Showing posts with label Dickinson County. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dickinson County. Show all posts

How Barbeque Charcoal was Born in Da Yoopee

Now I know you’re probably thinking to yourself by this point, "Hmm, I haven’t heard anything about Henry Ford in like all of ten minutes, I wonder what he’s—" oh hey, you’re in luck! Here is another of his enterprises, the old Ford Motor Co. plant in Kingsford, commonly known as the "Woodie Plant," where the bodies for the old Ford Woodie station wagons were made.
Note: this post is actually split off from an older one about one of my trips to the Upper Peninsula.


According to Guy Forstrom, who wrote “E.G. Kingsford and the Kingsford Motor Car Company,” if it hadn’t been for Ford building his wood processing plant here in the 1920s, there might not have ever been a town of Kingsford, let alone Kingsford brand charcoal, or the Kingsford High School football team called the “Flivvers.”


Mr. Edward Kingsford, an Upper Peninsula timber cruiser, married a cousin of Henry Ford in 1890 and soon became Ford’s Marquette-area sales agent. In 1919 Ford invited Kingsford on a camping trip to discuss Yoopee lumber resources, which Ford had been lustfully eyeballing since 1912. This of course meant going camping with the “Vagabonds,” as they called themselves—Ford, and his buddies Thomas Edison, Harvey Firestone, and John Burroughs.


Basically Ford was in need of large quantities of timber and a plant that could produce a million board-feet per day, due to the fact that he was cranking out a couple thousand Model-Ts in Highland Park every shift. He also needed a wood distillation facility, which would produce a large quantity of charcoal as a byproduct. I’m sure you can guess where this is going.


Anyway, Mr. Kingsford was going to be the guy who Ford entrusted to handle all of this, and the new plant was where the wooden body pieces for Model Ts would be milled, as well as any other needed wooden pieces such as the planks used in truck beds. The company literally built the entire town of Kingsford in the early 1920s, which looks like a slice of Dearborn slapped onto the Yoopee, bungalows and all.

According to the Historic American Engineering Record (HAER), construction on this plant started in 1921, and by 1925 it boasted of a sawmill, 52 dry kilns, a wood fabricating plant, a hydroelectric plant, a powerplant, three body plants, a commissary, and a chemical plant producing charcoal briquettes, ethyl acetate, and methanol.


The website coachbuilt.com states that automobile bodies were using less wood in their construction by the 1930s, and combined with the onset of the Great Depression this obviously took a great toll on this plant and the work force of Kingsford.

Ford had created a highly skilled labor force there and inasmuch as he felt somewhat responsible for them, he strove to keep the sawmill running by making other wood products, including "pre-cut timber patterns for aircraft manufacturers, ship building, railroad cars and the mining industry."


In 1938 Ford even went as far as to cancel his company's contracts with Briggs Body and moved the station wagon production to Iron Mountain in order to keep this plant running. He retooled it to mill not only the wooden parts needed, but to also perform full body production for those cars from 1937-1939.

Iron Mountain was retooled again by 1943 to build passenger gliders for the U.S. Army Air Force. The first ones were used in the D-day invasion to fly troops into France, Belgium, and Holland. From 1944-1945 this factory built over 4,200 of the gliders (I wrote another post about finding the wreckage of an Army glider elsewhere in Michigan).


I wasn’t sure what would happen here, and expected we might be relegated to taking a few exteriors before leaving. But I was feeling a little stubborn. So after a quick walk around, Navi decided to escape the biting cold winds by waiting in the car while I monkeyed up a girder and into the second floor of the joint.


This building was presumably either Body Plant #2 or #3, as the HAER states that the first body plant was constructed of wood. The interior had a plush green carpet of moss, and not a speck of graffiti anywhere.


After the Arsenal of Democracy days were over, the Ford Empire began changing. Henry retired and his grandson Henry Ford II took over, and immediately began selling off his grandfather's treasured (but anachronistic and unprofitable) "Northern Michigan Operations" and "Village Industries" holdings, which included this plant and other mills, mines, and lands.


According to Guy Forstrom, Ford Motors’ need for wood lessened after WWII, and these sorts of mills were obsolete; the industry was changing, and though Henry Ford did not like change, his grandson was not afraid of adapting to it.

Old, obstinate Henry Ford passed away in 1948, and his iron-fisted control over his company was finally broken. By 1951 his Northern Michigan Operations were all but gone.


In order to save the town the Kingsford Chemical Co. formed and took over the old plant, Forstrom says, who made various products including their famous charcoal briquettes--just in time for all of the barbecues that Americans were about to have in the leisurely postwar era.


At its peak in the 1920s, there were 7,600 Yoopers employed in this plant. Dat’s a lodda doze-guys.


Today it has but a few tenants while much of the complex sits empty. Most of the original buildings that were here have already been demolished.


After I had finished with the upstairs, I risked a peek downstairs, to find that it might not necessarily be abandoned:


Not wanting to set off the only motion detector in the Upper Peninsula, I went back up and joined Navi in the truck to warm my frozen fingers. It just so happened that our next item of business was not far away at all, just a mile or two away in Breitung.


References:
Photographs of Kingsford, Dickinson County, Michigan, by William John Cummings
Hunt's Guide to Michigan's Upper Peninsula, by Mary Hoffman Hunt & Don Hunt, p. 132-33
Upper Peninsula of Michigan Inventory of Historic Engineering and Industrial Sites, HAER (1978), p. 58-59
http://www.coachbuilt.com/bui/i/iron_mountain/iron_mountain.htm
http://www.kingsford.com/our-heritage/

Huron Mtns Trip, Pt. 13: “Two Bridges Too Far”

October, 2012.

Return to Part 12

Day 7, continued.
Leaving Kingsford behind, I knew of a potentially disused railroad bridge just a few blocks away in Breitung that might prove entertaining. It spanned high across the Menominee River to Wisconsin, but we would probably have to hike about another mile along the tracks.


Here we were. The rails were a little shinier than I would’ve liked, but so far no signs of impending danger.


I walked out to approximately the state line before turning back.


Recalling how my comrade Devnull met his end, I didn’t want any of that so I scramdaddled the hell out of there.




Looks like a few good bonfires may’ve been lit up here as well, by the scorch marks:


According to an article in the Iron Mountain Daily News, three Michigan teenagers were killed (and a fourth wounded) under this bridge while swimming on July 31st of 2008 by Army veteran Scott Johnson, who was shooting at them with a rifle from the Wisconsin side.

I had no idea this tragedy occurred there until I began writing this post, as there was no memorial present at the site like you usually see in Detroit. An NBC News article goes into even more gory detail on the killer's motives. It even made it into the New Yorker.


Johnson later mentioned the bridge again in a speech he made before he was sentenced. “The train bridge has been washed in the blood that I spilled,” he said. “The beauty of that place has been cursed by my actions. My memorial is made of iron and concrete.”

Yikes.


Anyway, moving on to less-grisly matters...

The Historic American Engineering Record says that the Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul, & Pacific RR reached Iron Mountain in 1886, so this is probably the second bridge built on this site, completed in 1902. 


The date 1902 was stamped into the concrete of this footing:


According to HistoricBridges.org the span is historically significant, and has a span length of 207 feet. They note it was also used by the Escanaba & Lake Superior RR, and call it "one of the most unusual bridges ever to be encountered." They then launch into a very technical description of why this is, which I admittedly skimmed through, but can be read in full by clicking the link.


The reasoning behind the unorthodox design, HistoricBridges asserts, was that it "reduced the materials required for the bridge, while also avoiding unwanted stresses that were present in other designs." It was also chosen due to the steep geography found here.

Not sure what this sticker says...CITY OF CHICAGO?


We now continued toward Menominee, da Yoopee’s southernmost city, by shooting down US 41. My plan was to take M-35 along the lakeshore to get back up toward Escanaba afterward. As you can see by that map, Menominee is at a latitude about equivalent to that of Gaylord, in the Lower Peninsula. Not too many parts of da Mitten can claim to be fur’der norf dan da Yoopee, eh.


Just before rolling into town we spotted this old schoolhouse. Anxious to explore something in a new county, I sent Navi to scope it out real quick, but he reported it to be full of stored auto parts belonging to the mechanic’s garage next door. As I would later learn, this schoolhouse belonged to the now defunct village of Wallace.

On we continued, until a cool old factory caught our eye:


Apparently a still-operating furniture factory. Home of da Lloyd Loom since 1906, eh! Moving on toward downtown, we stopped at the Menominee County Courthouse, our fourth one of the day:


Had we been here a year or two earlier, we might have had our way with an abandoned Lloyd Theater, but signs of impending renovation were evident:




Respectable downtown:


We decided to hit up the Menominee North Pier Light before getting grub and beers:


Nearby we scoped this old bucket tied up to the Wisconsin side of the river:


It was a cold, windy motherfucker outside today, so we hastened over the bascule bridge for a quick couple pics before racing back to the Michigan side for a warm bar. View up the Menominee River:


By the style of the hull, I would guess that this boat could be up to 100 years old.


The topography barely visible on the horizon here is that of Wisconsin’s Door Peninsula:


This was also my first real look at Green Bay.

The ship is the former William H. Donner, a freighter that was launched in 1914, and in the 1990s ended its life here, converted for storage use. It was towed to be scrapped at the Soo in 2020.


We didn’t see any easy way on board, and it seemed to still be in active use as a storage unit of sorts, so we turned and walked back to Michigan, past the proudly still-operating paper mill.

Wasting no time after dinner we headed up the shore to the north side of Escanaba where I knew of an old crumbling ruin of a bridge spanning the river. Again we were racing the sunset, but as we were making our last turn to get to this now disconnected neighborhood, we halted in our tracks at the sight of an unexpected ruin of considerable size:


We were so caught off-guard that after trading the quick raised-eyebrow glance that only serial trespassers like us can trade, we decided to go do the bridge real quick first, then come back to this hulking plant that sat across from some potentially watchful houses.


This bridge looks like it used to connect a small residential neighborhood to the rest of Escanaba via North First Street, but for whatever reason that must no longer have been important at some point. 


The Historic American Engineering Survey (HAER) called it the "County Route 517 Bridge" in the c.1978 report on the Upper Peninsula. It was built in 1911 they wrote, a massive concrete girder bridge that was "in ruins" even back then, with its southernmost spans removed. The 16 spans still standing at that time measured 630 feet long and 20 feet wide.


Now it drops massive chunks into the Escanaba River while trees take root in its ever-narrowing roadbed.


Even the steel railroad trestle next to it is of a unique old-school type, and still used. Beneath it, and on the other side of it you can see the ruined footings of apparently even older bridges:


Some dude commented on my Panoramio photo of this truss bridge, saying that this steel "lattice-through-truss" design was common on the Chicago & Northwestern RR, so it may have been built by them for the Wisconsin Central RR.

The HAER confirms this, saying that it was built by the Lassig Bridge & Iron CO. of Chicago in 1892.


We discussed the ruined building we had passed on the way here, and the fact that as we passed it we saw an open gate where we could drive right the hell in, despite a few NO TRESPASSING signs.


We decided that this was the best course of action—a lightning assault; a quick go in and get out, since the sun was about set anyway. Run through and get our pics and leave before anyone had a chance to react to our presence.


Turns out this is the former Delta County Roadhouse, or so I've been told...


...So now I have to wonder if the closure of this place was what subsequently prompted the disuse of the County Route 517 Bridge, since nothing much else remains in this corner of town besides a few houses, and since the road commission would have been the very agency responsible for the bridge's upkeep anyway.


They were both probably done away with as a cost-cutting measure, and the road commission moved to a newer facility in a better location that wouldn’t need a bridge.


Too bad for the residents in that neighborhood, I guess. Now they have a place for their kids to skateboard and drink Old Style.


I think every budding teenager needs an abandoned ruin to play around in. It's the Michigan way.


Unfortunately I can't find any sources readily available talking about this site in depth, or confirming what it actually is.


The complex was actually quite large:


I imagine this is where Delta County’s fleet of massive wing plows were parked, awaiting the call to do battle against the White Plague.


Speaking of the White Plague, we were only 12 hours away from seeing the first snowfall of the year, and it was only October 4th!




Oh hey, there’s Lake Michigan:


Specifically, that’s Little Bay de Noc. It was now nightfall, and we were feeling the cold in our shutter-fingers, so retreat was in order. I had designs on stopping to see the ruins of the Nahma Burner along US-2 on our way back to the Mackinac Bridge, but it would be dark well before we got there, so I’ll save that for another trip. Our plan was to get a motel in the Manistique area that had TV so Navi could catch another sports game.

CLICK for part 14


References: