and grandfather raised. I was not allowed to help as they believed that only the men of the family should take care of their work horses. The closest I ever got to them was in the winter, when the road was icy. His father and grandfather would each take a team of 10-12 ponies shod with Ice-Cleats and pull the school busses up the steep hill out of the valley. Everyone on the bus had to QUIETLY get out and QUIETLY make our own way up the hill on the opposite side of the road. Then the bus was pulled up and we QUIETLY got back on. We were warned to NEVER talk to or try to touch the ponies as they were WORK HORSES not pets!!!
The next time we visited Rudyard about 12 years later, I noticed that they had filled in most of the valley and it is now just a dip in the road. And Randy’s home was empty and up for sale. I wonder whatever happened to him and those magnificent horses.
Ah yes, winter in the U.P. What a wonderous time for a child. However the school was never closed on count of snow. If you lived in or near town, you were expected to be there. We only lived about 1.5 miles away and when we rode the bus we were the first ones to be picked up and the last ones to be dropped off. So it didn’t take John and I long to decide to walk to and from school on the nice days. But when we got stuck on the bus in a blizzard until 9p.m. we decided to walk every day. I remember walking down the road with the wind and snow blowing so hard it was leaving small drifts wherever you put your foot down. When you looked back the way you came you could see a line if mini-drifts down the road.
I had never seen a county truck with a snow-blower attached to the front instead of a plow before, and before winter was over, the snow was so deep that all you could see of them going by our house was the yellow flashing light on top, behind a plume of snow. Many times my dad had to remove the small high window in the bathroom and boost John through it so he could shovel and chip ice away from the front door so we could get out of the house. And then we all had to shovel the driveway and find the car. That is except for my little sister Mary and newborn sister Carol. And when the electricity went out we used to sit by candle and kerosene lamp light and go through old family photo albums or read the new set encyclopedias dad had bought us. During one storm we ran out of LP gas and electricity and dad used a metal ashtray and some sand and kerosene to heat the baby bottles and our food. He even rebuilt the transmission of the old ’57 Ford Fairlane in the kitchen during one storm.

We had a young couple as neighbors, who rented the upstairs of the farmhouse. I don’t remember much of our landlord except that he was an old grouchy man. But Stan and Sandy became part of the family, we often had picnics together at a nearby park. Stan worked at the Air Force Base and Sandy stayed home and took care of their 2 year old daughter and their baby son. One morning we were woken up by Sandy’s frantic screams for help, it seams that their daughter had gotten out of her crib during the night and found her dads supply of .22 caliber rifle shells and swallowed some. Mom and dad offered to baby-sit while they took her to the base hospital. The Dr. told them to let nature take its course and let them pass, but warned them to keep count and make sure she didn’t fall until all of the bullets passed. During the wait she somehow managed to fall down the stairs and caused even more alarm. However everything finally worked out in the end (pun intended). After we moved back to Cass City we kept in touch, and one day about 5 years later, Sandy showed up at our house with the kids. Her and Stan had gotten a divorce after he had become an abusive alcoholic. She moved down here to Quanicasee near Bay City. After she remarried we lost contact with her.

There was a small cheese factory just down the road from us that we children visited often, and got to see the process of making cheese. And a little farther down the road was the family of another truck driver named Ollie Sprunger who we visited often too. There was a flowing well that was piped into a stock tank that he kept live suckers in. So when he wanted fresh fish all he had to do was reach in and grab them. Of course it was quite a game for us kids too.

Yup, life was fun in the YOOP.

Living in Da Yoop part 2

This old painted picture (1908)postcard shows the natural beauty of the upper peninsula or the U.P. (now known as Da Yoop, as made famous by a band from Ishpeming known as "Da Yoopers"). By the time I arrived in St. Ignace this was already turned into a tourist trap. But it's not hard to imagine how important this natural structure was to the Native Americans living in the area.
At the base of the Castle Rock lookout is an amusing Paul Bunyan statue accompanied by his mythical sidekick, Babe the Blue Ox. This Bunyan is rare. Instead of standing, ready to deforest Michigan, Paul sits, staring googly-eyed towards the lake. With a newspaper in his hands, we'd complete the visual that Paul is halfway through one of his mighty bowel movements.
Paul and Babe are surrounded by a low hurricane fence, to discourage lap monkeys. The statue and lookout are accessed via Castle Rock Curios, a gift shop with a classic neon sign out front and loads of souvenirs to salve that Upper Peninsula itch.
CASTLE ROCK, 3 MILES NORTH OF ST. IGNACE, MICHIGAN
Castle Rock, ancient lookout of the Ojibways and often referred to as "Pontiac's Lookout", rises from the surrounding lowlands like an ancient castle of the middle ages to a height of 195.8 feet above water level and 183 feet above road level at that point. A view from its summit is inspiring. Located 3 miles north of St. Ignace, Michigan. With Paul Bunyan and Babe the blue ox statues.
Photo by John Penrod
My dad once told me that my Uncle Ray Darbee freehand climbed the face of this stone to stand on top. My first view from the top was a lot easier, by way of stairs now built for that purpose and a platform with railings and coin operated telescopes on top. The view from up there is breathtaking. You can see the Bridge uprights and Mackinaw Island and the surrounding countryside for miles. I am not sure how many times I have made that climb, but the view is always worth it. My last climb was a few years after having my first heart attack, and after descending I purchased a patch stating, "I Survived the Climb of Castle Rock"at the gift shop.
One of my greatest joys was riding in the truck with my dad. I also road with many of the other truck drivers. Louie Nemeth, John Gruber, Tom Rabideau, Ollie Sprunger,  Rich & Jim McDonald and Lawrence Smith (a cousin of Dad's), just to name a few. And of course sitting with Doc Johnson, the crane operator. Once, in a swampy area Doc ended up with a GIANT snapping turtle in the 3 yard crane bucket, it barely fit. Some of the truckers wanted to kill it and eat it, but doc wouldn't hear of it. He picked the bucket back up and gently lowered it back in the swamp where the guys couldn't reach it and tipped out the turtle. He said anything as old as that turtle deserved to live on unmolested, Dad and I agreed.
They used many gravel pits in the construction of I-75, one near St. Ignace was the place I first shot a .22 rifle that Dad borrowed from one of the guys. He took the whole family there on a picnic (something we did often, as did other truckers) and showed John and I how to shoot. It was lots of fun. Another near Rudyard was used a long time, it was also where the trucks and other equipment was parked. They hit a spring in one part and had a very cold pond where it became very handy to keep cold beer. There was a black bear that became a mascot to the construction crew and showed up at lunchtime to receive offerings of food. Other bears also showed up occasionally and once one found the beer stash, which made for some upset thirsty truckers after the work was done for the day. That bear season, one of the local ministers shot their mascot and proudly hung it from a tree branch in his front yard in town. After hanging there for so long that it surely was unusable. Someone backed a large truck up onto his lawn making very deep ruts and struck his tree so hard it had to be cut down, they also stole his trophy bear. They never found out who it was. But a white cross was discovered on a fresh grave in the gravel pit the next morning.
One time that I remember, was a fishing trip Dad took me on. Some of the truckers were staying at a motel in Cedarville, and got to use a small motor boat. So Dad took John and I there to go fishing with Tom Rabideau. Everyone but me was catching fish. No matter what Dad did to help, I just couldn't get one to bite and soon got bored. It was my first time fishing that I can remember. And it was many years later before I went again, but when I did, I fell in love with fishing in the Cass River, just 1/2 mile south from where we lived in Cass City.

Living in Da Yoop Part 1

As my father worked on building I-75 and in the winter the B-52 Bomber runways at Kincheloe Air Force Base, he had our mobile home (an 8x32 ft. trailer) moved from Cass City to a farm 1.5 miles south of Rudyard. Until this time we had lived in a rental cabin a few miles north of St. Ignace.

Across the road from the cabins and south a few hundred yards was a tourist trap built like an old wooden fort called the "Trading Post" it had all kinds of souvenirs and trinkets, many made by the local Indian's and some interesting displays. A real kids paradise. Now it is someones home.

Behind the cabins, about 1/2 mile was Lake Huron and north about 1/2 mile along the shore was a large hill with a huge rock face that faces the lake called "Rabbit's Back" because of it's shape. Many locals claim it to be bigger than the famous "Castle Rock" just a few miles away.

My brother John and I spent many hours playing along the lake and climbing Rabbit's Back, sometimes with the cabin owners children. We also discovered that in the treeline a few hundred yards from the sandy beaches grew some of the best blueberry's we ever had. Tons of large sweet berries on low full bushes. We picked so many that we soon grew tired of blueberry pies, muffins, pancakes and whatever else mom could think of to make them into. On our many trips to town (St. Ignace) I would always beg to stop at the "Indian Village", another tourist trap, but what made this one different was that they had teepee's and wicciup's outside with "REAL INDIANS". They were local tribes folk actually dressed in costume and making some of the items sold inside the store. My favorite was the old Chief. He never seemed to tire of answering questions and telling old tribal stories all the while keeping his hands busy carving totem poles or making miniature birch bark canoes or whatever. I could listen to him for hours and his tales of "The Land of the Great Turtle". He reminded me of my great-uncle Joe Baker and his love of children and telling stories (but that is for another time). I think my dad had to pry me away from that place many times. It still exists, but all of the Indians are gone and all of their handicrafts are now made in Japan, Tiawan, or China.
This is a view I can still remember very well, it is climbing the trail up the very end of the Rabbit's Back. From where the flag is, looking in the same direction you would have a grand view of the lake and islands, and a long long drop to the beach. However when I made those climbs there were no steps to cross the crevasse or flag and platform, so this old penny postcard was probably made after I was there as I don't remember the trees.