"Really
don't mind if you sit
this one out."
These
opening words to
Jethro Tull’s 1972
concept album, “Thick
as a Brick,” seem to
pop into my head every
time I try to pray
about who it is I
should vote for in
this bizarre
presidential election
of 2016. The
only time I find
myself in real
agreement with either
of the questionable,
and highly
disagreeable, major
party candidates is
when one points a
crooked finger at the
other and pronounces
him or her unfit to
serve. I know
I’m not alone in
this. And it’s
not like either of the
unlikely third party
candidates inspire any
great confidence, and
it’s not like I’m
alone in this
assessment
either. It would
seem to me that if
each state placed
“none of the above” at
the bottom of ballot,
President Above would
be elected in a
landslide. And
the nation would be
the better for it.
What’s
a citizen to do?
That’s a really tough
question and it is not
one to which I have
any answer.
Anyone who has joined
these monthly visits
in print on a regular
basis knows that I am
pessimistic about the
future of America on a
good day and, because
of this, it takes
little to get me
spinning stories “back
down the years and the
days of my
youth.” Such
stories have come to
form the basis for
these monthly
excursions into my
advancing old age, as
I have come to realize
that much of the
analysis of my youth
was faulty and myopic
anyway.
Experience has the
distinct advantage of
hindsight, which is
always 20/20.
The
theme of this month,
leading up to the
election which is now
(thankfully) on the
near November horizon,
and, borrowing a line
once more from “Thick
as a Brick,” is “What
do you do when the old
man’s gone?”
In
the 1957 docudrama
movie Hellcats
of the Navy,
the “Old Man” is
Commander Casey Abbot,
portrayed by then
future President of
the United States,
Ronald Reagan.
As the election
approaches, and as a
respite from it, Jean
and I have taken to
indulging in something
of an ongoing nightly
festival of Ronald
Reagan movies. I
am especially enjoying
such postwar fare as That
Hagen Girl,
costarring the ever
adorable Shirley
Temple as a maligned
teen, Bedtime
for Bonzo,
the much panned, but
thoroughly enjoyable,
moral comedy
costarring the title
chimp, and Storm
Warning a
taught, film noir
thriller in which
Reagan plays crusading
prosecutor Burt
Rainey, a man bent on
exposing and ridding
his town of the Klu
Klux Klan. We
have taken to watching
movies from this era
in general, as I find
myself much more able
to identify with and
understand the world I
was born into than the
one I find myself
living in today.
And the cars were so
much cooler.
During
the 1980’s, when
Ronald Regan was
president, I was a
much younger and much
less cynical man than
the old coot I have
become.
President Reagan was
in no small part
responsible for this.
In
the foundering
industrial economy of
Michigan in the late
70’s, Jean and I saw
our future in central
Michigan as limited,
and knew our prospects
for financial
advancement were
hampered by the
encroaching economic
phenomenon of the
“rust belt.” We
sought relief by
moving to Saginaw in
1980, only to discover
that this once
thriving community was
well on the way to
becoming the blight
upon the landscape
that it is
today. By 1982
we were ready to
listen to my dad’s
Horace Greely-esque
advice to “Go south,
young man, go
south!” And so
we moved to San Carlos
Park, Florida, just
south of Fort Myers,
and just down the
street from my folks’
winter
residence. My
dad was right that the
economy was booming
here, and by the
spring of 1983, I was
working as the night
auditor at the Sundial
Beach and Tennis
Resort, a 450-unit
condominium property
on Sanibel
Island. By the
time my dad passed
away in 1985, I was
general manager of a
50 room motor inn with
a restaurant and bar,
and had acquired a
knowledge of
accounting and
administration that
had me confident that
I could succeed at
whatever I wanted to
do, at least in the
hospitality
business. And by
1987, the Reagan
recovery was in full
swing and I now
believed I could
succeed even in my
native Michigan.
So back we went in
search of the American
Dream. And, what
do you know? We
found it!
We
packed up our two
cars, Jean’s 1975
Mercury Marquis and my
1966 Buick Special
and, along with our
friend and partner,
Carl Maucieri, we
headed north up I-65
towards Michigan in
April of 1987.
By the time we made
this move, Carl had
supported and
furthered my hotel
career as a desk clerk
when I was assistant
front office manager
at Sundial, and as my
lead auditor when I
was night manager at
the Marco Beach
Hilton. He
rescued and rebuilt
the night audit when I
was controller at the
Airport Ramada, and
was my operations
manager when I was
general manager of the
San Carlos Inn.
Carl was single, about
23 at the time, and up
for an
adventure. It
seemed logical that he
would throw in with
Jean and me and our
four kids, and we were
all excited at heading
north together to seek
our fortune.
We
ended up in Leelanau
County, that little
finger of land that
sticks out into Lake
Michigan on the west
side of Traverse City,
and which by
reputation, and in
reality, is truly one
of the most beautiful
places on planet
earth. I
immediately got work
auditing at the
Homestead Resort in
Glen Arbor, and Jean
and Carl went house
hunting and came
across just what we
needed: an old 19th
century farmstead that
needed “TLC,” as the
real estate agents
call it. The
price was right, and
by pooling our
resources we were able
to scrape up a small
down payment. We
bought the home of our
dreams from a man
named Ken Shalda on a
handshake and a land
contract. The
next spring, we bought
Bass Lake Cottages, a
rundown little
three-unit cottage
resort from Ken’s
brother, Dale, and did
this in similar
fashion with little
down, another
handshake, and another
land contract.
The
properties we
purchased were located
in the northern end of
the Sleeping Bear
Dunes National
Lakeshore, with the
farmstead and its five
acres, and the
cottages and their two
acres, like islands of
private property in
the sea of 70,000
acres of national
parkland that
surrounded us.
The barn had been
painted in a patriotic
mural for the
Bicentennial in 1976
and was a local
landmark. The
cottages sat across
from picturesque and
undeveloped Bass Lake,
and the house on a
corner with one of the
crossroads ending at
the pristine beach at
Lake Michigan.
It was, to say the
least, a beautiful,
natural setting in the
summertime, and in
winter, with the ample
snowfall we received,
our home looked like a
scene lifted from a
Currier and Ives
Christmas card.
The
Sleeping Bear Dunes
National Lakeshore was
established in 1970
when the federal
government acquired
what had previously
been a much smaller
state park and decided
to expand it.
The establishment of
the park had been
preceded by 9 years of
bitter controversy due
to the fact that this
expansion meant that
much private property
had to be acquired,
and the 1600 local
people directly
affected were leery of
both losing their
homes, and their
quality of life, due
to the expected
drastic increase in
tourism. The
draconian way in which
the National Park
Service then proceeded
with the federal park
project proved these
fears were not at all
unfounded. The
resulting illegal
strong arm tactics of
the land acquisition
officer, and the
condescending attitude
of other NPS
personnel, greatly
angered the local
folks embroiled in all
of this, and alienated
many others who were
appalled at the way
their neighbors were
being treated.
There was much wailing
and gnashing of teeth,
this went on for many
years, and it resulted
in a successful
lawsuit in federal
court. The story
of all of this anguish
is beyond the scope of
the story I’m telling
here, but anyone
interested can read
all about it in an
excellent book on the
subject titled, Sixties
Sandstorm: The Fight
over Establishment
of a Sleeping Bear
Dunes National
Lakeshore, 1961-1970
by Brian Kait [1].
Jean
and Carl and I were,
of course, oblivious
to all of this when we
purchased the
farmhouse property in
the spring of
1987. Shortly
after we moved in,
Assistant Park
Superintendent Ray
Kimpel stopped by and
introduced himself to
Carl and I, and
welcomed us to the
area. Our
conversation with Mr.
Kimpel was informal,
warm and
unpretentious, and he
invited us to call him
personally if we had
any questions or
concerns about the
NPS.
As
we got better
acquainted with the
local folks, we were
quickly regaled with
many horror stories
concerning the
establishment and
operation of the park,
and we became
understandably
concerned. Our
thought was to take a
direct approach, so we
called the park
headquarters in Empire
and asked Mr. Kimpel
if he could stop by
when he was up in our
area. When he
arrived, we told him
about the stories we
were hearing and he
was very
straightforward with
us: “The Park Service
made a lot of mistakes
and created a lot of
bad feelings in the
way it went about
creating the National
Lakeshore,” he told
us. “The goal of
the Reagan
Administration has
been to try to mend
fences and right
wrongs as best we can,
but the hurt runs deep
and we haven’t been as
successful as we would
like in gaining the
trust of a lot of
people.” He
further explained that
he would do his best
to make sure we had no
problems with the NPS,
and what he asked in
return was that we
simply follow the
rules and tell our
neighbors that we were
being treated
fairly. And for
many years we were and
we didn’t hesitate to
tell anyone who would
listen.
When
we were deciding
whether or not to buy
Bass Lake Cottages
from Dale Shalda in
the spring of 1988, we
discussed the idea
with Ray Kimpel and he
was very supportive
and encouraging as
usual. He told
us we were being “good
stewards” in the way
we were working with
the farm property and
thought we were up for
the bigger challenge
the cottages
represented. The
challenge was found in
the fact that all of
the buildings needed
updating and repairs,
but mostly it was the
junkyard surrounding
the cottage in which
Dale lived that posed
the greatest problem.
Now
Dale Shalda was one of
the very best friends
I ever had, and was
like a big brother and
father figure to
me. The first
time I met him was
shortly after we moved
into the farmhouse,
the house he had grown
up in, and he stopped
over to introduce
himself. I was
struggling to get the
used Sears garden
tractor I had just
bought to run right,
and with a couple of
quick tweaks to a
screw on the
carburetor, he had it
running perfectly in a
matter of
seconds. Looking
over the glasses that
hung on his crooked
nose, and with a
dribble of tobacco
juice staining his
bushy beard, he said,
“I’m about to be the
best friend you ever
had.” And he was
true to his word right
up until the day he
died in September of
2001.
Dale
and his wife Lois
became family to us
and we wouldn’t have
made it in northern
Michigan without
them. The
Shaldas were one of
the founding families
in Leelanau County,
with roots going back
to the early 1860’s,
and when Dale Shalda
said you were alright,
as he did with us,
people believed him
and we were accepted
and appreciated in our
new community from the
time we arrived until
we departed.
Space doesn’t permit
me to tell you a
fraction of all of the
things that Dale and
Lois did for us or how
much they meant to
us. There are so
many stories.
They referred to us as
“the kids” and it
wasn’t like we were
family, we actually
were. This was
so much the case that
when people used to
ask if we were
related, and I would
tell them that we were
family related by
property.
Dale
and Lois had moved to
Leelanau County in
1968 when Dale’s dad,
Louis Shalda, passed
away. Louie ran
the family farm and
worked as a handyman,
while his wife,
Louise, ran Bass Lake
Cottages during the
summer tourist
season. They did
this from the time the
cottages opened in
1937 until Louie got
sick with cancer and
subsequently died over
30 years later.
Dale came home to look
after his folks, and
he and Lois moved into
the biggest of the
cottages. Louise
insisted that they
split this parcel off
of the cottage
property and quit
claimed it to
Dale. Dale was a
body man and mechanic
by trade, and set up
shop in the old garage
that served as storage
space for the boats,
picnic tables and
other outdoor
amenities of the
cottages. He
then put up a pole
barn next to the
garage and ran this
operation as Bass Lake
Body Shop.
In
need of cash in 1978,
Dale sold his property
to the NPS but
maintained possession
of it on a 25-year
leaseback. This
was a common practice
during the time when
the park was acquiring
property, and what it
meant for Dale and
Lois was an influx of
needed cash and the
ability to stay put
until 2003.
Leasebacks were
transferable, and when
we bought the cottage
property, we also
bought the remaining
time on Dale’s
leaseback.
The
bylaws of Sleeping
Bear Dunes National
Lakeshore outline
compliant and
non-compliant usages
for property owned by
private parties within
the boundaries of the
park. The owners
of such properties are
called “inholders,”
and inholders are
required to be
compliant in the usage
of their property and
are also bound by what
the NPS calls their
right to “scenic
easement.” This means
the appearance of the
property.
Tourist cottages are a
compliant usage and
scenic easement means
they must be kept up
to park
standards. By
the time we purchased
the cottages in 1988,
they were in such a
state that they were
pushing the boundaries
of scenic
easement. Dale’s
body shop was not only
a non-compliant usage,
but the expansive
junkyard of discarded
auto parts surrounding
it was beyond the pale
when it came to scenic
easement.
Needless to say, the
park management wanted
this situation cleaned
up and badgered Dale
about it constantly,
yet somehow he got
away with it until he
sold it to us.
We bought the cottages
and the leaseback for
a very attractive
price, and took
responsibility for the
cleanup.
We
couldn’t do much that
first season. We
cleaned the grounds up
and did some minimal
repairs to the two
smaller buildings,
which we dubbed “the
Cottage” and “the
Cabin” because one was
a frame cottage and
the other was a
vertical log cabin.
The bigger one sat in
Dale’s junkyard and we
would eventually call
it “the Lodge,” but
for this first summer,
we simply put snow
fence around the
junkyard and tried to
act like it wasn’t
there. The
inside of the building
needed extensive
remodeling, so it just
sat. In the
fall, I hired my
cousin, Dave, a
terrific and very
professional
landscaper, and Dave,
Carl and I tackled the
job of removing the
junkyard. After
an engine block and a
couple of
transmissions, we
found what remained to
be mostly discarded
(and much lighter)
body parts and
miscellaneous small
junk, and we had most
of this Herculean task
accomplished before
the snow flew.
Heidi
Swanson, who had been
our night PBX operator
at the Marco Beach
Hilton, called early
on in the summer and
wanted to know if she
could visit.
She’d been in a bad
relationship and
needed to get
away. We had
lots of room and said,
“Sure.” She and
Carl quickly became a
couple, and they ended
up moving into the
Lodge that
winter. They
were married in the
spring, and so we
bought out Carl’s
interest in the
properties and they
moved out on their
own. Jean and I
were able to borrow
money from her family
trust for this and to
put into the cottages,
but times were very
tough and money was
tight for us.
Jean worked at the
Bluebird, a legendary
local restaurant and
bar in Leland, and
made good money.
I worked as a night
auditor at the Days
Inn in Traverse City
and spent my days
managing and running
Bass Lake Cottages.
Our
most trying time
started in the late
fall, during deer
season, when a faulty
gas line burned the
Cottage beyond
repair. We
already had a pretty
challenging spring
mapped out. The
junkyard was cleaned
up but the landscaping
of the grounds hadn’t
started yet.
Cousin Dave was going
to help me do that in
the spring – or rather
I was going to help
him. We had to
figure out something
for décor for the
interior of the Lodge
and make numerous
small repairs.
Now we had to remove
the ruins of the
cottage and build a
new one.
Bass
Lake Cottages was a
forlorn sight when the
insurance adjuster
came to look at the
burned out
cottage. One
building in ruins, the
others needing work,
and the grounds
covered in a light
dusting of snow that
didn’t begin to hide
the
deficiencies.
“Did this thing make
money?” The insurance
adjuster asked,
looking around.
I knew what he was
thinking. “Yes,”
I said. “I know
that doesn’t seem
possible right now,
but it did.” I
explained our business
plan and told him I
couldn’t recover if I
couldn’t replace this
building. He
looked me in the eye,
said, “Okay,” and
began taking
photographs and
measurements. In
a couple of weeks, we
had a check sufficient
for a new cottage.
The
Park Service was aware
of our situation and
sympathetic. I
called Ray Kimpel to
tell him we were going
to be able to rebuild
the cottage in the
spring, and also
informed him that we
had the junkyard
removed and were also
going to redo the
landscaping.
We
hired a local
contractor named Jim
Patterson, who would
become our close
friend, and he laid
out a plan for the
replacement cottage
that would actually be
a big improvement over
the original. We
had reservations
booked for Memorial
Day weekend, which
meant, given the long,
northern Michigan
winter, we had about
seven weeks to
accomplish all that we
needed to get done.
On
April 1, the ruins of
the cottage were
removed, and the
excavation was done
for the foundation
within the first
week. Jim
Patterson worked on
the new cottage every
day and the building
took shape
quickly. He came
up with the idea of
rough cut hemlock
boards as a rustic
paneling for the
Lodge, and he and I
would work on this at
night along with
making other repairs
and improvements.
Cousin Dave discovered
that Dale’s junkyard
actually went nearly a
foot down into the
sandy soil, and so he
removed twelve inches
of dirt and replaced
it with clean sand and
topsoil. He made
a volleyball court
with 10 yards of fine
quality beach sand we
had hauled in, and we
laid out flower beds
bordered by some old
creosote soaked logs
that Dale had left
behind. We
planted them with
shady mix grass
seed. The grass
looked so nice I never
did put in the flowers
we originally
planned. The
rest of the yard was
seeded and watered,
and within a few
weeks, we had a lush
and pretty lawn that
belayed the fact that
a junkyard had ever
been there. We
surrounded all three
buildings with wood
chips and this not
only looked
spectacular it had the
added benefit of
controlling the sand
tracked in on the new
carpeting.
It
was near the end of
this process in May
when Ray Kimpel
stopped by to see how
we were doing.
Needless to say, he
was impressed and even
more so when Cousin
Dave explained how
thorough his cleanup
had been. “We
went twelve inches
down and caught a
couple of
environmental issues
before they became
bigger problems,” he
told Mr. Kimpel.
Ray assured him that
the Park Service was
just as delighted
about that as we were.
As
I was walking Ray back
to his truck, he
noticed the wood chips
being laid down in
such a way as to
reincorporate the
Lodge back into the
cottage grounds.
He stopped in front of
his truck and turned
and asked me if I was
planning on using the
Lodge as a transient
tourist rental cottage
like the other
two. I said, “Of
course,” and my heart
sank when he said,
“You know, you can’t
do that.” I told
him I was under the
impression that
returning the Lodge to
its original usage was
compliant and
compatible with park
goals. He said,
“It is if you own the
building, but you
don’t – the NPS
does. The
contract you purchased
from Dale is binding
on you. Single
family residential use
only.”
“Look,
Ray,” I began, “I’ve
got my money, my
wife’s family’s money
and my blood sweat and
tears tied up in
this…” He stopped me.
“I’m
not telling you what
you should do,” he
said. “I’m just
informing you of the
situation. As
far as the park is
concerned, we’re
delighted with what
you’ve done here and
we agree with you that
this is the best usage
for the
property. In
fact, it restores it
to the original usage
and that’s what the
Master Plan calls
for. The last
thing we want is a
long term rental
situation where
somebody has cars up
on blocks in the
yard. You just
fixed that for
us. We don’t
have enough money in
our budget to keep all
our vehicles on the
road at the same
time. We
couldn’t have done
what you did.
What I am telling you
is that as long as it
isn’t a problem for
anybody else, it isn’t
a problem.”
It
was never a problem
and that was the last
I ever heard about
this.
In
these early years, we
operated the cottages
only during the summer
and closed down when
deer season ended at
the end of
November. Jean
worked one winter as a
ski lift operator at
Sugar Loaf, a nearby
ski resort, and I
waited table at the
J&S Hamburg in
Traverse City.
We would scrape by
this way until spring
and then set up for
summer and that
glorious time when the
tourists and their
money would
return. This was
a very delicate
balance, and when Jean
developed an issue
with arrhythmia and
was unable to work for
the summer of 1990, it
plunged us into an
unforeseen financial
crisis.
The
solution we came up
with, based upon much
prayer and soul
searching, was to put
the farm and cottages
up for sale and go
back to Florida.
When I was able to
rekindle my
hospitality career at
the Marco Beach
Hilton, we put this
all in God’s hands and
bade our life, friends
and acquired family in
Leelanau County a
teary farewell.
I
soon discovered that
my heart was in
running my own rustic
little business, not
in working in some big
ritzy hotel. I
was homesick and
miserable. Jean
was able to stay home
in the nice house we
had rented in Naples
and take care of the
kids, and this was
healing and
restorative for
her. She quickly
regained her health.
There was no interest
in our property in
Michigan, and so our
life hung in limbo
like this until one
day in mid-winter, out
of the blue, a deposit
check arrived for the
upcoming summer.
We had never thought
to announce to our
guests that we were
selling out, and
expected to pass any
business we booked
along to the new
owners. When another
check arrived the next
day and then another,
the will of God became
clear to us at last,
and we quickly decided
to go home and give it
another try. I
decided that it was
all or nothing and
that once we were open
in the spring, Bass
Lake Cottages would
never close
again. And it
never did.
Once
we were back home it
seemed like things
really started to fall
into place for
us. Jean’s folks
bought a condominium
at the Homestead and
asked us to manage it
for them. We
easily rented out the
weeks they weren’t
there. From this
start we got the
contract for a very
nice three-bedroom
house on Little Glen
Lake. Old Mike
Mannick had two
cottages down the road
from us on the far end
of Bass Lake, and when
one of his renters
nearly burned one of
them down, and I was
able to put the fire
out before the fire
department arrived, he
almost begged us to
take over the
management of his
place. Suddenly,
we were in the
vacation rental
management
business. We
kept Bass Lake
Cottages open all
winter along with a
few of our managed
properties, and we
soon had the warm
feeling of knowing
that when fall came we
would still be around
in the spring.
During
the summer of 1991, we
had rented a room in
the house to a young
man Jean new from the
Bluebird named Andy
McFarlane. Andy
was fresh out of
college and we traded
him his room for work
done around the farm
and cottages. He
fancied himself
“recreation director”
at Bass Lake Cottages,
but this never really
amounted to much other
than an amusement for
us. He brewed
beer in our kitchen
and we found it much
less amusing when he
blew up a batch all
over the stove.
But the kids loved
Andy and we did too,
and this was all good
for all of us.
We
didn’t at all see it
coming that it would
be Andy who would
provide the final
piece to our business
puzzle when he asked
to rent all three
cottages for a late
fall weekend.
All he told us was
that he was gathering
some friends for a
“brainstorming”
session on the
“internet.” We
knew it had something
to do with networking
computers, but that
was about it. He
came away with the
idea that he was going
to start a business
building web
sites. We didn’t
realize that he was
about to start one of
the earliest and to
this day most
successful web based
companies in northern
Michigan. We
simple decided it was
easier to give him the
$140 fee he wanted to
develop and build a
web site for us than
to listen to him
incessantly pitching
the idea to us.
We didn’t see the
significance in being
the first hospitality
business in Leelanau
County to have a web
presence at
first. When I
noticed that people
were really starting
to pay attention to
our web site, I sent
Andy a link to
hilton.com. “Can
you build us a sight
with online booking
and all of this other
stuff?” I asked.
“Sure!” he said.
“All the bells and
whistles you
want!” Soon we
had a state of the art
hospitality web site
and found we had
harnessed the power of
internet marketing.
Our
growth now was only
limited by what we
wanted to do with this
new found marketing
power, and we made the
conscious decision
that what we wanted
was to maintain the
lifestyle we were
leading. Jean
and I saw ourselves as
a modern day
continuance of Louie
and Louise Shalda, and
our goal was to
maintain their home
and the spirit of
their time in
ours. This would
keep us in compliance
with the park and with
our country
lifestyle. Louie
farmed crops on the
additional 40 acres
that the NPS now
owned. I farmed
cottages, but the end
result was the
same. We
referred to ourselves
as “simple country
folks with awesome
high technology,” but
“simple country folks”
was the goal and the
reality.
The
language of the Reagan
era NPS included terms
like “shared
stewardship,”
“community
partnership,” and
“cooperative
agreement.” The
budgetary issues in
federal agencies
during the 80’s were
the result of a shift
in federal spending to
the defense initiative
that would eventually
result in “Star Wars”
and the economic
defeat of the Soviet
Union. Decreased
funding meant that
park administrators
had no choice to but
to seek and gain the
cooperation of
inholders and other
members of the local
community if they
wished to achieve the
higher agenda set for
them in
Washington. This
was by design.
And it meant that
those like us, who
understood the park’s
vision and sought to
achieve it by
committing our own
private resources to
it, were appreciated
as partners and as an
invaluable component
in achieving the goal
of providing the
visitors to the parks
the value
intended.
“Recreational
opportunity” was to be
balanced with
“ecological and
historical
preservation,” but the
overall goal was to
provide the taxpayer
citizen maximum return
on his
investment. We
thrived in these
circumstances.
And while I flat out
said that we wouldn’t
have made it in
Leelanau County
without the Shaldas
and all they did for
us, it shouldn’t be
lost on anyone that
this is also equally
true of the National
Park Service.
The
Reagan years ended in
1989. George
H.W. Bush became
president and the
major change we
observed in the
Sleeping Bear Dunes
National Lakeshore was
an increase in
budget. Newer
vehicles and more
staffing. Added
programs for visitors
and new signage.
Key personnel pretty
much stayed in place
and, while the overall
philosophy of the park
management seemed to
be a little more
distant, we still
maintained a positive
and constructive
relationship with the
rangers and the other
staffers we came in
contact with. We
knew them and they
knew us by this time
and we all knew what
to expect from each
other. The
appearance that the
park administration
wanted maintained was
“at acquisition,” and
during the summer our
1960’s era vehicles
and 1953 Ford “N”
tractor meant anyone
driving by our place
essentially was seeing
a snapshot from this
period. This
exceeded the park’s
expectation of us, and
it was surely a nice
touch.
I
was proud to be an
American in those
days. I had
bought into the
“Reagan Revolution”
and it had paid off
for me. I had
worked hard in Florida
to become a successful
hotel manager and I
had. I even
dressed in dark,
pinstriped three-piece
business suits and
always wore a white
shirt, just like the
president. In
the days on the farm I
was in cotton work
shirts and jeans, like
the president when he
took time off at the
Reagan Ranch.
People scoff at
“trickle-down”
economics today, but
the economy trickled
down to us and the
harder we worked, and
the better we got at
what we did, the more
the faucet
opened. And we
made sure it trickled
down from us.
Starting with Carl and
Heidi, and then with
several other couples
and individuals, we
helped spin successful
small businesses off
of ours. I built
accounting systems,
offered business
advice, and dedicated
my time and expertise
to anyone who needed
or asked for my
assistance. We
all shared our talents
in this way and did
for each other, and
when one succeeded we
all did and we
celebrated it.
It
seems funny to me now
that there was such a
place and time when I
loved my country and
my country loved me
like this, but at the
time it seemed like it
would never end.
I would walk out to
the flagpole by the
Bicentennial Barn each
morning and hoist the
stars and stripes and
proudly watch the red,
white and blue wave
gently in the fresh
summer breeze that
blew in off of Lake
Michigan. We
were proud of the
simple but strong
rural culture around
us in which business
was conducted with a
handshake and a
contract was just
something to keep a
lawyer happy. We
left our houses
unlocked in case a
neighbor needed to
come in and borrow
something. We
left the keys in our
cars because that way
we’d know where to
find them. In
all the years we were
in business, I told my
customers, “Your check
is as good as gold”
and each and every one
was. The slogan
we put on our brochure
was, “It’s still
America here.”
It was and we were
proud of it.
People really
responded to
this. They
wanted it to still be
America somewhere, and
we heard their stories
about how it wasn’t
where they were from,
and this prompted Dale
Shalda to say that,
“The difference
between us and them is
that we’re happy and
they’re not.” It
was true and we knew
it and we thanked God
for it. And it
was this that sold
more people on
Leelanau County than
the National Lakeshore
ever did.
When
Bill Clinton became
president in 1993
things began to
change. Park
staffing and
management
changed. Rangers
who were perceived as
being too much a part
of the local community
left and new ones
appeared. Those
who were friendly and
personable with the
locals didn’t last
long. The
veterans who did stay
were those who were
the longest tenured
and they now spoke
cautiously and
guardedly with the
locals if at
all. The
language changed and a
new Master Plan was in
the works. Terms
like “designated
wilderness”
“biodiversity” and
“habitat health” all
came to be employed in
a way that insinuated
that those of us who
resided within the
park boundaries were
somehow, either
willfully or through
our assumed ignorance,
opposed to or
prohibiting these
noble and worthwhile
goals. "Historic
preservation” came to
be seen as vitally
important for empty
structures, such as
the Port Oneida
Historic Agricultural
Landscape, which was
three miles from
us. By the late
1990’s, park
administrators and
staff were referring
to this area as a
“ghost town” dating to
the 1880’s. It
was a ghost town all
right, but it dated to
the 1970’s when the
Land Acquisition
Office bullied,
coerced and threatened
the owners into
selling out to the
NPS.
The
Shalda farmstead,
where we lived, dated
to the 1860’s – some
20 years before Port
Oneida. The
landmark barn was such
an attraction that I
used to say that if I
had a dollar for every
photograph taken of
it, I wouldn’t have to
do anything
else. That was a
joke, but you’d be
surprised how the Park
by this time was
believing this was
some kind of an
indication of
character deficiency
on my part. Bass
Lake Cottages dated
back to 1937 and we’d
restored the grounds
and the cottages to
their original usage
circa the 1950’s, but
it seemed like that
had been forgotten at
Park Headquarters in
Empire. The
historical and
cultural significance
of our still living
and still functioning
property and business
was apparently
invisible and
inconsequential to the
park management,
because our property
appeared on the
proposed new Master
Plan as “designated
wilderness,” meaning
no human habitation.
Suddenly
lights were flashing
and sirens were
blaring in my
head. This
Master Plan proposal
was quickly shot down
by public outcry and
protest over the
proposed severe
restrictions to
recreational
opportunities it
represented. The
park administrators
claimed that the
Lakeshore was being
“loved to death,” that
habitat was being
destroyed, and that
birds like the piping
plover were being
threatened with
extinction, and the
solution was "human
free biozones."
This was, in the
opinion of myself and
many other direct
witnesses to
conditions in the
park, patently
nonsense and merely a
ploy to grab more
land. The
ensuing outcry sent
the new Master Plan
back to the drawing
board.
However, the lines
were now clearly
drawn, and I knew if I
wanted to keep my home
and business, I was
going to have to fight
for it.
By
the dawn of the new
millennium, we were
operating as Bass Lake
Cottages and Vacation
Rentals. The
cottages by this time
were actually a rather
small part of our
overall business
picture, as our
property management
operation had now
grown to 17
units. We
managed cottages and
homes on Glen Lake,
Little Glen Lake,
Little Traverse Lake
and Lake Leelanau, and
we had several
properties within the
park boundaries.
We were able to
pick our properties
and did this primarily
by working for people
who liked us and who
understood and
appreciated our
business philosophy,
which was based on
doing business in a
way that reflected the
old fashioned
character of the place
in which we
lived. We made
money by making sure
they did, and over
half of our guests
were now repeat
customers and
friends. This
was because we worked
harder and smarter
than our competition,
were personally
involved in every
aspect of the
business, and offered
the most bang for the
buck. In other
words, good old
fashioned American
free enterprise.
We were very practiced
and professional in
what we did, made it
look easy and had fun
doing it, and we
networked with
numerous other small
business people who
provided support
services for us.
We made money by
making sure they did,
too. Our liberal
friend Andy
McFarlane’s Leelanau
Communications was the
leading web service
company in
northwestern lower
Michigan, and he said
it best: “It’s a whole
different thing when
we’re the capitalist
pigs.” This,
too, was a joke.
We weren’t being pigs
at all and we weren’t
getting rich by any
means, but we were
doing very well and we
were living the quiet
and comfortable
country lifestyle we
wanted. It was
still America.
But
this was about to
change.
The
shift in local park
management philosophy
had accelerated during
the second Clinton
term. We heard
rumors, and listened
to programs on
shortwave radio, that
claimed that Al Gore
had essentially taken
control of the
Department of the
Interior and was bent
on pushing the full
implementation of
United Nations Agenda
21 as the “green”
president once he was
elected in 2000 [2].
The proposed new
Master Plan for
Sleeping Bear Dunes
National Lakeshore
sure seemed to support
this contention, as
did the term “Master
Plan” itself, which is
very much part of the
language of Agenda 21.
[3]
Agenda
21 and the green
agenda is often passed
off in the mainstream
media as a right wing
conspiracy theory,
which it really
isn’t. This is
perhaps best pointed
out by Rosa Koire, a
self-professed liberal
lesbian activist, and
author of Behind
the Green Mask: UN
Agenda 21. [4]
Ms. Koire is Executive
Director of the Post
Sustainability
Institute [5]
and publishes the web
site, “Democrats
Against UN Agenda 21,”
wherein she makes this
statement: “UN
Agenda 21/Sustainable
Development is the
action plan
implemented worldwide
to inventory and
control all land, all
water, all minerals,
all plants, all
animals, all
construction, all
means of production,
all energy, all
education, all
information, and all
human beings in the
world. INVENTORY
AND CONTROL.” [6]
It
began to dawn on us
that things had
changed. It
really wasn’t America
any more. At
least not in the way
we understood what
America was all
about. And this
wasn’t about Democrat
versus Republican
politics,
either. It was
Republican President
George Bush who
committed the United
States to Agenda 21 at
the Earth Summit in
Rio de Janeiro in
1992. [7]
The warm and friendly
reception we received
from the NPS during
the end of the Reagan
years was the anomaly
our neighbors had then
claimed it to be, and
we now realized we
should have heeded
their warnings.
In the ensuing
administrations, the
NPS returned to
business as usual, as
the old guard
responsible for the
abuses of the 60's and
70’s, and the new
blood they now brought
in during the 90’s,
began to course
through the veins of
the National Park
Service and retake
control.
We
believed George W.
Bush when he promised
to stop NPS abuses
when he campaigned for
president in 2000, but
the changes his
administration did try
to institute ended up
mired in controversy
about opening the
parks to commercial
exploitation. We
didn’t want that
either. Changes
proposed by Paul
Hoffman, who took
control of the NPS in
2002, had some
positive aspects, but
were met with much
resistance by the
established park staff
and personnel.
Executive director of
the American Land
Rights Association,
Chuck Cushman, who is
himself an inholder in
Yosemite, and who
served on the NPS
advisory board during
the Reagan years, put
it this way: “The Park
Service has been
arrogant for a very,
very long time. They
are a cloistered,
almost cult-like
society. The
Park Service doesn't
believe it needs to
listen to what
Congress is telling
them. They think, ‘We
know better how to
define the law.’
They have a whole
history of using parks
as a tool to lock up
land.” [8]
In
the late summer of
2001, Sleeping Bear
Dunes National
Lakeshore was assigned
a new park
superintendent.
Heretofore, I have not
mentioned the previous
superintendent, a man
named Richard
Peterson, because I
never met him.
Mr. Peterson delegated
the authority to deal
with all inholder
situations to his
assistant, Ray Kimpel,
and since Ray was a
very capable,
competent and
knowledgeable person,
we never had any need
to go over his head to
Mr. Peterson about
anything. The
new superintendent was
a woman named Dusty
Schultz, and her
attitude towards us
and our property and
business was
drastically different
than what we had
experienced in the
past. Her task
was to get the new
Master Plan
implemented, and she
inherited all of the
controversy that came
with it. And me.
We
began to notice that
everything we did was
suddenly under the
scrutiny of Park
personnel.
Trucks would slow down
and rangers would take
long hard looks at our
property whenever they
went by.
Sometimes they would
park on County Road
669, the quiet road
that ran down to Lake
Michigan, and look
across the back side
of our property.
Sometimes they did
this with binoculars.
We were told
that our private
access to Bass Lake,
which ran across our
private property at
the entrance, now had
to be a public access
and we had to take
down our
signage. We were
told that we couldn’t
use our deeded access
site at adjoining
School Lake at all,
and rangers began
stopping by to inquire
about the activities
and behavior of our
cottage guests, which
was no different than
it had ever
been. Many, if
not most, had been
staying with us for
years. I had a
13 stars-in-a-circle
American flag that I
used to fly on special
occasions, and I now
began to fly it every
day. This was,
of course, the flag of
the American
Revolution, and my
meaning wasn’t lost on
the Park
Service. A
ranger stopped and
told me it was
inappropriate and
illegal to fly any
flag but the current
50-star issue. I
told him to make me
take it down but let
me get a camera
first. He left.
Now
complicating this
situation, and making
it all the more
stressful, was the
fact that as this
began, Dale Shalda was
dying of cancer.
He passed away on
September 9, 2001, and
we were
devastated. The
9/11 incident took
place on the morning
of the day we were
going to have his
funeral, and we
postponed it to the
12th. We held a
reception for the
funeral guests at the
Lodge and it was a
teary and very
emotional
affair. Dale was
a much beloved figure
in our community, and
it was particularly
poignant when one of
the rangers whom we
had been friends with
all these years
stopped by to hug and
cry with the rest of
us. It’s not his
real name, but I’ll
just call him Ranger
Bob, because I believe
he still may be
employed by the NPS,
and he becomes a
rather important
character in this
story before it gets
done.
In
the aftermath of 9/11,
there seemed to be a
respite from all of
this nonsense with the
Park. America
was in a somber mood
that fall, and it
pretty much wiped out
our color
season. Our
friends the Gehrkes
always came up and
stayed in the Lodge
for a week in
October. Joel
Gehrke was an attorney
and they were a
Christian family who
home schooled their
large brood of
kids. Their kids
enjoyed playing with
ours, and we became
good friends with them
like we did with a lot
of our guests.
Joel had been a judge
and had been recalled
when a man on what he
regarded as a trumped
up domestic abuse case
had been convicted in
his courtroom.
The jury may have
brought in a guilty
verdict, but Judge
Gehrke meted out the
sentence, and enraged
feminist sensitivities
all over the nation,
when he literally
slapped the man’s
wrists and dismissed
him. His wife,
Kim, had been
mortified when ABC’s
20/20 did a
piece that was
supposed to be
sympathetic and
instead turned it into
a hatchet job.
Joel was smart,
conservative,
fearless, a top notch
attorney, and I now
realized that I needed
his help if I was
going to stand up and
push back against the
Park. I called
him and told him that
I wanted to talk to
him about hiring him
and that his stay at
the Lodge would be on
us as a down payment
towards his fee.
He told me to gather
all of the
documentation I had
pertaining to our
relationship with the
NPS, and said he would
in turn do some
research on the
National Park Service
in general and
Sleeping Bear Dune
National Lakeshore in
particular.
The
Gehrkes arrived and
spent their first
night doing family
things. On the
second night, Jean and
I and some of our
girls went down to the
Lodge after dinner,
and Jean and Kim
chatted about all of
this out in the yard
while the kids played
on the swing-set and
volleyball
court. Joel and
I sat down in the
living room and over a
glass of wine from
Leelanau Cellars began
our conversation.
“A
lawyer is essentially
a prostitute,” Joel
began. “Even
considering our
friendship, you will
pay me a lot of money
for my services, and
my responsibility is
to see that you
achieve your expected
satisfaction.”
Oh. I forgot to
mention that Joel
could be colorful like
this. “Now, what
is it you want to
accomplish?”
“Well,”
I said, “First of all
the harassment that I
told you about needs
to stop.
Secondly, I need to
make sure that my
rights as an inholder
and my constitutional
rights as a citizen
are respected and
upheld, and finally, I
want to approach the
Park management about
extending the
leaseback on the Lodge
or outright purchasing
back the building,
which would be
preferable.” The
leaseback on the Lodge
was scheduled to
expire in May of 2003
and the park’s plan
was to tear it down.
Joel
looked thoughtful for
a second then said, “I
see no problem
accomplishing the
first two things
providing your
documents are all in
order. I see no
way to accomplish the
third, to be honest
with you.”
I
explained to Joel that
back in the early
days, Ray Kimpel had
mentioned that it
might be possible to
extend the
leaseback. The
NPS was strapped for
money in those days,
and, unfortunately, so
was I. At that
time, and up until
recently, it seemed
like this would be
possible. The
park was always
promoting its
commitment to
historical
preservation and we
owned the last
functioning
cottage/cabin resort
within the National
Lakeshore. It
had been in continual
operation since
1937. We had
restored the Lodge to
its original usage and
returned the property
to its initial
configuration, and we
offered a recreational
opportunity in
conjunction with our
farmstead, which was
one of the most
historically
significant properties
in the Park. I
also wanted it secured
and protected as
private property, and
I wanted to explore
the possibility of
leasing the farm lands
around it for the
purpose of staging
period agricultural
demonstrations for
park visitors.
My pal Art Babel liked
to play 19th century
farmer with his team
of Clydesdales, and
we’d long talked about
how much fun it would
be to do this for the
tourists. It was
the same kind of thing
the Park Service was
allowing others to do
at Port Oneida.
“Look,”
Joel said, “You have
to understand
something. You
are an inholder
operating a business
from his home within
national park
boundaries and making
money. That
makes you public enemy
number one in the eyes
of the Park
Service. We’ll
go over your
documents, but I’m
already sure what you
are doing is perfectly
legal or you wouldn’t
be doing it. It
is going to be hard
enough to maintain the
status
quo.
You should have no
expectations of
advancing beyond
that.”
“Ok,”
I said. “I
understand that. My
thought is to push
expanding the use of
the farm and saving
the Lodge in such a
way that the position
I fall back to is the
status quo.
Best case scenario
would be saving the
Lodge as part of that
status
quo, but if
it ends up being
sacrificed to secure
my rights with my home
and the other two
cottages then I can
live with that.”
“The
Lodge as a straw man,”
Joel said.
“That’s a very
interesting approach
and I suspect the NPS
won’t see it coming.”
“I
take my role as the
steward of my property
very seriously.
I always have.
The key to that
stewardship is
maintaining its
value. They
can’t make me sell
out, but they can make
it so I can’t do
anything else.
The NPS likes to drive
down property values
and buy up parcels at
bargain prices.
Designating my home as
within a wilderness
area does just that,
and that’s been
proposed. Then I
can’t sell to anyone
but them and fair
market value becomes
whatever the NPS
decides they want it
to be. Suddenly,
I’m upside down on my
mortgage. Take away my
ability to run my
business from my home
and I don’t have the
financial leverage to
move it and set it up
somewhere else.
Now I’m out of
business. I have
to sell out, and they
have my property for
cheap. I think
that’s the scenario
they're trying to play
out, and I’ve heard
rumors that Park
personnel are already
talking about the farm
as a possible
headquarters for the
northern end of the
Lakeshore.”
Joel
poured us each another
glass of wine and sat
swirling the red
liquid around in his
glass as he pondered
all of this.
“Here’s the hard part
for you,” he finally
said. “You are
one of the most
private people I know
and to make this work,
you’re going to have
to do it in
public. Trust
me, I know all about
negative publicity and
you are going to have
to put this out for
the world to see if
you want it to have
any chance of it
working. If
you’re right about
this and you accuse
them of it quietly and
in private, they’ll
just deny it and come
up with another
variation on the same
theme. Do it in
public and they have
to prove to the world
it isn’t so. You
lose the public battle
over the Lodge, but
they publicly deny
there was ever any
intent to take your
home or close your
business. You
apologize and wonder
how you ever could
have thought such a
thing. You win
the war and they save
face. It just
might work.”
This
was all pretty hopeful
until we moved on to
reviewing the
documents. The
file on the house was
all in order. It
had passed down
through the capable
hands of Louise Shalda
to Ken and on to
us. Dale’s file
on Bass Lake Cottages
contained the land
contract for the
Lodge, a barely
legible and nearly
black copy of the
access agreement for
the School Lake
access, and some hand
scrawled notes about
operating the cottages
and keeping the
accesses in
perpetuity. The
similar document for
the more vital Bass
Lake access and, even
more importantly, the
document which granted
Bass Lake Cottages the
right to operate as a
business entity in
perpetuity weren’t
there.
Joel
was incredulous.
“You don’t have the
documents that grant
you the right to use
the lake or do
business?”
“Dale
always said that if I
ever needed this
stuff, I could go to
Park Headquarters and
get a copy. I
went down there and
asked for copies of
the documents and the
girl at the counter
went in the back,
asked somebody about
it, and then told me
those documents
weren’t in the
file. She said
they didn’t exist.”
“So
you don’t have the
documents, they know
it, and they’re not
going to give them to
you. Who told
you that they did
exist?”
“Dale
Shalda and Ray Kimpel,
who was the Assistant
Park Superintendent.”
“Where
is Dale Shalda?”
“He
passed away last
month.”
“Where
is this Ray Kimpel?”
“I
don’t know. He’s
retired.”
“I’ll
tell you what I want
you to do. You
find him. I’ll
set up a meeting with
the Park and come back
up in a couple of
weeks. You see
if you can find Ray
Kimpel and I’ll call
him to see if he’ll at
least vouch for the
documents and what’s
in them.”
I
knew who just might
know where Ray Kimpel
was. He and
Ranger Bob had worked
together for many
years and were quite
close. I drove
over to Ranger Bob’s
house. He was
out in his yard
working on a landscape
project. I told
him I wanted to get in
touch with Ray Kimpel
and asked if he knew
where he was living
now that he was
retired and how I
might get in touch
with him. He
didn’t ask me why and
I didn’t offer.
He told me Ray was
living down in Benzie
County and gave me his
phone number.
I
called Ray Kimpel and
he invited Joel and I
to come over to his
place on our way to
our meeting with the
Park. In
retirement, Ray had
built himself a really
neat rustic log cabin
that was both quaint
and efficient, and
looked like it had
been designed by a boy
scout architect.
The term “boy scout”
suddenly rang true
about Ray, and it
seemed to explain why
he had made a career
in the NPS and also
why it had never had
the dampening effect
on his personal
integrity the way it
did with so many
others. He
offered us coffee,
showed us around his
place, and then Joel
got down to business
and asked him about
the missing
documents. Ray
said he knew that they
existed and quietly
scoffed at the idea
that they could be
lost. “The Park
Service is a federal
bureaucracy,” he
said. “They
never lose anything
unless they want to.”
Joel asked him if he
would be willing to
sign an affidavit
vouching for what was
in the two
documents. Ray
said that he’d
consider it if it
turned out to be
important, but he
didn’t want to do so
right then and
there. We
thanked him and
proceeded to our
meeting at Park
Headquarters in
Empire.
Assistant
Superintendent Tom
Ulrich ushered us into
a very nice but
sparsely appointed
room with a large
table with numerous
comfortable chairs
around it. There
were a couple of other
Park people there, but
I don’t remember who
they were. Mr.
Ulrich was very calm,
professional and
reassuring. He
insisted that the NPS
didn’t want to acquire
my property, that they
were delighted with my
ongoing fine
stewardship of the
farmstead and
cottages, and assured
me I was a model
inholder.
We
turned to the subject
of the Lodge and I
told him we would like
to explore the
possibility of
extending the
leaseback or perhaps
even purchasing the
Lodge and its
surrounding property,
and he said absolutely
not. I suggested
leasing the lands
around the farm or
gaining permission to
use them for staging
agricultural
demonstrations for the
public and he, again,
said absolutely
not. I turned
the conversation to
historic preservation
and mentioned that
Bass Lake Cottages was
the last cottage/cabin
resort within the
Park, and that we
provided much needed
accommodations for
visitors and the
unique experience of
staying within the
Park itself. I even
managed a few
tears. He
informed us that the
NPS was planning to
install a youth hostel
in Port Oneida, and
that this need was
going to be amply
met. He finished
by saying that once
the Lodge was gone, we
would sit down again
and map out a business
plan that was less
“commercial” and that
lowered the traffic
flow through our
property. He
said “commercial” like
it was a dirty word,
and I am sure he knew
it wasn’t lost on me
that the “traffic” he
mentioned was due to
our rental management
business, not Bass
Lake Cottages.
A
couple of days after
this meeting, Ranger
Bob appeared at my
front door with a file
folder in his
hand. Our
meeting was brief and
to the point.
“You didn’t lose this
file, you just
misplaced it.”
He looked me in the
eye and I looked him
in the eye and said,
“There it is.
How silly of me.
I must have had it all
the time.” The
file contained
everything the Park
had on Bass Lake
Cottages, including
deeded access to Bass
Lake and the document
assuring the right to
continue in business
as before and in
perpetuity.
Master Plans can
change and do.
“In perpetuity” means
just that: the status
quo continues
as long as the
property is in private
hands. Joel made
sure.
When
deer camp was over at
the end of November, I
started the “Save the
Lodge” campaign.
I put up links on the
Bass Lake Cottages
website, and built a
series of pages on my
radionewjerusalem.com
website that not only
told the history of
Bass Lake Cottages and
the story of the Park
refusing to consider
extending the
leaseback on the
Lodge, but outlined
every sordid detail I
knew concerning the
Sleeping Bear Dunes
National Lakeshore and
the abuses of the
NPS. I told the
history of Shalda
Corners, where we
lived, and how there
had once been a store
there and a post
office, and that it
had been a community
all unto itself until
the NPS removed
it. I told the
story of Port Oneida,
the “ghost town” the
Park created, and I
relayed tales of the
hardships that the
acquisition of the
lands in the Lakeshore
had caused.
The
response was
impressive. I
posted copies of
letters of support
from friends and past
guests to the
NPS. My old
friend Dave Hoxie, an
archaeologist by
training, wrote the
Michigan History
Division and asked
them to get
involved. They
investigated.
Letters went to the
NPS regional
headquarters in Omaha
and to Washington DC.
This
went on until one day
there was a knock on
the door and it was
Ranger Bob. He
looked at me deadly
serious and told me
that I had to take my
web pages concerning
the NPS down from the
internet.
“Bob,”
I said, “That’s
blatantly a violation
of my first amendment
right to free
speech. They
can’t do that.”
“Actually,
it was my idea,” he
said. "I’m asking you
to do it for me
personally as a
favor.”
He
didn't look me in the
eye this time. I
got the message.
“Go back and tell
whoever gave you this
idea that there’s no
way it’s coming
down.”
I
then called Joel and
howled about my
constitutional right
to free speech.
He told me to calm
down. “What’s
next?” I asked.
“You think they’ll
have me
arrested?”
“I
hope so!” he
responded, “That would
be perfect!”
I
was never
arrested. I
fact, you know
what? The Park
Service now left me
alone.
The
winter passed without
further incident, and
when the spring of
2002 rolled around, it
was time to put phase
two of this plan into
action. This
just happened to be an
election year, and
there were lots of
incumbents and
candidates who were
anxious to please
perspective voters.
Leelanau
County in those days
was heavily
Republican.
Thanks to what was
largely perceived as
the negative influence
of the Democrats
within the NPS, the
Republican primary
essentially
was the
general
election. I was
still very much a
Ronald Reagan
Republican. I
still would be today,
for that matter, if we
still had a Ronald
Reagan. Anyway,
we called mostly
Republican
politicians, who were
supposed to be most
sensitive to and
critical of NPS
abuses, and we got a
very positive and
encouraging response
from each and every
one. All at
least called the Park
Service, and some
visited in person and
used it as a campaign
photo op.
Most
impressive in this
parade of politicians
was the response from
Democratic Senator
Carl Levin’s
office. Senator
Levin sent his senior
aid up from Detroit,
who came to the house,
looked over both the
farm and cottage
properties, and then
sat down and had a
long talk with Jean
and I. He didn’t
like the story of the
lost documents, and he
really didn’t like the
part about a Park
employee coming to
tell me to take down
the web pages.
He went down to Park
Headquarters and met
with Superintendent
Schultz and then came
back to the house to
report that she was
contrite, apologetic,
and was sure that I
had simply
misunderstood the
intent of the Park
which was, of course,
all positive and in my
favor. Reagan
Republican or not,
Senator Levin got my
vote. I suspect
Ronnie himself would
have voted for him in
those circumstances.
Now
the stage was
set. Joel called
Park Headquarters and
arranged another
meeting, and asked
that Superintendent
Schultz be
present. She
was, though she didn’t
look very happy about
it. I was
assured that all of
the attention that I
had created was
unwarranted, and the
decision on the Lodge
was final and would
remain so. She
said that she was
sorry that I had
wasted so much of my
time, hers and that of
so many others when I
had already been told
that their decision to
remove the Lodge would
be final. We
were told that, while
it was unfortunate
that Ranger Bob had
acted the way that he
had concerning the web
site, he had acted on
his own and really
meant well. She
assured us he had been
reprimanded.
Joel
now did all the
talking. He pulled out
the file containing
the previously missing
documents. He
had a duplicate folder
with copies of all the
documents that he had
made as his special
gift to the Park
Service, and he asked
for their reassurance
that this file would
be kept intact and
that none of these
documents would ever
again cease to
exist. They
seemed offended that
he would even suggest
such a thing. He
placed copies of each
document in front of
Dusty Schultz and Tom
Ulrich and he
proceeded to outline
exactly what the
language in each one
meant point by
point. He asked
them to define and
explain their
understanding of each
paragraph in each
document and he had
them define “in
perpetuity” and he
asked them to clarify
what this meant in
light of modified,
reworked or new Master
Plans. It meant
“in perpetuity”
regardless, which we
already knew.
Moving
to the farmstead
documents, he asked if
there was any language
in this document that
precluded operating a
home based
business. They
admitted that there
was not and protested
that no one had said
anything about closing
down my
business. He
then pointed out the
section that gave
jurisdiction over all
such matters to the
township, and he
informed them that the
township clerk would
vouch for my
compliance and for the
fact that my taxes
were always paid in
full and on
time. He asked
if there was anything
or any condition on my
property in violation
of any pertinent park
regulations, including
scenic easement.
Again, we were
reassured that Mr.
Ropp was a model
inholder and that his
property was always
well maintained and
attractive.
The
2002 summer season
passed by and was
mostly
uneventful. I
had no direct contact
with Park personnel
other than business as
usual. I knew
the woods around our
place really well, and
Ranger Bob stopped by
once to ask if I’d
help look for a lost
child in the hills
above School
Lake. Neither of
us said anything about
the events of the past
year. The child
was found safe and
unharmed, and this had
the poignant feel of
older and happier
times.
One
of the incidents I
recall from this
summer was a college
student who did a
survey of the fish in
Bass Lake for the Park
Service and claimed it
was fished out.
It wasn’t, so I didn’t
worry about this too
much. The truth
was that Old Mike
Mannick had dumped a
five-gallon milk can
full of pike
fingerlings into the
lake 40 years before,
and the lake
population was mostly
pike that never grew
to legal size.
We called them “hammer
handles” and they were
actually fun to catch
on ultralight tackle
and release.
Bass Lake didn’t get
fished much and very
few fish were ever
taken, and everybody
knew it.
Another
time, someone showed
up offering to take
free soil samples to
determine if there was
any residual
contamination from
long term agricultural
use. I had heard
stories that the NPS
would send these guys
around and that they’d
spill a quart of oil
on the ground and
claim it was some kind
of environmental
disaster. A lot
of these stories were
apocryphal and I just
politely declined the
offer and sent the man
away.
We
had a very good year
businesswise and
recovered nicely from
the 9/11 trauma and
lost money it had
caused the previous
year. We
recovered less from
losing Dale and late
in the summer, feeling
the need for a deeper
spirituality, Jean and
I decided to join the
Catholic Church.
Lodge
guests came and went
all season and payed
their final respects
to the building.
It was hardest on the
deer hunters.
John Bussey, one of
the most ardent and
vocal Lodge
supporters, presented
us with a copy of Deer
Camp Memories at
Bass Lake Cottages,
which was a book he
and the other guys had
put together. I
still have it.
The last skiers left,
there was a little
flurry of early spring
business, and on May
1, we closed down the
cottages and stripped
the Lodge. It
was demolished on May
15. Joel had
made it clear to the
Park that the rubble
was to be removed
promptly and that the
site was to be
restored and
seeded. It was
and we were ready to
open back up with two
buildings on Memorial
Day weekend.
In
the fall, I was
sitting at my bench in
the tractor
garage. This
served as my office in
the warmer
months. Jean ran
the front office in
the house and I
managed the
maintenance and
physical aspects of
the business from
here. It was
late September, or
maybe very early
October, a beautiful
warm day, and the last
Detroit Tigers game of
the year was on the
radio. It was
the last game that
Ernie Harwell called
for Detroit and, next
to my dad, I must have
spent more time with
Ernie as a kid than
any other man. I
sat listening to the
game and realized that
if Dale was alive,
we’d certainly be
listening to it
together.
Actually, we’d be
watching it on TV with
the sound turned down
and the radio turned
up. I was
working halfheartedly
on costing out the
repainting of the
Bicentennial Barn,
which was the big
project I had planned
for the spring of
2003. Suddenly,
somehow, I knew that
this was the last
season we were going
to be here and I broke
down and cried like a
baby. Wept
inconsolably.
Just let it all out.
Jean
was already in the
throes of some kind of
spiritual
crisis. I
thought it was from
all of the stress of
all of this. It
was actually unrelated
but this certainly
didn’t help it, and I
was now beginning to
realize she needed
something more than
what I could do for
her. The
Catholic Church proved
to be the best thing
we could have done but
it brought us to a
very hard spiritual
crossroads. As I
prayed now about all
of this, looking out
over the yard towards
the barn, at the
woods, at the two
cottages, at the
awesome beauty of this
place, it was like I
was seeing it all for
the first time.
God, how I loved
it. And I
realized that God’s
lesson in all of this
was that I had come to
the point where this
love for my home and
my business meant
selling it to someone
who wasn’t as
compromised with the
National Lakeshore
administration as I
was now. The
ultimate good
stewardship concerns
knowing when to let
go. That time
was here.
The
NPS wasn’t going to
give up. I knew
that. I knew
that the green agenda
and Agenda 21 and the
insanity of the 21st
century wasn’t going
to allow even a
semblance of the
passing rural culture
that I longed for and
lived for to
survive. It was
now a thing of the
past even in Leelanau
County. It was
time to go.
The
Park folks didn’t say
a word to me
now. Instead
they went to the
owners of the
properties we managed
which were in the
National Lakeshore and
told them that
“commercial”
management of their
property like we did
was disallowed.
Joel looked at their
documents and he said
that they had just as
much right to do what
they wanted with their
private property as
anyone else. He
advised us to have
them sign the
management agreements
like always and call
their bluff. It
turned out that the
Park was bluffing and
we opened the summer
season with our full
complement of
properties.
But
I had gotten the
message. We
listed the farmstead
and Bass Lake Cottages
for sale and had more
shoppers than we knew
what to do with.
In two weeks we had a
deal down. We
decided to value the
business at zero based
on the uncertainty of
the future with the
Park Service. In
preserving the
property’s market
value by securing our
legal rights, and
passing these rights
along, we were able to
position the new owner
to keep it out of NPS
hands, if not in
perpetuity than at
least until the seller
was willing and not
forced. The new
owner was anxious to
please the Park and
the Park was anxious
to have somebody own
it who wasn’t
me. It wasn’t
America anymore in
Leelanau County for
us, just like it had
ceased to be
everywhere else.
Our time was up.
And
so this story ends
here. And if you
are wondering what
this has to do with
the upcoming election,
well I guess I do,
too. I guess this
election has made me
homesick for my home
and business and for
the Reagan Revolution
that made the sixteen
best years of my life
possible.
Homesick for a
president who rode
tall in the saddle;
who took a bullet for
John Payne in Tennessee's
Partner, and
one for the nation in
1981, and who, at
least for a little
while, really did make
America great
again. Homesick
for that time when in
a place that was from
another time then, and
which has since been
absorbed into the new
world order of the
21st century, it was,
for one last brief
shining moment, still
America there.
Ronald
Reagan had this to say
way back in 1961:
“Freedom
is never more than one
generation away from
extinction. We
didn’t pass it on to
our children in the
bloodstream. The
only way they can
inherit the freedom we
have known is if we
fight for it, protect
it, defend it, and
then hand it on to
them with the well
fought lessons of how
they in their lifetime
must do the
same. And if you
and I don’t do this,
then you and I may
well spend our sunset
years telling our
children and our
children’s children
what it was like in
America when men were
free.”
That’s
what I’ve been doing
in my sunset
years. That’s
what this story is all
about, and that’s why
it doesn’t matter who
you vote for or if you
vote at all on
Election Day.
You’re going to get
either Hillary or the
Donald, and if this
choice doesn’t sound
the final death knell
of American freedom
what could?
You’re going to get
Agenda 21 either
way. You already
have. It’s not
America here anymore,
and no one seems to
want to listen or
believe it. It’s
like Jethro Tull said:
“My
words but a whisper,
your deafness a
shout.”
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