Monday, October 14, 2019

Indigenous Peoples' Day 2019



By Frank Boles
With one of the nation’s premiere collections documenting the history of the People of the Three Fires, the Clarke Historical Library’s material speaks with many voices regarding the Chippewa, Odawa, and Potawatomi peoples.
On this day we remember one of those voices—that of Simon Pokagon. Born in southwest Michigan in approximately 1830, Simon Pokagon was the son of Leopold Pokagon, who was a leader of the of the Pokagon Band of Potawatomi Indians. Simon would also become a leader of the Band. Pokagon was well educated by the standards of the day. He attended both Notre Dame and Oberlin. He eventually became an author and spokesperson for his people.
One of his most remembered addresses, which he also published as a pamphlet, occurred at the World’s Columbian Exposition (the Chicago World’s Fair). In the 1880s, several large cities had expressed an interest in organizing a World’s Fair to celebrate the 400th anniversary of Columbus’ arrival in America. The interest in sponsoring the fair was very pragmatic. The crowds that everyone anticipated attending the event would generate an immediate profit for those who underwrote the fair’s expenses. Other hoped-for benefits included boosting local real estate values and generally promoting the city in which the fair was held.





When it became clear that several cities planned to go forward with their own fair, Congress became involved and belatedly selected Chicago as the fair’s site. Because of its dithering in making the decision, Congress officially declared the fair would take place in 1893, rather than 1892, the more precise year for a Columbus quadricentennial.
The World’s Columbian Exposition opened on May 1, 1893. In order to help attract an audience, the fair’s organizers regularly sponsored “Special Days.” Almost every day the Fair was open a Special Day celebrated one group or another, from the Ancient Order of Foresters Day (August 15) through Venezuela Day (July 5). As part of this endless string of Special Days, October 9 was designated Chicago Day. To celebrate, Simon Pokagon was asked to come to Chicago to represent the original inhabitants of the land. Pokagon was invited to ride on a parade float, and more importantly make a speech. It is said that he spoke to nearly 75,000 people. 
Whatever the actual number of people, the speech Pokagon gave was not likely the one the crowd expected. Titled, The Red Man’s Rebuke, Pokagon pointed out that the arrival of Columbus was something to celebrate if one were white,
On behalf of my people, the American Indians, I hereby declare to you, the pale-faced race that has usurped our lands and homes, that we have no spirit to celebrate with you the great Columbian Fair now being held in this Chicago city, the wonder of the world. No; sooner would we hold the high joy day over the graves of our departed than to celebrate our own funeral, the discovery of America. And while...your hearts in admiration rejoice over the beauty and grandeur of this young republic and you say, 'behold the wonders wrought by our children in this foreign land,' do not forget that this success has been at the sacrifice of our homes and a once happy race.”
Simon Pokagon’s published works, including printed versions of The Red Man’s Rebuke which he printed on birch bark, are found in the Clarke Historical Library.















































Tuesday, September 24, 2019

CMU Faculty Association Celebrates 50th Anniversary

by Bryan Whitledge

Growing Pains When Moving from a College to a University


The 1960s were a decade of extraordinary change at Central – buildings sprouted up south of Preston Street, the number of students enrolled crossed the threshold of 10,000,[1] and the number of faculty nearly doubled, from 270 in 1959, when Central became a university, to 531 in 1969. Some faculty also grew unhappy with existing policies. For instance, the early 1960s were marked by personnel procedures that were not necessarily well defined; one critical example was that a faculty retention or promotion decision could come down to a faculty member's "usefulness to the University" – a term the administration never clarified.[2] Another policy that raised eyebrows was that of removing tenure from women professors who married.[3] While not all faculty were unhappy with the administration in the early 1960s, some faculty members sought an increased role in institutional governance and defining personnel policies.

Concern in this area first emerged in 1956, when faculty at Central organized a chapter of the American Association of University Professors (AAUP). The AAUP was and is active across the country supporting faculty in dealing with issues of tenure and academic freedom. In the beginning, Central’s administration expressed little concern about the AAUP chapter.[4] But within a few years, the AAUP chapter became a vehicle through which dissatisfied faculty criticized the administration. In 1963, the Central Michigan AAUP released a comparison of compensation between faculty at CMU and other institutions. The AAUP assigned CMU a grade of "D" on an A-E scale.[5] By the time this report was released, the campus AAUP chapter was both battling CMU President Judson Foust about a number of issues and bringing their complaints to the AAUP’s national leadership. From 1964 to 1966, the conflict between the faculty and the administration grew and deepened.

In 1966, amid the immediate aftermath of a scathing State Senate investigation into the faculty-administration relationships[6], and in the context of the passage of the Michigan Public Employment Relations Act (PERA) of 1965, some faculty members began to urge the creation of a faculty organization to engage in collective bargaining with the University. A survey of the faculty showed that this goal was not universal and there was no support, at the time, for founding a new organization. A majority of faculty members did not support collective bargaining. Of those faculty who did support collective bargaining, the majority hoped the AAUP chapter would serve as their bargaining agent.[7]

Aerial view, CMU Campus, ca. 1969

Labor Organization on Campus


While some faculty members continued to explore their options, they undoubtedly paid close attention to other unionization efforts on campus. In 1966, CMU kitchen, maintenance, and custodial workers formed AFSCME Local 1568. In October 1966, AFSCME members picketed to demand a contract with the University. Their picketing was informational rather than a work-stoppage. But as negotiations, which were already months behind schedule, continued to drag on, the union threatened a strike. Before a strike occurred, a contract was signed.[8]

Another potential strike was averted in July 1968 when CMU staff represented by AFSCME voted to strike.[9] After last minute negotiations, an agreement was reached. Although, at this time, the faculty were not part of any labor organization, many instructors and professors sympathized with those who were unionized and were watching the outcome with great interest.

Change Comes to the University Administration


President Judson Foust’s retirement was announced in the May 19, 1967 Central Michigan Life. A committee of four faculty, four administrators, and one alum counseled the Board of Trustees, who selected William B. Boyd as CMU’s president in April 1968. Boyd was considered a liberal administrator with experience in the California system as Vice Chancellor for Student Affairs at UC-Berkeley. Many hoped he would be an administrator who could work successfully with the faculty.[10]

Boyd was extremely effective in dealing with student challenges and protests during a particularly tumultuous time in American higher education. Boyd attempted to use these same skills to develop better relationships with the faculty and to convince the faculty that he had their best interests in mind. He appointed faculty who identified themselves as activists to committees and invited them into the administrative apparatus of the University. Within two years of Boyd’s appointment, the University Senate (now Academic Senate) was restructured for the second time in six years to increase faculty participation.[11]

But the animosity that had developed between the administration and some faculty members since the early 1960s could not be healed with dialog and the greater participation President Boyd proposed. Even during President Boyd’s "honeymoon period," some faculty expressed concern over what they perceived as hostile actions by CMU’s administration. During Boyd’s first year in office, the Trustees abandoned the idea of a salary schedule that would have been a move toward a standardized pay and promotion policy.[12] Arbitrary decision-making about pay and promotions was a long-standing complaint among some faculty. They clearly felt that nothing of substance had changed, even if there was a new president. Immediately after the salary schedule was dismissed at the April 1968 Board meeting, an administrative officer reportedly stated to the Board of Trustees, "I believe you have just asked for collective bargaining."[13]

Faculty Concerns Lead to Organization


The faculty did indeed begin organizing and the AAUP was contacted and asked to serve as a bargaining agent. When the AAUP proved unable to serve in this capacity, a group of faculty members contacted the Michigan Education Association (MEA), which since the 1965 PERA legislation had been active in collective bargaining in K-12 education. The MEA agreed to be the affiliated agent of the faculty at CMU and, as outlined by state law, arrangements were made to hold a vote among the entire faculty to decide whether or not to organize as a bargaining unit. The date was set for September 24, 1969.[14]

Prior to the vote, the Board of Trustees and the Boyd Administration attempted to head off unionization. In the summer of 1969, the Board of Trustees requested a meeting with faculty members "to have a conversation on personnel matters of mutual interest."[15] President Boyd, during his faculty address on September 8, made direct comments about the vote later that month. He stated that he understood where the desire to organize came from, noting both past difficulties with the administration and the Trustees actions that did not allow for adequate faculty consultation. Despite this history, President Boyd could not have been clearer in sharing what he believed would be in the faculty’s best interest:
"Personally, I hope that this faculty will reject the proposed approach of collective bargaining and rely instead on the continued development of internal governing procedures which will give the faculty a collective and powerful voice in the establishment of budget priorities and in the determination of salaries."[16]

In justifying his hopes, President Boyd stated that collective bargaining would pit administration against faculty in an adversarial relationship defined in the traditional context of management and labor. In his view, an academic institution should be governed by reasoned deliberation among colleagues, rather than an industrial-relations model of two negotiating enemies. Despite his clearly stated preference, Boyd assured the faculty that there would be no professional or personal rancor on his part regardless of the vote’s outcome. Boyd assured all that he wanted to "proceed in good faith to work together for the continued improvement of the University."[17]

The election took place on September 24, 1969. Professor Sherman Ricards described the vote in his memoir:
"I remember the election took place in the Library and some of us were there when the voting finished to await the counting of the ballots. We were all as nervous as we could be but we were trying not to show it. As the man from the Michigan Employment Relations Commission opened the box the tension became almost unbearable. After dumping all of the ballots on the table, he began by sorting the ballots into two groups, though we didn’t know which was the ‘yes’ pile and which was the ‘no’ pile. When he finished sorting he began to count each pile, and I seem to recall he put them in stacks of ten or twenty. Finally, after what seemed like a very long time he announced that there were 231 yes votes and 221 no votes – the union had won!"[18]

CM Life photo, Sept. 26, 1969
The results reported by CM Life showed that 239 faculty supported the measure, while 221 said no.[19] Whether one takes Ricards’ tally or the CM Life tally to be accurate, the Michigan Association of Higher Education at Central Michigan University[20] was formed by a slim margin. For some, the narrow majority favoring unionization raised questions. Did the voice of a narrow majority carry enough weight with the Administration or within the faculty itself?

No matter the questions, the faculty at CMU were now a collective bargaining unit - the first such group of faculty at any four-year college or university in Michigan and the second collective bargaining agent representing faculty at four-year institutions in the US, after the City College of New York.[21]

Notes


1. Central Michigan University Bulletin, 1959; Central Michigan University Bulletin, 1969.

2. Cumming, John, The First Hundred Years: A Portrait of Central Michigan University, Mount Pleasant, Mich.: Central Michigan University, 1993, pp. 160-67.

3. Foust, Judson, "Correspondence – American Association of University Professors, 1961-63," found in Box 1, President Judson W. Foust Papers, 1923-2002, Clarke Historical Library, Central Michigan University.

4. Cumming, p. 160.

5. Westie, Charles, "Committee Z Reports," found in Box 3, Ardith Westie Family Papers, 1931-2018, Clarke Historical Library, Central Michigan University.

6. Central Michigan Life, June 3, 1966, pp. 1-4.

7. Faculty Association, "Faculty Association Brochure, 1978," found in Box 1, Central Michigan University Faculty Association Organizational Records, 1944-2003, Clarke Historical Library, Central Michigan University.

8. Cumming, p. 170.

9. "Staff Strike Threatened," Central Michigan Life, July 18, 1968, p. 1.

10. Cumming, p. 176.

11. Cumming, pp. 181-82.

12. Faculty Association, "Faculty Association Brochure, 1978."

13. Faculty Association, "Faculty Association Brochure, 1978."

14. Cumming, p. 182; Faculty Association, "Faculty Association Brochure, 1978."

15. Board of Trustees, Central Michigan University, Meeting, July 16, 1969, pp. 57-58.

16. Boyd, William, "Faculty Address, 1968," found in Central Michigan University, Office of the President, William B. Boyd Papers, 1968-78, Clarke Historical Library, Central Michigan University.

17. Boyd, William, "Faculty Address, 1968."

18. Ricards, Sherman, For Myself Alone, 1982, p. 255

19. Hanlon, Jim, "Bargaining agent accepted by faculty for contract negotiations," Central Michigan Life, September 26, 1969, p. 1.

20. The name was soon changed to the CMU Faculty Association.

21. Cumming, p. 182; Faculty Association, "Faculty Association Brochure, 1978."

Wednesday, August 28, 2019

Barnes Hall: Before (and Before) and After

Like any university, the landscape is always changing at Central. This past summer, Barnes Hall was razed. In just a few short weeks, the home of thousands of CMU students for over 60 years was replaced with a green space. The demolition of Barnes Hall presents an opportunity to compare the campus landscape past and present. Below are pictures of Powers Hall before Barnes Hall was built in 1952, Powers Hall with Barnes Hall just south of it, and the area today, without Barnes Hall.

Aerial photo, Warriner Hall (left) and
Keeler Union (later renamed Powers Hall), circa 1946

View toward southeast of Powers Hall with Barnes Hall south of it, circa 1950s

View toward southeast of Powers Hall without Barnes Hall, 2019

View toward northeast of Barnes Hall, 2019

View toward northeast of Powers Hall, without Barnes Hall, 2019

Monday, August 19, 2019

Do you remember that one time at Central...? The New CMU Historical Information Resource

by Bryan Whitledge and Clarrissa Klein

Imagine the scene:


A group of friends is back in Mt. Pleasant for Homecoming. They’re enjoying a pizza and reminiscing about the past, when a disagreement breaks out:

Chip 1: "Do you remember when school was cancelled for a whole week in the spring of '87 because of that flood?"


Chip 2: "No way, it was the fall of '86 – I remember because a couple weeks later Wendy Smith was voted Homecoming Queen."

Chip 1: "No, it was definitely spring '87."

Chip 3: "What are you both talking about, it was fall '86 and Julie Johnson was the Homecoming Queen that year – but she wasn’t called Homecoming Queen, she was the Gold Ambassador."

Chip 2: "Are you crazy? The Gold Ambassadors started in the late '90s."

Chip 1: "Listen, I bet you the flood was spring '87 – I’ll buy pizza if I’m wrong and you’ll buy if I’m right."

Chip 3: "Yeah, and I bet you the Gold Ambassadors replaced the Queen and King in the '80s – You’ll buy the drinks, too, when you find out I’m right."

Chip 2: "We'll see... but how are we gonna find out?!?!?!"



Wouldn’t it be great if there was a place our hypothetical Chips could go to quickly answer all of these questions? If a resource like that existed, then, within two minutes, the Chips could have settled the bets – the flood happened in September 1986, Julie Johnson was Homecoming Queen in 1986 and Wendy Smith was Homecoming Queen in 1985, and the Gold Ambassadors started in 1997.*

Well, there is such a place with all of that great historical information – the Clarke Historical Library has recently created a new webpage with links to a dozen lists of information you have been missing!

You say you want to know who was the Grand Marshall of the 1977 Homecoming Parade? We’ve got that – two clicks and you’ll find out it’s Dick Enberg!

Has remembering the name of the first woman to serve as CMU’s Provost been bothering you all week? We’ve got that – two more clicks and there it is, Janice Reynolds (who incidentally earned her PhD from Ohio State, which is also listed on this new page)!

Is whether or not you need to spring for pizza riding on the year that Central’s first sorority, Phi Kappa Sigma, started? We've got that, too. And you were right, it was 1902! Now, they owe you a pizza!

For years, the Clarke has fielded all sorts of questions about CMU history. And we have spent hours poring over old Centralight magazines, Bulletins, and CM Life newspapers tracking down nuggets of information. Instead of making you do the same work, we decided to share the bounty of our labors.

And those labors amount to lists of:
  • The number of CMU graduates, 
  • Links to CMU Athletics record books, 
  • Central’s name changes throughout history, 
  • The names of University Presidents, SGA Presidents, Provosts, and members of the Board of Trustees, 
  • The names of Greek organizations, 
  • Weather-related closures, and 
  • Homecoming Grand Marshals, Queens and Kings, and game scores.

So the next time you are trying to win a bet, or if there is a factoid buried deep in the recesses of your mind that needs a little prodding to come to the surface, the Clarke Historical Library is here for you.

*For those keeping score at home, it looks like Chip 1 is buying pizza and Chip 3 is buying drinks.

Wednesday, July 31, 2019

New Pop-Up Books in the Clarke

by Frank Boles 

The Lucile Clarke Children’s Library, a part of the Clarke Historical Library, has a distinguished collection of children’s books. That collection was recently enriched by the addition of over 600 pop-up books from the library of Dr. Francis Molson. The books were collected by Dr. Molson and his late wife, Mary Lois. The volumes offer a dazzling insight into what is one of the most colorful and entertaining corners of the printing industry. A few illustrations from the books we acquired accompany this post.


Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Cover (Left) and Page Pop-Up (Right).

The Molson collection of movable books leans towards toward post-world War II publications. It captures in exquisite limited editions the work of some of the era’s leading paper engineers, such as Robert Sabuda. It also represents comprehensive collections of volumes on subjects of special interest to Dr. Molson, such as the Wizard of Oz and Sleeping Beauty. Francis sought Wizard of Oz pop-up books to complement the Clarke’s existing Wizard of Oz printed volumes collection. As for Sleeping Beauty, when as a young person he saw the 1959 Disney movie, it “scared the bejeebers” out of him. As portrayed by the Disney animators, the evil fairy Maleficent was, well pretty darn scary! Some images just stay with you and lead you to want to learn more about them.

Asterix on the Warpath, Cover (Left) and Page Pop-Up (Right).

Although most pop-up books today are usually associated with children’s books, that perception is not completely true. There are many pop-up books which target an adult market. For example, the television series Game of Thrones has a pop-up book found in the Molson collection. This adult-oriented subset of the market has a much longer history than the one associated with children’s themes. The first movable books, the more formal name for pop-ups since the earliest versions did not “pop-up,” appeared in the 13th century.

The first movable books were created to determine the date of Easter. Easter, the great feast of Christendom, does not occur on the same Sunday each year. Easter Sunday is the first Sunday that follows the first full moon after the spring equinox in the northern hemisphere (with some fiddling around the edges we needn’t get into here). Church leaders printed tables for the clergy to use that told them what Sunday to celebrate Easter, but local clergy found the tables hard to read. In the 13th century, publishers discovered a simpler way to present the same information: use a revolving wheel in the center of a page of text. When a clergy member placed the wheel in the proper location, the rest was easy!


Bridscapes: A Pop-Up Celebration of Bird Songs in Stereo Sound
Cover (Left) and Page Pop-Up (Right).

Soon enough, “volvelles,” as the innovation was named, showed up in several other applications, such as astronomical tables, and eventually - as a trope of untold spy novels and occasionally as a tool of real spies - a way to decipher encoded messages. Flaps, which could be lifted to reveal what lay underneath, came next. They first appeared in anatomy textbooks. Using them, a student could lift a flap of paper representing the skin to see what lay underneath.

In the nineteenth century, publishers began to print movable books for children. The books first appeared in London, whereby 1860 several publishers marketed movable children’s books. In the late nineteenth century, German published came to dominate the field. German publishers were the undisputed masters of emerging forms of color reproduction. With the onset of World War I, pop-up books, now largely printed in Germany, all but disappeared in England and the United States.


Brava Sterega Nona! A Heartwarming Pop-Up Book
Cover (Left) and Page Pop-Up (Right).

The first movable books printed in the United States appeared in the 1880s. But they were always a publisher’s sideline. In the early years of the twentieth century, some manufacturers printed pop-up books as advertising.  For example, in 1909, Kellogg’s published Kellogg’s Funny Jungleland Moving Pictures, to help sell cereal. But movable books for children did not become serious business in the United States until the 1930s.

Desperate to try anything to increase book sales during the Great Depression, publishers turned to movable books. Classic fairy tales and books from the Walt Disney Studios led the way. Unlike their European predecessors, which often displayed the craftsmanship associated with a finely printed volume, these movable books were made with less expense, and were designed to sell to a mass market. By the 1950s, movable books were a recognized part of the American children’s book market.


Hokusai Pop-Ups, Cover (Left) and Page Pop-Up (Right).

If movable books were big sellers, they spent much of the 1960s and 1970s trying to gain literary respect. The term “paper engineer” was coined in the 1960s to describe the skills needed to make a pop-up book literally pop-up. “Serious” persons, however, continued to label movable books a novelty – dismissing them as “toy books” not worthy of their attention. That perception changed in 1980 when the British Library Association gave its most prestigious award for a children’s publication, the Kate Greenaway Medal, to Jan PieĊ„kowski’s Haunted House, which was engineered by Tor Lokvig.

The Jungle Book: A Pop-Up Adventure,
Cover (Left) and Page Pop-Up (Right).

“Let yourself in,” says the notice on the front door of Haunted House. Once inside, a reader opens other doors to find disgusting things, things that cause shivers as eyes blink or spiders creep, or things that make a reader jump as monsters burst from the page. Described as “the house of petrifying pop-ups” by the Greenaway Awards Committee, the book has sold over one million copies. Haunted House’s flourishing sales and award-winning status ensured the future of the pop-up book both as a way to make a dollar and as a serious literary genre.

The Chronicles of Narnia, Cover (Left) and Page Pop-Up (Right).

Books like Haunted House, however, have a distinct downside from a library’s administrator’s viewpoint. Student employees asked to check in the Molson books were quickly noticed to be working at less than their usual pace – way less. We had a problem – the books were so interesting the students kept opening them up to see what would happen. I suppose a proper library manager would have initiated a time-management study and using this empirical data imposed strict hourly processing quotas. But the problem was the full-time staff, and I, kept stopping to see the latest treasure the students had unearthed, encouraging their bad behavior.  

Snowflakes: A Pop-Up Book, Cover (Left) and Page Pop-Up (Right).

The only solution to everyone’s fascination with the Molson books was to embrace it and make lemonade from lemons. The students’ favorite books from the Molson collection illustrate this blog. I hope you enjoy them as much as they do. I also hope you will join us during the spring semester 2020 when we will share our collective enthusiasm for movable books through an exhibit in the Clarke Historical Library.

You’re going to love it. Trust our student employees on this one.



Immigration in Another Era


By Frank Boles

Today’s heated political discussion over immigration, with its often strident rhetoric about immigrants, was not always a part of America’s political discourse. Before the Civil War and continuing during Reconstruction, the state of Michigan not only welcomed immigrants, it paid people to recruit settlers to migrate from Europe to the United States. A product of this work, Der Staat Michigan, published in 1859, was recently obtained by the Clarke Historical Library staff from a book dealer in Austria.

Der Staat Michigan, 1859, front & back Cover

Germans had been early settlers in the state. German immigrants founded a colony near Ann Arbor in the 1830s. In 1845, a second large group of German immigrants began to settle in along the Cass River, in an area that would become Frankenmuth. Between 1845 and the beginning of the Civil War, Germans immigrants came to Michigan in increasing numbers. Part of this immigration resulted from forces that pushed people out of their homeland. In the late 1840s and early 1850s, significant crop failures plagued many German farmers. The failure of the liberal revolt of 1848 also meant a large number of politically active Germans had good reason to fear retaliation from the government officials they had tried to unseat, and thus, they found it expedient to place a great deal of distance between themselves and those who remained in political power.

But “push” was not the only reason Germans came to Michigan. The state government of Michigan also actively “pulled” German immigrants. In the 1840s, many of the state’s political leaders had come to have high regard for Germans. These immigrants had demonstrated devout religious belief and economic energy, both of which struck resonant chords with the political leadership of the day. In addition, German immigrants were often either educated already or very much interested in establishing educational institutions for their children.

Der Staat Michigan, 1859. Map of Michigan with information on Ingham, Eaton,
Ionia, Montcalm, and Kent Counties. 

To obtain more of what Michigan’s legislators saw as an ideal foreign settler, they passed a law in 1845 to fund a “foreign emigration agent” in New York City to “encourage immigration into the state and travel on our public railroads.” Governor John Barry appointed John Almy to the position. Almy quickly wrote a six-page pamphlet in German extolling the state’s virtues. State government paid for five thousand copies of the pamphlet and it distributed not only in New York City but also to emigration societies and U.S. government consul offices overseas.

In 1850, Michigan’s governor, John S. Barry, let a bill continuing this outreach to German immigrants die on his desk. Barry was reported to believe that the state was now so well known to potential immigrants that further publicly-funded efforts to attract them to Michigan were unnecessary. Others disagreed with that assessment. In 1859, the legislature established the position of Commissioner of Emigration. Two well- known members of Detroit’s German community were appointed to the post – one working out of Detroit while the other was in New York City.

One of the two men, Rudolph Diepenbeck, was the former editor of a German-language newspaper. In 1859, he wrote in German and had published Der Staat Michigan, a 48-page pamphlet, which he used as a tool to recruit more Germans to come to Michigan.

By 1860, there were 38,787 German immigrants in Michigan, about five percent of the state’s total population of 749,113.

Michigan’s political leaders’ interest in German immigrants only increased after the Civil War. In 1869, the legislature sent the Michigan Commissioner of Emigration to Germany, where he set up an office in Hamburg. There the commissioner regularly published an eight-page “magazine” extolling the state to anyone willing to read it. Although the office in Hamburg was closed in 1874, the office of Commissioner on Emigration continued until 1885. The person who held that office continued to print publications in German, and later Dutch.

While the exact number of German immigrants will never be known, C. Warren Vander Hill’s Settling of the Great Lakes Frontier: Immigrant to Michigan, 1837-1924, offers a best guess that in 1920, of the state’s 3,723,000 residents, 670,000, or around eighteen percent of the population, were either German immigrants or their descendants.

Der Staat Michigan is an important historical publication that documents this long effort by the state to recruit foreign immigrants. The copy in the Clarke is particularly important in that only three other copies of this publication are known to exist. Two are found in German libraries while the third is preserved in Boston. It’s impossible to say when a copy of the pamphlet was last seen in Michigan, but we are very pleased to bring a research copy of Der Staat Michigan back to the state from which it came.

Thursday, July 11, 2019

STEM, the Clarke, and a Bit of Cultural History

by Frank Boles 


Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics (STEM) education has been a buzz phrase in education for at least a quarter century. Anchored in a concern that America’s edge in technological innovation was in danger of being lost because of a lack of technologically competent individuals, STEM seeks to reinvigorate teaching and learning about these four interrelated disciplinary fields at all levels of American education.

STEM advocates usually had little to say about the liberal arts, and those involved in teaching the liberal arts usually had little to say about STEM, except to more than occasionally lament why they couldn’t get some of the money being given to evolving STEM programs. Without entering into what has at times devolved into a bitter debate, in one important way STEM fundamentally depends on the arts – pedagogy.

For all the emphasis on involving students in STEM programs, there can be no question that unless the STEM disciplines are taught in a way that interest students and successfully educate them, the entire enterprise is for naught.

To accomplish this, the highest likelihood of success is to be achieved by thinking about how these subjects have been taught in the past, and how that body of historical information, a catalog of what worked, and what didn’t work, can inform and improve teaching in the present and future.

The opportunity to better understand this learning process is made possible by an extraordinary gift of over 250 mathematics textbooks by Dr. Robert G. Clason to the Clarke Historical Library’s textbook collection. Dr. Clason taught mathematics at CMU for over 30 years. In addition to teaching his own course, he became interested in how the subject was taught in the past, and began to assemble a collection of arithmetic textbooks printed from the eighteenth through the twentieth century.

First Lessons in Numbers in their Natural Order,
by John H. French, 1874.
A sampling of Dr. Clason’s collection gives a flavor of what is to be found. Many of the books are, of course, designed to introduce young children to the subject. John H. French’s First lessons in Numbers In their Natural Order, published in 1874 by Harper & Brothers, is typical of a genre of textbooks for children that poured out of publishing houses in the 19th century. Often published as a series, virtually all of them claimed, like French’s First Lessons, to be “unlike other works for the same grade of learners,” a claim begging to be examined today both in terms of its authenticity and, if true, in terms of which teaching method worked best.


Standard Service Arithmetics: Grade Five,
by Scott, Foresman, and Company, 1927.



Grade school books became a highly profitable, and often quite standardized product. Scott, Foresman, and Company’s 1927 Standard Service Arithmetics: Grade 5 seems a nice example of the development of grade school books in the first few decades of the twentieth century. The volume was part of the company’s “standard mathematical service,” edited by George Myers.

Other books in the collection show how teachers were taught to teach the subject. The growth of “normal schools” in the late nineteenth century, institutions of learning designed to educate teachers (of which Central Michigan was originally one), spawned a new market for more advanced books. The Normal Mental Arithmetic by Edward Brooks, published in 1869, was an early example of book designed to sell to this market, while An Arithmetic for High Schools and Normal Schools, published in 1902, moved into an already established market.
The Normal Mental Arithmetic,
by Edward Brooks, 1869. 

Books were also written to meet the needs of special communities. How to Become Quick at Figures; Comprising the Shortest, Quickest, and Best Methods of Business Calculations, tells the potential buyer everything one needs to know about the contents of the book.

Although the principal use of the collection is to discover how arithmetic has been taught over time, sometimes the books offer social insights that go well beyond that subject.

For example, Charles Davies Primary Arithmetic, published originally in 1855 and republished in 1883, included a bit of mathematical history. Lesson IV
noted that “the ten figures of Arithmetic were first used in Arabia.” The next sentence is both stereotypical and a historical, “The Arabs are a wandering people, live in tents, [and] have fine horses and camels.” Nevertheless, a child might wonder how these wandering people in their tents came upon the concept of Arabic numbers?

An Arithmetic for High Schools and Normal
Schools,
by Benj. Sanborn & Co., 1902.
That question was silently reinforced by Lesson V, printed on the adjoining page. It shows a “Roman father teaching his son to count” using Roman numerals. Seated in his chair with many scrolls at his side, the Roman father is the proverbial picture of an education rooted in a European cultural tradition harkening back millennia. Despite the weight of the imagery, the seven letters he is teaching to his son as a means of counting is not what Davies will be teaching, and Arabia, not Rome is, as lesson 4 notes, “the country from which we got our ten figures.”

Primary Arithmetic,
by Charles Davies, 1855. 
In an age when “scientific racism” was widely taught and believed, to inform children that something as fundamental as the way Europeans counted was rooted in a non-European culture was a subversive act. It could lead to more questions about what other ideas Europeans had learned from people who “live in tents [and] have fine horses and camels.” In a world where Europeans had declared themselves the biological and intellectual summit of natural evolution, such questions were not ones asked lightly.

Dr. Clason’s gift opens up both social questions and questions that apply directly to the success of today’s STEM programs. We are extraordinarily thankful to him for this gift.

Monday, July 8, 2019

The History of Faygo Pop

by Frank Boles


On Wednesday, June 12, Joe Grimm spoke in the Sarah and Daniel Opperman Auditorium in the Park Library and shared his entertaining history of Faygo, published in his work, The Faygo Book (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2018). The company has been making soda pop, or as Detroiter’s simply call it, “pop”, since 1907. Perry Feigenson had arrived in Detroit two years earlier and opened a bakery. Business was okay, but Perry, who had been a baker since 1900, had come to an unhappy conclusion - the hours were terrible.

Looking for a new business with better hours, he persuaded his brother Ben to join him in Detroit. Ben had worked in a Cleveland soda pop firm, a brother-in-law of the owner. Knowing this, Perry planned to go into the pop business. Unfortunately, after Ben arrived in Detroit, Perry learned his brother knew how to bottle pop, but Ben’s brother-in-law had never shared the flavor formulas. Perry was unconcerned, assuming that it would be simple to adopt the frosting recipes he used as a baker to the purpose.

Oddly enough, this notion worked. Why it worked is anybody’s guess. Harry Lipsky was hired in 1958 as the company chemist. He simply didn’t believe that you could use frosting recipes to flavor pop. Co-founder Perry, who lived until 1964 finally decided one day he was getting too old to personally flavor the pop, and pulled the young chemist aside to demonstrate how to brew Rock & Rye, one of the firm’s signature flavors. After adding a few cups of this and several dashes of that, the old man waved a towel over the final mixture, while speaking an incantation.

Lipsky rolled his eyes at this performance but took careful notes about everything else. After several months work, he scientifically recreated the formula, without the mumbo-jumbo. What resulted looked the same and smelled the same, but it didn’t taste right. He tried again, with the same result. Finally, Lipsky reproduced the entire process as he had been shown it, complete with towel and incantation, and to his amazement the flavor was correct. Lipsky claimed that after that trial, he just gave up the science and made Rock & Rye the old man’s way. Although lacking evidence, Grimm likes to believe someone is still waving a towel and invoking the secret words over every fresh batch of the flavor.

Whether their flavors came about by magic or skill, there was always a lot of them. The Feigenson brothers’ business strategy was to market a wide variety of flavors. Unlike companies like Coke or Dr. Pepper, which put all their effort into a single flavor, Faygo marketed a “rainbow of flavors.” Over the years, the company has marketed over one hundred flavors, some becoming perennial favorites, some selling well for a time but then being retired as sales lagged, and few notable flops. The company even tried to market substitute adult beverages (minus the alcohol) such as Chateaux Faygeaux, and Faygo Brau, which Faygo claimed was only to be sold to those under 21, it lasted five months.

When Perry and Ben opened the Feigenson Brothers Bottling Works in 1907, they faced many problems; one of the more intractable ones was the length of their name. The glass bottles were small, holding only about 7 ounces of beverage. Printing “Feigenson Brothers Bottling Works” on each bottle resulted in some pretty small type. They struggled with a solution for years. Finally, in 1920, they found it. Their pop was renamed, “Faygo,” a nice, short, five letter logo.

Faygo also became memorable for its advertising. Television seemed like a golden opportunity for sales, and as Grimm noted, “no pun was too low, to sell Faygo.” Perhaps the best know commercial appeared in 1956 when the Faygo Kid rode onto the black and white television screen to save the day. When Black Bart held up the “Wells-Faygo Express,” he assured the distraught woman in the coach that all he wanted was the Faygo root beer. The Faygo Kid returned the stolen drink, and when the question is asked, “which way did he go?” Black Bart’s horse delivered the commercial’s tag line, “he went for Faygo!”

In another commercial, Herkimer Bottleneck, whose job was to blow bottles in a pop factory, becomes “too pooped to participate.” His unhappy foreman announces Herkimer will “blow or go," and gives him a bottle of Faygo Uptown. In no time at all, Herkimer is back on the job. Both commercials were made by one of the best animation firms of the day, the same firm which made cartoon classics such as the Flintstones, the Jetsons, and Scooby-Doo.

Jim Henson, who would later invent the Muppets, also created Faygo ads. In ten commercials, each a mere eight seconds long and planned to be used in station identification slots, a Kermit-like Muppet named Wilkins tried to get a grumpy Wontkins to drink some Faygo. Wontkins always says no, and invariably something awful happens to him. The goal was to eschew the hard sell for a laugh, and hopefully, get across the implied moral: never say no to Faygo!

Faygo also employed local celebrities in ads. Detroit Lion’s football player Alex Karras became a regular. Karras was a mountain of a man, who after retiring from football, got even bigger. In one commercial, he is seated in front of a table, facing an enormous pizza and a can of pop. The announcer asks, “Hey um Alex? I thought you were on a diet?” To which Karras replies, "I am on a diet, See? Faygo sugar-free Red Pop. Boy, nobody makes a diet pop as good as Faygo." The announcer takes his point but says, "Yeah, but Alex, what about the pizza." Karras pauses, and then deadpans, "Faygo doesn't make pizza."

Faygo also tried to market is adult-aimed beverages through creative advertising, When Frosh first appeared, an actor doing an impression of WC Fields intoned, "Frosh is made for grown-ups. Yes, indeed. … Any soft drink that's not made for small children can't be all bad." To get the commercial right, Faygo's advertising firm went through 140 potential Fields imitators. When they found the right one, Bill Oberlin, they discovered he couldn't read lines. It took nine hours of taping to get five minutes of commercials. But it was worth the effort.

Faygo today is still marketing a wide variety of pop. Its history was told in colorful detail by Joe Grimm.

Friday, May 10, 2019

Fiftieth Anniversary of President Boyd's Inauguration

by Bryan Whitledge

The handover from one university president to the next is a momentous occasion. The investiture of current CMU president, Bob Davies, on March 19 was no exception. As the CMU News press release noted, there was much “presidential pomp and circumstance.” But pomp and circumstance are not always part of the inauguration program. Sometimes, the word, “interim” is removed from an interim president’s title and the change is completed with little ceremony. On other occasions, the spirit of the times might set an agenda, one to which the new chief executive might be aligned. 50 years ago, on May 12, 1969, such was the case at Central Michigan University.

President Boyd (center) during his inauguration, May, 12, 1969

President William Boyd, who was the Vice Chancellor for Student Affairs at UC-Berkeley, became CMU’s 7th President in July of 1968 and changes were many – CMU ended the policy of in loco parentis in September 1968, the Faculty Association was organizing, and CMU started its first effort to reach out to students of color. In the weeks surrounding the inauguration, things were hopping: Stevie Wonder played a concert; Greek Week occurred; the third annual Gentle Friday was happening; and President Boyd would announce that Dr. Robert Thornton of San Francisco State College – the school that started the first Black Studies program in the country in March 1969 – was going to be on campus to help CMU incorporate Black Studies into the curriculum. There is no doubt that everyone’s plate was full.

In the midst of this change and activity, the plan for the inauguration was envisioned a little differently. As Board of Trustees Chair, Albert J. Fortino, wrote in the invitation sent in March of 1969:
    Contemporary problems highlight the urgency for an institution such as ours to concentrate its efforts and resources toward meeting the needs of all social and economic segments of our society. Central Michigan University will, therefore, allocate the funds which would have been designated for the traditional formal inauguration of Dr. Boyd to a fund to assist disadvantaged students. We hope that you will share the spirit of this inauguration with us. You may in fact, wish to direct the expense funds which may have been incurred ... to your own university’s projects for disadvantaged students.

With the spirit of the occasion laid out, the Monday inauguration ceremony, which started at 2:00 pm, began modestly and rather traditionally. Classes ended at noon so students and other attendees could pile into Finch Fieldhouse for the event. There were remarks from the Governor of the State, William Milliken, as well as performances by the Women’ Glee Club and the Symphony Orchestra. There were also comments from Trustee Fortino, the outgoing student body president, and the chair of the University Senate. The President of Alma College, Rev. Robert D. Swanson, gave the invocation. During his speech, President Boyd spoke about the social unrest of the times – disharmony, revolution, and discontentment – but he also offered the audience some inspirational thoughts about what the future held for CMU: “We now have the resources needed to build [the finest educational institution in the state] here. As a threshold university, we can delight in the happy circumstance that our moment of greatest success should still he ahead.”

Inaugural reception in the University Center, May 12, 1969

After the “informal ceremony,” as the CM Life referred to it, students and the campus community were invited to a reception in the University Center. But the real party was to begin a bit later, when folk singer Buffy Saint-Marie played a concert a 8:00 pm that evening in Finch Fieldhouse. The concert was hosted by the new president as part of his inauguration and was free for everyone.

Students surround Buffy Sainte-Marie, May 12, 1969

In addition to being a popular folk singer and songwriter, Sainte-Marie is also a social activist, and her performance that evening did not hold back. During her performance, Sainte-Marie, who is a member of the Piapot Cree Nation, sang many songs about the plight of indigenous peoples of North America. She also sang about the Vietnam War and other social issues of the time, all of which roused the crowd to their feet on several occasions. As Mary Irvine, who was a freshman at the time, later recalled:

    Buffy Sainte-Marie performing,
    May 12, 1969
    [Sainte-Marie] did a free concert and that place [Finch Fieldhouse] was just full. And after her set, she went off and people were just clapping and yelling. And she came back out and some of the folks up in the balcony in Finch yelled “Universal Soldier” and she did that and she went off [the stage again] and people were going nuts and she came back out. I blurted out very loudly, “My Country ‘Tis of Thy People You’re Dying,” which is a history of Native American problems with the government. And she gave her all and that was the end of that concert.”


Not often does a university president offer students an afternoon off from classes to attend an “informal ceremony,” a reception, and a concert performed by a legend of activism and folk music. Fifty years later, the Boyd inauguration is remembered as a notable moment in the history of Central Michigan University, when the students, the trustees, and the President opted to forego pomp and circumstance in favor of "a 'swinging' ceremony." 

Wednesday, May 8, 2019

Shepherd's Train Calamity

Isabella County, and Mount Pleasant in particular, has been fortunate to have had some excellent local historians. One of our favorite, Hud Keenan, over the years has often provided the librarians at the Clarke Historical Library with answers to local history questions. He wrote the following story a number of years ago. It was never published, and he decided to donate it to the library recently. We thought it deserved to be shared. So we are putting it up on the Clarke blog, as an expression of gratitude for all the help he has provided.
-- John Fierst

Shepherd's Bizarre Log Train Calamity

May 9, 1891


BY HUDSON KEENAN

Coe Township in the southeastern corner of Isabella County was the first township to be organized in the county, in 1855. For governmental purposes it was attached to Midland County for over a decade awaiting settlement of adjacent areas and the organization of Isabella Co. From the beginning the township was recognized for its good farming land and stands of hardwoods. Now in the mid 1880's the economic opportunities of the area broadened in a profound manner. The Toledo, Ann Arbor and Northern Railroad was pushing its way northwestward on a route that would eventually end in Frankfort on Lake Michigan. Salt River had given way to the village of Shepherd located on the new railroad with a station and now a developing village.

Thirty year old Charles Walling had seen these changes and being young and energetic saw a way to make some money in this changing environment. In the early 1890s in central and western Coe Township many stands of high quality hardwood woodlots remained. The papers were full of advertisements for timber for mills manufacturing everything from clothes pins to furniture during those years. An Owosso furniture firm was desirous of obtaining some good saw logs for delivery to its factory. Walling, raised in the Shepherd area, was familiar with Coe Township people, lands and farms. Consequentially he had taken a contract to procure the wanted timber during the winter of 1890-91. The lumbering was completed and the logs were decked ready to be shipped by rail in the spring as soon as arrangements could be made.

The decked trackside timber was at a site known at the time as "Taylor's Hill" which is 2 ½ miles south of the Shepherd village. Not much of a hill, being a part of the gently undulating Gladwin Moraine, it is now farmland. One can view the location just north of the Coe Road crossing of the railroad. Coe road is also an overpass on the 127 expressway. In addition, it is the high point on the railroad grade between Alma and Shepherd.

Since no siding existed at this location a time had to be found when cars could be loaded on the main line. This being the case, special clearance had to be obtained to set a train on the site. Sunday May 9, 1891 was determined as the best time to load the logs.

Train schedules were arranged to clear the main line of traffic. Accordingly, the Toledo, Ann Arbor and Northern dispatched engine #36 a "ten wheeler" with nineteen flat cars and a caboose.

From all accounts, it is fair to say that the conductor of the train, one Sanford Anway, was not in the best humor. His day had started at 2AM when he and his train crew were dispatched from Owosso.

Exactly what time they arrived and started work is not recorded, but it must have been near sunrise. It is known that by 6 PM all but two cars were loaded when it was decided to return to Shepherd for supper. Time was running short for the allotted clearance to be blocking the main line to through traffic.

Walling wanted to finish the job and so on arriving at the station telegraphed the road superintendent, Connors, for permission to return and load the last two cars. His request was honored with the requirement that the job be completed by 9:30 PM. Walling knew that if he didn't get the last two cars he would have to wait at least a week to get clearance to spot two flat cars on the site not to mention the additional expense.

Conductor Anway was tired and let Walling know he was not in favor of going back to load two more cars. Nevertheless he proceeded to the Shepherd depot with the entire train. Next he confirmed the order and requested protection for his train. He was told he needed no protection and further he could leave his loaded cars on the main line within switch limits of the village and thus retain possession of the track.

So engine 36 proceeded to move the loaded cars to the north of Wright Avenue and past the depot in Shepherd. Rear brakeman Charles Carr separated the caboose and 15 loaded cars from the four empty flats. The station agent, watching the proceedings, pointed out to conductor Anway that his train extended beyond the north switch limits of the village by about five cars. He then suggested they be moved within switch limits. Amway took a stem look at the agent. The Mt. Pleasant Enterprise reported his reply; "With an oath he declined to do so and remarked they could run into them if they wanted to."

Charlie Walling's day wasn't getting any better either as he was busy rounding up some additional men to finish loading logs on the flats. Most of the original crew who had worked through the long day refused to go back, instead going their separate ways. In securing more help he approached a number of young men about the depot and offered them 50 cents if they would go and help load the final cars. In this he succeeded. The assembled crew boarded the waiting flats and with a short blast of the whistle, steamed back south to Taylor's Hill.



Our story now turns to the north fifteen miles. Engineer Jim Leathers was on the downgrade coming into Mt. Pleasant from Rosebush. His relatively new engine was the common American type (4-4-0). Trailing behind it as it approached the depot in Mt. Pleasant were 15 flats of logs. The station operator passed up orders to proceed to Shepherd, the time was just after 9 PM.



How fast engine #20 was going as it approached Shepherd is controversial. Some residents of the village said he was going faster than most freights. As many a reader may know the tracks curve from southeast to south as one approaches the north edge of Shepherd. Rounding the curve Leathers received a terrible fright that made his heart jump. At about two train lengths ahead stood the parked log train, previously mentioned. There it was, dead ahead on the main track, its caboose lights glowing in the gathering darkness. What Leathers did next is not all together clear. The Alma Record and the Mt. Pleasant Enterprise give conflicting reports of the events which followed, but the results were the same.

He whistled for the brakes and reversed his engine, but time, distance, grade and momentum were against him. On down the tracks slid #20 until contact was made with the standing caboose. The engine pulverized the wooden caboose to splinters as it worked its way to the last log car which it derailed, sending logs in every direction. The engine then rolled into the ditch, badly damaged. The Alma paper reported that although timbers crashed through the cab, Leathers held to his lever and emerged from the debris without a scratch. The Mt. Pleasant paper reported that, when he could see he could not check his speed, Leathers and his fireman jumped before impact. What they did agree on is that no one sustained a major injury.

But now the story goes on—


Unfortunately, Charles Carr, rear brakeman on the crew of engine 36, for whatever reason, had not set brakes on the loaded log flat cars left at the depot. The impact of train 20 into the caboose had the immediate effect of transferring energy to those standing log flat cars. The thirteen remaining loaded flats of logs started rolling south out of the village on a down grade toward the Little Salt River with ever increasing speed. No mention is made of anyone recognizing at the time the potential disaster these free rolling cars might present. In any event it was too late—they moved quickly away in the darkness.

While all this was happening in Shepherd several miles south at Taylor's Hill conductor Sanford Anway pulled out his pocket watch. It was just a bit after 9:15 PM and at last the loading portion of the job was complete. The train had four cars, two completely loaded behind the tender, followed by one partially loaded and one empty. Most of the men quickly took positions sitting on logs of the partially loaded flat car. Conductor Anway and brakeman Bert Squires also took positions on one of the flats. The signal was given and the engineer threw the lever in reverse and #36 started, backing into Shepherd.

They had gone but a short distance and the train rapidly picked up speed backing through the darkness to join the existing loaded cars of earlier in the day. Walling told Anway that it was not safe to run so fast. That was the wrong thing to say to Conductor Sanford Anway at this point in the day. It was later reported that he turned to Walling and said "Go to Hell, I'm running this train!"

Rolling towards them through the darkness and approaching the river were the impacted log cars from the Shepherd depot. Probably no more than three to four minutes elapsed between the first accident and the second which was about to occur.

It is doubtful if anyone on those flat cars had more than an instant of warning before the impact. Just as the backing train was approaching the Little Salt River the rolling flat cars reached the bridge. The collision was just south of the bridge, the location was in sight of "Kennedy's Corners," today the junction of Pleasant Valley and Shepherd roads. The impact resulted in logs and men flying in all directions. The leading empty flat car was broken in the middle, derailed and slammed into the following partially loaded car with persons aboard. The two fully loaded cars ended up in a pool of water just south of the bridge on the flood plain.

How long it was before outside help arrived in not clear. The engineer and fireman on engine 36 were not injured in the least, being furthest from the impact and protected by the tender as they were backing up on the return trip. Local citizen Ed Kelly drove by shortly after the collision and seeing the carnage ran his horses as fast as possible to Shepherd a mile away for help.

The Shepherd News related that it was but a few moments before the word of the catastrophe had spread over he the entire village. Fire and church bells were rung for the purpose of arousing the populace. The paper reported 200 people were at the scene of the wreck to render assistance as was necessary.

Groups of men arrived on the river flood plain with lanterns. Mostly by brute force they attempted to unscramble the mess. The logs had exacted a toll of death and injury. Three men, all in their twenties, were instantly killed by the crush of logs. They were Zeb Bigelow, Sherwood Clark and Clark Struble. Struble, married and the father of two children, required two hours of continuous work to remove his body from the debris.

Conductor Anway and contractor Wailing were both in the words of one paper "knocked insensible," and for a time it was thought that both would die; however, both were to recover from the experience. The other 12 received an assortment of bruises, lacerations and broken bones. Most of the injured were initially cared for at nearby farm houses. Several days after the Sunday evening wreck, a coroner's jury was convened in Shepherd. They gave their verdict in a long statement blaming Charles Carr, the rear brakeman for negligence and Sanford Anway, the conductor on train 36 with indirect negligence in the death of the three men.

The upshot of the coroner's jury statement was that H.O. Bigelow, father of Zeb Bigelow, one of the three men killed, filed charges of manslaughter against brakeman Carr. Charles Carr was tried in the June 1891 session of the Isabella County Circuit Court. He was acquitted after a two day jury trial. Free Estee, well known local attorney, was appointed in the defense of the accused Charles Carr. He was able to show that the Toledo, Ann Arbor and Northern Railroad work rules for brakeman were such that Carr could not be held liable.

The case faded from the papers with a final note in The Shepherd News They reported the "boys" injured in the accident had settled with T.A.A & N. RR Settlements ranged from George Starr getting $25 to Lewis Cole receiving $75 and two 500 mile tickets on the railroad.

I would suspect people in the Shepherd area talked about the log train calamity for a long time. And—if you are looking at who to blame—well, where would you like to start?