Autos Across Mackinac: Swell of '52 Tourism Traffic Overwhelms Ferries
Part 45 - 1952 Tourist Travel Swamps the Area
By Les Bagley

The mess room (crew's dining room) onboard the Vacationland became a popular place, not only with the live-aboard crew but with their friends and family members who came to visit while making a round trip. Rather than sit in the comfortable passenger lounges, most local people preferred to visit the crew, because it often meant a free cup of coffee or even a meal. (Michigan Department of Transportation)

Until the Mackinac Bridge opened for traffic 50 years ago, the only way to cross the Straits of Mackinac was by ferryboat. In his unpublished history of Michigan State Ferries, author Les Bagley has traced the boats and the people who ran them. The St. Ignace news is serializing his work for our readers' enjoyment.

As March 1952 neared an end, ice began to break up in the Straits, and work to fit out the steam ferries began for the coming year. The galley opened on the City of Munising in mid-month, as crews returned from their winters ashore. Work started on the other ships soon after. Two Coast Guard cutters worked for two weeks trying to get the Straits shipping lanes open, when a Saturday night windstorm moved through on March 22 and broke up all the ice overnight.

Ship's steward and Republican-News columnist Sim Christiansen puts away cutlery in the all-electric Vacationland galley. The other ferries had coal or oil stoves to prepare the crew's meals, but the tags are still on the Hotpoint ovens the new ferry's cooks would use to prepare food that became the envy of the fleet, and attracted not only the ferry's crew but dockworkers and other state employees. (Michigan Department of Transportation)

As the other ships prepared to go into service, the Vacationland prepared to go to the shipyard for adjustments and maintenance. Capt. Pete Everson briefly took command while Capt. Frank Nelson and his family enjoyed a Florida vacation. By April, the Munising was ready to go, and the City of Petoskey needed only her annual Coast Guard inspection to be ready, as well. Capt. George Lloyd planned to have the Munising join Vacationland in a twoboat schedule, possibly by April 4 or 5. He then hoped to relieve the icebreaker by mid-month for her annual inspection and maintenance following three months of winter service.

The new Vacationland unloads a truck at her Mackinaw City slip. During the 1952 Independence Day holiday, a small boat overloaded with children and several adults made its way past the fuel island (seen above the truck and beside the ship in this photo) and into the space under the loading apron without being noticed, with tragic results. When the powerful ferry departed on her next run, the propeller wash capsized the pleasure boat, casting its passengers into the turbulent water. This view also dimly shows the ferry's non-slip painted walkways on her boat deck. (Michigan Department of Transportation)

Greyhound bus drivers thought the new boat, with twice the capacity of the Saint Marie (II), was a godsend for keeping them on their winter schedules. But the second boat came none too soon. Traffic had grown to the point where even the huge Vacationland was leaving cars on the Mackinaw City dock by the end of March. The Munising, under command of Capt. Harold Hill, eased out of winter layup in a dense fog the morning of April 7 to make the 6 a.m. departure and start the first 90-minute headways of 1952. The Petoskey under Capt. Andy Monson was also ready by then and standing by, while fit-out was just about finished on the Cheboygan, commanded by Pat Gallagher.

The Highway Department's internal Hy-Lighter Magazine featured three of the heroes of the July 4, 1952 incident at the Mackinaw City ferry dock. Clarence Kalmer, Walter Lancewitcz, and Louis Robarge were responsible for saving five people. Unfortunately, one man drowned in the accident. (Hy- Lighter, Michigan Department of Transportation, Michigan Historical Library collection)

Fit-out on The Straits would begin soon.

Though two boats were already on the run, the spring schedule officially began April 21, when the Vacationland docked for inspection and maintenance work in Mackinaw City. It had been more than three months since she'd taken the run and many of her officers and crewmembers hadn't set foot ashore since. Ben Wilson, who had been hired as chief engineer while she was still at the shipyard, hadn't had a chance to see the area first hand. His crew so filled him with tales of Indians and their lore that when he finally came ashore, he was almost sure he'd be shot at with a bow and arrow.

Capt. Nelson returned to oversee the work done on the icebreaker in early May, while the Petoskey and Cheboygan maintained 90- minute headways. With traffic already up 17.2% over 1951, the summer schedule, with sailings every hour, was set to start as early as May 24. In fact, traffic volume was growing so quickly that a planned visit to Mackinac Island by the Red Cross Bloodmobile on May 31 was postponed until fall because The Straits of Mackinac, which normally took it across, was too busy handling traffic on the cross-straits run.

With so much traffic so early, Vacationland, after duly impressing Capt. Fred Cronan on his Coast Guard inspection, returned to service. She was joined by seaman Jack Ryan, who had spent some time in India and returned with a bucket of black sand, which he mixed with black paint. Under direction of First Officer Mickey Sweeney, the crew used it to paint non-skid walkways along the icebreaker's boat deck. In fact, the whole ship got a fresh coat of white paint at last covering over the shipyard and winter grime. For the first time, crewmembers used rollers, making the repainting job much quicker than with the brushes used on the other boats before.

With tourism officials forecasting a banner year, and since the holiday was close to the end of the week, Assistant Ferry Superintendent Phil Case said he predicted an old fashioned rush, that more than 10,000 cars might cross the Straits on Memorial Day weekend. He wasn't even close. More than 16,400 cars jammed the docks, 10,000 more than appeared in 1951. The heaviest travel was on May 30 when 5,169 cars were transported. Still, thanks to Vacationland's huge capacity, waits were kept to less than an hour all weekend.

The Straits, under Capt. Harold Hill, had been ordered to stand by with only a skeleton crew in case she was needed. At 12:30 a.m. on May 30, the busiest day, Hill was told to enter service. To his credit, he gathered a full crew compliment and got underway in just 20 minutes. The wheelsman, who lived in Gros Cap, came in such a hurry he didn't have time to shave. Cabin Watch "Hoot" McGraw said, "Without my Buick, I could not have made it."

Through it all, Vacationland swallowed massive lines of cars. The ticket sellers on the docks voiced a new complaint: The big ship cleared the docks so fast, they didn't have time to keep their hourly cash counts. Onboard, while the officers enjoyed lunch in their mess, a lady passenger looked in through the open window and told her husband, "See, I told you that's where the drivers eat on this boat!"

While the "drivers" were eating onboard, more organization of ferry employees under the American Federation of Labor was being promoted ashore. The A. F. of L. wanted to transfer the highway department's benefit funds under unemployment insurance and social security to union control. A union leader discussed that with employees in Mackinaw City and St. Ignace in early June. Nearly 60% of the employees were said to be organized, and approved asking for unemployment benefits, since they feared with the new boat in service, there might be an early layoff that fall. But again, the Civil Service Commission ignored the union's requests.

Governor G. Mennen Williams and Prentiss Brown were hoping the RFC in Washington, D.C., wouldn't ignore their requests. They returned from a trip to the capitol in June, hopeful that at last, the RFC might buy bridge bonds to allow construction of the Straits bridge to begin. The bridge was adopted as the theme for many conventions and meetings held at the Straits that summer, with people from all over the country being indoctrinated on the needs and benefits such a structure would involve, if only financing could be arranged for construction. But, once again, the RFC turned down the request to buy bridge bonds.

There was still construction going on in Northern Michigan. The highway department awarded contracts for concrete surfacing on parts of Highway 2 west of St. Ignace, and more importantly, to pave the parking lot at the new ferry dock. The work was to cost $188,863.80 and be finished by Paul C. Miller, a contractor from Comstock Park, by October 31. And on June 26, Michigan Bell Telephone raised the cost of pay phone calls to a dime.

Heat waves in lower Michigan drove tourists to the U.P. early that year, and by the end of the month, the ferries had moved to an hourly schedule, with departures from St. Ignace on the hour and from Mackinaw City on the half-hour, 24-hours a day. Even then, the schedule was thrown overboard when traffic demanded that the ferries "run wild."

June 1952 figures ran 12.2% above any previous June. Over the month's last weekend, the boats carried an average of more than 3,000 cars a day.

Deputy Commissioner Foster made an inspection of the fleet late in the month and left with a smile on his face. It seemed just about everyone was happy preparing for the 4th of July rush, except the seagulls. The new garbage disposal on the Vacationland meant that scraps were not being thrown overboard from that ship.

Commissioner Charles Ziegler said ferry crews were set to go beyond the call of duty to move travelers over the holiday weekend. Since the Fourth fell on a Friday, even larger crowds than normal were projected as vacationers tried to beat the heat. As the weekend approached, traffic increased, and so did lines waiting for the ferries. But there were plenty of boats to handle the pre-holiday rush. It was motorists waiting to buy tickets that caused the backups. On Saturday night, the weekend before the Fourth, Capt. Nelson raised a broom on Vacationland's mast, symbolizing the new boat had made a clean sweep of all the ferries. Not to be outdone, the City of Cheboygan raised a mop on her mast. "It's because we mop up after the Vacationland," Capt. Pat Gallagher said.

Traffic and the heat increased all week leading up to Friday, July 4. On July 3, the ferries smashed the previous all day record, when 7,897 autos were carried. On the Fourth, 7,620 were taken across. The rush continued on the fifth, with 7,162, and on the sixth, when 6,896 cars were carried. The weekend count totaled nearly double what had been carried only the year before. Yet while there were lineups, the lines were constantly moving. The major slowdown was the delay in paying fares at the tollbooths.

During the rush, Capt. Gallagher was informed that the City of Petoskey was slowly overtaking his own City of Cheboygan. Not wanting to hear such things, Gallagher rushed to the wheelhouse and instructed the mate, Otto Roe, to please keep the pilothouse doors closed to cut wind resistance. Gallagher closed them himself, and then walked back to his quarters, smiling over to Petoskey skipper Andy Monson, as the Cheboygan regained the lead.

At about 2:55 p.m., the Petoskey, the Vacationland, and The Straits of Mackinac all reached St. Ignace at the same time. There was a huge surge of traffic through town as the boats unloaded, but pursers couldn't sell tickets fast enough to keep lines from forming ahead of the toll booths as the boats loaded again.

While keeping the traffic moving was a huge success, the weekend did not come without a high price. Thirty-two-year-old Gerald "Jerry" Archambeau was a fireman on the Chief Wawatam. For the holiday, he'd spent the day picnicking with his family and some guests and relatives visiting from Detroit. To cool off that evening before the fireworks, they decided to take the kids for a boat ride.

Archambeau, and friends David H. Lewis, Jr. and Herbert Weisner, both of Detroit, set off in a small outboard motorboat with five children, ages three to eight years old. The kids included Archambeau's 6-year-old son, Jerry Jr., two Lewis children, 7-year-old David III and 8-year-old Sharon, and Weisner's sons, Dennis and John, ages 5 and 3.

Skirting the Mackinaw City shoreline, they passed the State Dock where the Vacationland was loading for another run to St. Ignace. In a remarkable case of poor judgment, the fireman promised close-up views of the big ferry his guests had only read about in the newspapers. First they crossed under the prow, so close the men had to duck to keep from hitting their heads on the overhang. Then, the small craft slipped down the ferry's side, past the engine cooling water outlets, and between the hull and the fuel island near the apron, riding right under the spot where autos loaded, and directly over the ferry's huge propellers, standing motionless below them.

Perhaps he was thinking of the Chief Wawatam, which didn't use her bow propeller in the summer. Maybe he thought it would take time to hand-crank up the auto apron, like the rail apron on the dock to the north, before the ferry could leave. (An electric winch, controlled by a push button, operated the apron at the new dock.) No one will ever know exactly what went through Archambeau's mind.

Although the apron surface was made of steel grid, no one looked down as the little boat drifted within inches of the Vacationland's rudder. As the last cars came aboard, signals were given, the apron was raised, and simultaneously, Third Mate Jerry Cronan rang for full ahead from the pilothouse on the other end of the ferry. Within seconds the huge screws began to churn the water under the apron into heaving foam. The little boat was tossed like a toy, swamping instantly and spilling its precious cargo into the swirling waters. The slick timber walls of the slip offered no handholds. Weisner grabbed for his small son with one hand and was able to catch a corner of the loading ramp with the other. Lewis somehow got hold of John and Jerry Jr., at one time or another. When he himself started to go under, he was able to grab Weisner's pant leg and hang on.

Their cries for help alerted two crewmen standing near the apron. It was a shift change and they were waiting to board the City of Cheboygan, already lining up to land, once Vacationland cleared. As Chief Engineer Jack Williams shouted an alarm, Louis Robarge peeled off his coveralls and plunged into the slip to assist the struggling visitors. Somehow, between Lewis and Robarge in the water, and Weisner who was hanging onto the ramp, they managed to pass Jerry Jr. and Weisner's son, who had gone under several times, up to the waiting hands of Chief Williams. David managed somehow to climb up the ramp himself.

But there was no sign of Archambeau or Lewis' daughter, Sharon. As the survivors climbed to safety, the two suddenly appeared about 300 feet to the north, toward the railroad dock. They'd been thrust out the spillway between the apron foundation and the fueling island and into Lake Huron by the Vacationland's powerful prop wash. In that instant, two more Cheboygan crewmembers plunged to the rescue. Walter Lancewitz grabbed a ring buoy and began swimming, while Clarence Kalmer dove toward Sharon Lewis. He reached her and towed her back to Lancewitz, who was slowed by the buoy and the rope leading back to land. Her father also jumped back in to help pull them to shore.

Then Kalmer turned to look for the senior Archambeau, but he had disappeared and could not be seen from water or by the gathering shore crowd. Divers were called to search but were hampered by the fast-approaching nightfall. It was a week before Archambeau's body finally washed ashore, near the south side of the railroad dock. It's possible the accident could have been avoided. When she was delivered from the shipyard, each corner of the Vacationland's bows were stenciled with the warning, "Twin Screws, Stay Clear." The admonitions had been painted over that spring.

The Cheboygan's Captain Gallagher assisted in the children's rescue by directing the swimmers toward them from his perch in the Cheboygan's after wheelhouse. Following their rescue, the Cheboygan collected its lifesaving equipment, took on another load of cars, and went on its way, causing barely any delay. The Vacationland, meanwhile, continued on her way, with no one aware of the turmoil left in her wake, until Cronan's father, the Coast Guard Inspector, came aboard in St. Ignace to tell the crew what had happened.

With Independence Day out of the way, talk that summer turned to politics. The big news was General Dwight David Eisenhower's decision to run as a Republican for President of the United States, after all. Though he'd said he wasn't interested, he'd been courted by both parties and accepted the Republican nomination at their convention in early July. His running mate would be Richard M. Nixon. Ex-Senator Prentiss Brown was sipping on a cold glass of milk one afternoon in the Vacationland's galley, speaking lightly of politics with Capt. Nelson. The skipper asked, "Do you believe the Democrats will follow the same system as the Republicans in picking nominees at their convention?" Brown replied, "No, the Republicans follow the Democratic pattern in picking their nominees."

The Vacationland's galley apparently was the gathering place for influential passengers as well as crewmembers. Judge Ned Fenlon's wife boarded, and when told her husband was also aboard that trip, she asked where she might find him. The cabin watch told her, "Well lady, I'm laying 5 to 1 that you will locate his honor in the galley!"

On July 30, a moving and storage company truck arrived at Mackinaw City, where dockworkers found the load was too high to fit under the boats' overheads. The driver approached Capt. Pat Gallagher of the City of Cheboygan. The skipper did some measurements and discovered that if some sprinkler pipes were removed at the starboard stern, the load could just come aboard. After a round-trip while the pipes were disconnected, the load was transported by backing in at both landings. The pipes were then reconnected.

Motorists traveling Michigan's highways were locating a lot more construction signs in their travels. Across Michigan, "men working" and "Road Under Construction" signs popped up like never before as the Highway Department put the finishing touches on $42 million in highway improvement contracts, the largest ever spent on Michigan roadways.

"It's because of the gas tax package enacted in 1951 over the Governor's objections," Commissioner Ziegler noted. ""Many trunk lines were built 20 to 30 years ago, and though they were brilliant examples to the rest of America then, they need to be rebuilt to 1952 standards."

But all was not quite well. Governor Williams and the C.I.O. were working to cut back those taxes through a constitutional amendment.

"The legislature can override a veto," Ziegler noted, "but it cannot override a constitutional amendment." He hoped the "men working" signs would mean jobs on the highways, not people passing petitions to deflate his department budget.

Tourist traffic was not deflated at the Straits. Fly fishermen tested new lures on the causeway and came away with creels full of herring. Motel operators put up "no vacancy" signs regularly, and there was little sign the new dock was taking away business from downtown St. Ignace. The ferries were jammed. Despite a 60-mile-an-hour windstorm that made landings difficult one weekend, by the end of July, nearly 30,800 more cars had been carried than in July of 1951.

The 26.6% increase meant all the boats ran wild all month and crewmembers got scant time ashore. Vacationland engineer Bill Bentgen bragged he finally got a chance to do some clothes shopping. He came back aboard with a new pair of shoelaces. His boss, Chief Engineer Ben Wilson, had a more perplexing problem. Since he lived by himself in the Vacationland's second largest cabin, he brought his hobby onboard with him and cabin visitors were impressed with the little electric train that ran around the room's perimeter. But the train had stopped running, and Wilson had no time to take it ashore to a hobby shop for repairs.

The chief did the next best thing. He called on ship's electrician, Jim Jonas.

"Jim," he said, "I know it isn't part of your job, but if you have a spare moment, could you come up to my cabin and take a look at my train?"

Wishing to please his boss, Jonas, of course, quickly complied. The principles of electricity are the same whether one is working on a toy train or a huge generator set on a ferryboat - it's just a matter of scale. And Jonas soon had the little scale railroad chugging smoothly around the cabin again.

Wilson thanked him for his efforts, and then offered his electrician a drink, producing a flask from a drawer in his desk, and quickly pouring each of them a round. The two talked amicably while they finished the contents of their glasses.

"Would you like another?" Wilson offered, pouring again before Jonas could object. Again the men chatted, and soon the glasses were empty again. The libations had been rather strong, and Jonas was starting to feel their effects. So before Wilson could pour again, he said, "Well, I better be getting back to the engine room."

"Yes you should," agreed the chief engineer. "And don't forget, I can fire you for drinking on the job."

Jonas quickly retreated below decks, and nothing further was ever said. But Jonas was just one ferry employee of the many working long hours that summer.

Pee Wee Phelps, a steward, took his leave to attend a weekend carnival and wound up winning a duck. But the next day, he related to Capt. Pat Gallagher how his chickens had killed the little duckling. The burley Irish captain shook his head.

"I'm sorry you lost it," he said. "But I can't see putting the ship's flag at half-mast for a little ole duck!"

Capt. Harold Hill of The Straits of Mackinac did have a tragedy in his family. He took leave to attend his sister's funeral. The fleet was so pressed for help that Superintendent Lloyd took his uniform out of mothballs to fill in during his absence.

On Saturday, August 2, the ferries broke all previous one-day records: 8,432 cars were transported in just 24 hours. With all five boats in operation, the Vacationland with her fast turn arounds, carried a full one-third of the traffic herself. Capt. Lloyd solved the bottleneck at the ticket offices, and the longest wait was about 2 hours, 40 minutes, compared to nearly 14 hours only a few years before. By comparison, the Munising and Petoskey each carried about 23%; the smaller Cheboygan handled 16%, while The Straits, with her side-loading single deck, accounted for less than 6% of the fleet's capacity.

That statistic made it apparent The Straits of Mackinac was no longer the efficient carrier she'd been when launched 24 years before. Her reputation as "The Lollipop" grew, as for the most part, unless there was an expanding line of cars, she often just lay at the dock with her crew collecting pay while the other ferries did the work. Capt. Lloyd found it expedient to pull crewmembers off the "Lolli" for emergency assignment on the larger ships, should they be short a man or two owing to illness or injury. They were already at hand, and he felt it wouldn't matter, since The Straits was now the least productive member of the ferries' team.

The big news in August, however, was the arrival of comedian Jack Benny, who visited a number of local establishments on his way to the Grand Hotel, where he arrived with no reservations. Hotel owner W. Stewart Woodfill found him a room at the Chippewa Hotel, a much less luxurious accommodation. Benny complained he'd just visited European royalty and stayed in fine castles. But Woodfill was adamant as he joked, "No reservation, no room!" Notoriously cheap in his radio persona, Benny also got out of tipping in restaurants by telling jokes. One observer noted, "Based on his radio salary for joke telling, in the restaurants, he lost money!"

Other visitors included the Vacationland's first passengers back in January. The Charles Welfleys returned to show off their new, 7-month-old daughter, Jill.

A warm summer had crewmembers trying novel ways to keep cool. One beautiful night, as the moon poked over the Dixie Tavern in Mackinaw City, Capt. Gallagher and Chief Salty Williams of the City of Cheboygan sat on deck watching the passing scenery. A beautiful blond passenger was crossing in front of them. Both men got up to get a better look, but Williams got tangled up in a large cable stretching across the pier. He yelled, "foul" all the way to the hospital, where the nurse asked him if he'd "care for a shot?" "Fine," he said, smacking his lips. Just then she jabbed a needle into his arm. He looked up with a hurt expression and gasped, "Nurse, you don't speak sailor's language, do you?"

The engine room crew on the Vacationland found the Nordbergs produced nearly unbearable heat and noise. To cool off while they lay in the dock, several men knocked a wooden bench together, which they placed along the trunk in the middle of the car deck. While traffic streamed by, they relaxed on the bench, just outside the engine room door. Then, for fun, someone, perhaps ship's Jonas, introduced something different. Taking an old Model-T magneto and coil he'd found, he wired up a hand-cranked generator and mounted it under the end of the bench. He then connected the wires from his machine to the pointed ends of several exposed nails that protruded through the seat. By turning the crank when an unsuspecting foil sat down on the nail heads, he could send a harmless electrical jolt right through the seat of their pants. One by one, he surprised fellow crewmembers that way. Some got shocked more than once.

The bench became the talk of the engine room. Others wanted to try it on their co-workers as well. But by using the gag sparingly, the men dragged out the suspense. Then one day, as they were sitting, watching a load of autos drive onboard, Captain Nelson approached, greeted them, and sat down. The temptation was just too great, and soon the "old man" found himself jumping high in the air, rubbing the seat of his pants from the jolt.

"What was that?" Nelson gasped. The engineers denied anything was wrong and looked at him like he was out of his mind. Shrugging, Nelson carefully checked the bench, and seeing nothing amiss, sat down again, only to get another jolt. Again the engineers denied everything, and again Nelson sat down. But after the third shock, no one could keep a straight face and they confessed to how the magneto worked. Nelson laughed along along with the joke, as just then one of the mates came by.

"Let me try it!" Nelson pleaded. The crewmen agreed and quickly switched places on the bench. After exchanging pleasantries, the mate sat down. As everyone passed knowing looks back and forth, except for the mate, who apparently didn't suspect a thing, the conversation between Master and Mate continued. The men were hushed, as Nelson waited for just the right moment, and then gave the crank a mighty twirl.

With a shout, he jumped high in the air, while the mate and other crewmembers laughed. While they'd been talking, the men had switched the wires to different nails, nails right under where Nelson had again just sat down. And the mate had been in on the gag all along!

It was probably unrelated to that prank, but soon after, Capt. Nelson took some sick leave and First Mate Aaron "Mickey" Sweeney got his first taste of Vacationland's full command. Meanwhile, the Coast Guard's Captain Fred Cronan got an ultimatum from his wife: "Stop growing strawberries and raspberries!" Cronan had gotten a power tiller and started growing berries for a hobby. His crop was bountiful, so much so, Mrs. Cronan couldn't pick them all.

Next week: Summer pastimes

Copyright 2007 by Les Bagley. All rights reserved.

If you have memories of the ferries, or photos of them that you would like to share, please contact the author, Les Bagley, via e-mail at les@divco.org or through The St. Ignace News office.