Little bit of Edwards history

Off-topic
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Dad retired from the federal government a couple years ago in Oklahoma and Mom is retiring from state government at the end of the month. They have purchased a new home and will be retiring to Marion, IL in August. I wanted to create sort of a time line of their life as a gift, so I did some digging.

Dad was born and raised in Newberry, MI, away up north. He eventually went away to college, then returned to Newberry in 1962 to buy a house and motel that his dad, my grandfather, had built earlier along highway M-123. As a child, Dad lived on a farm behind the house and his dad ran a feed store a stone’s throw from the farm. While we lived in the house from '62 - '66 (I was aged 2-6), Dad taught at the high school and Mom ran the motel. On an interesting side note, Mary (my wife now) lived down the street with her family - her father was my pastor in Newberry.

Across the street from our motel was a Michigan State Police post. I called the post last week to see if our house and motel was still there. Sure enough, but the house was now a real estate office and the motel had been converted into apartments (photo below). One of the officers agreed to take some photos of the house and apartments and email them to me. We haven’t been to Newberry in 30 years. It was very neat to see the house and motel again.

Dad remembers planting the trees in the back yard and putting the face brick on the motel. Surprisingly, I remember quite a bit about our life there, like Dad’s boxy little International Harvester Scout with the snow plow on the front, and Mom and Dad erected a high pole rack at the back of the parking lot so deer hunters could hoist their deer up out of reach of the bears. So much more.

In what used to be a gravel pit in the SW corner of the seven acres behind the house, there is now a mobile home park. Dad mentioned that the trailer park residents probably don’t want to know how many dead chickens, cats and dogs are buried underneath their homes. He also said that he could probably pinpoint the exact spot where he buried his Indian Paint pony.

Dad was thrilled to see the photos and do some reminiscing. He really wants to make it back to Newberry for a visit before he leaves this life. Hopefully, we can make his dream come true.

Bruce

newberry house & motel.jpg

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Dad just forwarded an email back to the State Police post (and copied me) with some info. Looks like I was off a year on when they moved back to Newberry. Dad went to Tri-State University in Indiana and obtained his electrical engineering degree in 1960.

My son, Bruce Edwards, forwarded the photos of the house and motel to me. Thanks. Here’s a brief history.

My older brother and I were born in the Rexall Drugstore downtown Newberry. Dr.'s Perry and Spinks had a clinic on the second floor above the drugstore. The first five years of my life were spent on the “poor farm.” Mother and Dad were the caretakers of the County Farm on the southeast corner of Newberry Avenue and Victory Way. The property extended southward to the state police post and eastward to the old Barrett sawmill. After the county farm closed, we remained in residence for a short time and ran a rooming house.

In 1941 dad built a house in the back field across from the state police post. After a number of years the poor farm house became the American Legion Post. Sometime in the 50’s the American Legion built a new Post on the same property. In 1941 Dad also built a feed store that was located in the parking lot between the current State Farm house and the motel. Then in 1946 dad built a new feed store on the southwest corner of Newberry Avenue and Victory Way. I don’t know if this building is still standing. In 1948 dad built the house (in the pictures) and continued to operate the feed store until 1956. That year he built the motel.

In 1963, my wife and I moved back to Newberry and took residence in the house and operated the motel. I added the bricks to the motel. I also taught math and chemistry at the high school for three years until we sold the property and moved to Columbus, Ohio in December of 1966. Thanks again for the photos. Oldtimers, like my wife and me, have to reminisce and these pictures help.

Jack Edwards, always a Yooper at heart.

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UP lore

What great histories! There must be a UP historian that would be interested in hearing this. I have a collection of great stories from homes that I rented up there. Log cabins, turned communes, 6th generation Native American Fishermen, Cornish mining engineers and so on.

One of the things I love about that area is the rich and diverse history. Preserving this history it is wonderfully valuable for t he culture up there.

Thanks for posting!
Blake

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Re: UP lore

Isn’t that the truth. The U.P. has a very distinctive character, smell, flavor and personality, all created from those ages of deep history. I’ve lived in eight different states across the US now and each has it’s own environment but the U.P. is unlike anything else.

I always had a dream to get to Colorado to see the beauty of the mountains and my dream came true in college during some time at Argonne National Laboratory. I ended up in Colorado Springs for two weeks working on a project. Colorado was even more beautiful than I had dreamed, but what I found interesting was the people. My apologies up front to our Colorado brethern if I’m incorrect but these were my observations. My take on the people there was that they were largely transient. They lived in Colorado but they brought their flavor with them from other parts of the country. There didn’t seem to be one individual sound but a cacophony of different lives.

In the U.P., if you live there, you’re a Yooper. It only seems to take a moment for new residents to become native and adopt the heart and soul of the U.P. Everyone’s interests seem to be the same (to own a rifle and a snowplow :)), the language and dialect are very unique, the Yooper pride is unmatched, the beauty is exquisite, and it’s like nowhere else on earth. As I mentioned before, it should be the 51st state with it’s name Superior.

Bruce

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“As a child, Dad lived on a farm behind the house and his dad ran a feed store a stone’s throw from the farm.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a feed store. There’s none in Brooklyn. I’d prolly have to go to Manhattan for that.:smiley:

I think I missed something, though. What is the U.P.??

And thanks for sharing that sweet piece of personal history!!

Billy

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U.P.?

The Upper Peninisula of Michigan.

It was separated from the rest of the state until sometime in the 60’s and the Mackinaw Bridge was constructed connecting the Upper Peninsula and mitten shaped lower peninsula by road. It has remained somewhat isolated and certainly independent minded.

It was first settled by the Native Americans, the Ojibway tribe is still active where I lived when I was there, but was rapidly settled by white copper prospectors after Douglass Houghton verified reports of native elemental copper. It is one of only two regions on the globe where elemental copper is known to exist in such large quantities. The copper industry has been shut down since more lucrative techniques have been developed for extracting Cu from ore, which is more commonly found elsewhere. Currently the area struggles financially, but iron ore mining, sustainable logging and tourism are growing inductries to keep the area afloat!

Blake

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I have this incredible urge to read “The Grapes Of Wrath” now. :smiley:

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Billy T.,

If you missed it before, I think you’d get a kick out of one of the U.P.'s own at http://www.dayoopers.com We visit the Da Trap everytime we vacation in the U.P. It’s a must-see.

Blake, thanks for the bit-O-history. There’s some info there that I hadn’t heard before.

Bruce

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I hesitated about posting the following. The two stories are a bit of family history, really don’t pertain to anyone else and are somewhat personal, but they are cute love stories for those who like love stories and they fit in with the U.P. theme. The long and short of it is Mom’s mom married Dad’s uncle and that’s how Mom and Dad met. Grandma is 97 years old and still living with Mom & Dad. The first story is from Grandma and the second is from Mom.

A KNOCK AT THE DOOR

Finally, it was time for my two weeks vacation! It seemed as though it would never come. I hadn’t thought much about where I would go. Then my friend invited me to go with her to the town of Manistique in the upper peninsula of Michigan to visit her sister. We lived in Aurora, Illinois so it would be quite a long drive, but there was nothing to keep me from going. My husband of twenty-six years passed away in 1955 and my daughter, Idella, was away at college.

We arrived in Manistique and began to get things ready for a Fourth of July picnic. On the morning of the Fourth we awoke to find it was storming. It rained and the wind blew very hard, even knocking down a tree in the front yard. No picnic for us. It turned colder and we sat around the kitchen table drinking coffee, trying to keep warm.

Then there was a knock at the door. Who would be coming in all this rain? It was Claude Edwards, a long-time friend of the sisters. He lived in Newberry, Michigan, a small town about an hour’s drive away. He had heard there was going to be a parade in Manistique so he drove down to see it. He stayed all day until late Saturday evening. We convinced him that since it was so late, he might as well stay overnight and go to church with us the next day. Sunday morning the sun was shining and we all went to church. After church, Claude took my friend and me to see the beautiful Tahquamenon Falls north of Newberry.

We stayed in Manistique all week and on Sunday, Claude came again. In the afternoon Claude and I took a ride out to a lake and walked around it. I loved the smell of the fresh pine-scented air. He treated me to a nice chicken supper at a little café nearby. Claude’s wife had passed away in 1956 and he was lonely so he asked if I would write to him.

The next morning, my friend and I said our goodbyes and left for home. I felt an emptiness inside having to leave this beautiful countryside and my new-found male companion. After I arrived home, Claude and I corresponded frequently by letter. I enjoyed my job as a payroll clerk, but I could hardly wait to rush home each evening to get the mail. One day I received a letter from Claude that said, “When can we ever have a date? Maybe we could meet half-way some weekend.” So we met at Green Bay, Wisconsin, at J. C. Penny’s. We drove to a park and as we were sitting on a park bench, he put his arms around me and kissed me. We could hear children laughing and giggling. I guess they thought it was funny to see old people smooching. Finally he said, “It’s just too hard making plans to see you. Will you marry me?” So we planned to get married in the fall in Newberry.

We were married in October of 1958 and I began my new life in a small town. Claude was such a people person. He seemed to know everyone in the entire town. We had lots of friends and would meet in each other’s homes for a meal or a card game. No matter if the town is large or small, friendships are to be treasured.

I found out that this town enjoyed a very unique pastime in the summer months…that of visiting the village dump at dusk. Claude and I would drive out to the dump and park our car along with several other cars facing the headlights into the dump and wait expectantly. Soon the black bears would come out to feed bringing their cubs with them. Some of the tourists would get out of their cars with cameras in hand but the local townspeople knew better. They had a healthy respect for these wild animals.

I loved the fall color season in Newberry. The leaves were a mix of reds, oranges, and yellows interspersed with tall green pines and white birch. It was a breathtaking sight to behold. Sunday afternoons were reserved for leisurely drives through the forest.

Our favorite pastime was hunting and fishing. We owned a small camping trailer that we would take to a campgrounds near the river. We had a rubber raft and would spend two or three hours floating down the river, fishing and enjoying each other’s company. I would also go bird hunting and deer hunting with my husband. I never shot a deer but Claude would get one every fall.

After twenty-one years of marriage, my husband, Claude, passed away in 1979. I went to live with my daughter, Idella, who had married Claude’s nephew, Jack. Today, at age 97, I am still active. I am a volunteer at the local hospital (crocheting baby caps for newborns), play the piano and have my very own computer. But my fondest memories are still the ones of my life in the small town of Newberry, Michigan.

Esther Myrtle Edwards

SMALL TOWN BLISS

It was 1958 and my second year in college. Although my goal was an education, my secondary goal sometimes overshadowed the first – that of finding “Mr. Right.” My popular roommate would fix me up from time to time and we double-dated, but nothing ever seemed to work out. It was Christmas time and I debated what to do for the holidays. Since the death of my father, my mother had been lonely and had since re-married and moved out of state.

In the mail that day, I received bus fare money from my mother so that I could come to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan to be with her and her new husband for Christmas. Did I want to spend two weeks in Newberry, Michigan, a tiny town of 2600 people where I knew no one? I was raised near Chicago where there were always places to go and things to do. What in the world would I do in a small town with three feet of snow on the ground? Since everyone else was leaving the dorm for the holidays, I decided going to Michigan was my only option.

I arrived on a Friday evening after a seventeen-hour trip by Greyhound bus. Mother was equally perplexed as to what to do with me for entertainment. Her new nephew, Jack, was home from college and lived next door, so she asked him to do her a favor and show me around town. With the ultimate small town courtesy, he assured her that he would see to it that I had a good time. He told her this even before he had met me.

Jack and I first met when his mother invited all of us over for homemade pizza. Jack was wearing a white bib apron, his hands were deep in pizza dough and I quickly noticed the light shining from gorgeous blue eyes. I was mesmerized. We had casual conversation and then he invited me to come the next day to the drug store in town where he was working as a “soda jerk” during the holidays. Upon my visit, he fixed me a chocolate malt and we stared into each other’s eyes until other customers needed his attention.

The following day was our first official date. Jack would not tell me where he was taking me other than to caution me to dress warmly. He picked me up in his car and we drove through the countryside. The sun glistened on top of the snow and the freshly plowed road was tree-lined with tall evergreens, also heavy with snow. I began to fall in love with this beautiful winter wonderland.

We arrived at the top of a hill where he parked the car on a side road. He retrieved a toboggan from the trunk and we trudged through the snowy woods until we came to a clearing and a steep valley. I had never been tobogganing before so this was going to be a unique experience. I sat behind Jack on the toboggan and held on to him for dear life as we raced to the bottom of the hill and sped out onto a large clearing. It was better than any Chicago roller coaster! As I stepped off the toboggan, my feet plunged deeply into the snow and I noticed that there was slush under the top covering of snow. I questioned my new date about this and he nonchalantly informed me that I was standing in the middle of a lake. These were definitely new experiences for a city girl. The climb back up the hill was difficult because our legs sunk into the snow up past our knees, so Jack took my hand and helped pull me up. I could feel a warm tingling in my hand even through the thick snow-covered mittens.

Our next date was a trip to a popular tourist attraction about sixteen miles North of town…the Taquamenon Falls. We walked the trails through the woods to the Falls. It was exciting to think I had made the good choice to come here rather than sit alone in my dorm room, but even more exciting were the butterflies I felt in my stomach as I walked next to this tall, handsome Yooper. (A Yooper is someone from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan or the UP…hence the name Yooper.) The Taquamenon Falls took my breath away. They are nick-named Root Beer Falls because of the water’s amber color - the result of leaching of tanic acid from the cedar and hemlock swamps that feed the river. Half of the water coming over the falls had frozen into giant amber-colored icicles. I was fast becoming “hooked”…hooked on the countryside and hooked on Jack.

Our final date before I had to go back to college was to a coffee shop where we spent two hours sipping coffee and comfortably conversing on a multitude of topics. (I found out later that Jack does not even like coffee). I was impressed that everyone who walked in seemed to know my date by name. When we got up to leave, we both just walked out, not even thinking to pay the bill. This clearly demonstrated to me that Jack was just as smitten as I was with our new relationship. He went back the next day and sheepishly paid the owner what was owed.

Well, that was a long time ago and we have now been happily married for forty-five years. It is actually no surprise that we ended up in matrimony. Jack is a caring, honest, generous and handsome man with a boat load of small-town values and since my mother married his uncle, that also makes Jack my kissin’ cousin!

Idella Pearl Edwards

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Tahquamenon Falls north of Newberry.

tahquamenon.jpg

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Re: U.P.?

Blake,

Thanks for the UP. Like the UP, my home town, Buffalo, NY, has been struggling for 20 + years, and the exodus continues. Like so many communities. Where is everyone going?

Billy

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Bruce, thanks for this thread. What a fantastic change of pace from the usual JC fare.

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Thanks, Tom. I appreciate that. I’ve always had an interest in people of other cultures and traditions. I guess I would have to include interest in other people’s lives and history as well. My family is pretty unique and special but I have to think ours is not the only one…

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I forgot to mention the running joke about bear watching. It was the thing to do when friends came to visit, go down to the dump and watch the bears.

I found out when I moved to the Chicago area that people here do the same thing on Sunday afternoons. :smiley:

Bruce

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Wow, great stories and history, Bruce. And having just driven thru there last week (and spent one night in Newberry), I appreciate them even more.

And I didn’t see any bears, but I did see a moose walking along the side of the highway early in the morning.

As a side note, I am an avid reader of mysteries. You may already know this, but there is an author named Steve Hamilton who writes mysteries that all take place in the Paradise/Newberry area.

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Beautiful memories described by your relatives. Made me feel all warm and fuzzy. Wish I had such a vivid memory. Both mother and daughter have a very graceful writing style.

The photo of the falls is incredible. Thanks for sharing Bruce.

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Thanks, Chad. I had another incredible photo of the falls once. Mary and I were visiting the falls once a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. I climbed over the fence that had signs on it saying stay on this side of the fence, and dangled from a tree growing out into the chasm over the river many feet below to take a picture. I was so excited that I was able to take the picture but even more excited that the skinny tree held my weight and that I was alive when I climbed back over the fence into legal land with the photo safely on film.

This was in the pre-digital camera days so we had to send the film away for processing. A week later we got the pictures back. I excitedly leafed through the photos to find my Tahquamenon Falls picture only to find that my finger had been covering half the lens. I might still have the picture somewhere but it’s buried under 20 years of other photos.

Bruce