Michigan's foremost lumbertowns, flourishing urban industrial centers in the late 19th century, faced economic calamity with the depletion of timber supplies by the end of the century. Turning to their own resources and reflecting individual cultural identities, Saginaw, Bay City, and Muskegon developed dissimilar strategies to sustain their urban industrial status. This study is a comprehensive history of these lumbertowns from their inception as frontier settlements to their emergence as reshaped industrial centers. Primarily an examination of the role of the entrepreneur in urban economic development, Michigan Lumbertowns considers the extent to which the entrepreneurial approach was influenced by each city's cultural-ethnic construct and its social history. More than a narrative history, it is a study of violence, business, and social change.

Incorporated in 1892, Whitefish Bay is a pleasant, verdant village that is home to more than fourteen thousand people. More than half of its five thousand houses and other structures have been deemed historic or architecturally important. Even casual passersby can attest to the architectural significance of these buildings, and while the personal history attached to them is less apparent, it is no less dramatic. Their walls retain the stories of their remarkable inhabitants, from the outhouse where the first village president disappeared in 1899 with $20,000 in public funds to the lakeside Beaux-Arts mansion built by a Schlitz Brewing Company heir with eight varieties of Italian marble. Jefferson J. Aikin and Thomas H. Fehring examine these landmark treasures and the legacy of the residents they help preserve.

At the base of the Saginaw Bay on Lake Huron lies historic Bay City, a gorgeous town with a dark past. In its early days, a six-block strip known as Hell's Half Mile was an epicenter of debauchery and brutality. This tumultuous history has left a deep paranormal imprint on the area. A sinister Victorian lady terrorizes those who visit the upper level of the Bay City Antiques Center. The ghost of a disfigured little girl roams Sage Library. And the former caretaker of the USS Edson lovingly tends the ship after death as he did in life. Local author and paranormal investigator Nicole Beauchamp takes you on a bone-chilling journey through Bay City's most haunted locales.

Who would have thought a city would one day stand where there was nothing but swamp, with long grass--where there was scarcely an opening in the woods, and in which the wolves made plenty of howling. This observation was made by Leon Trombley, one of the first to try to settle in this part of the Michigan "frontier" in the early 1800s. His nephews, Mader and Joseph, would soon follow and ultimately become noted among the area's first permanent residents. The residents of Bay City have always aspired to be legendary, whether by design, accident, or sheer determination. Annie Edson Taylor, the area schoolteacher turned daredevil who would ride her Bay City-built barrel over Niagara Falls (and survive!), is only one among a large group of local legends that includes Olympic champions, community leaders, artists, musicians, scholars, philosophers, and historians.

At the beginning of the 20th century, Bay City was the third biggest city in Michigan, after Detroit and Grand Rapids. Lumber and sawmills were a big part of that success. The wealth amassed by its lumber barons built a vibrant downtown and mansions along its main streets. Add industry, shipping, sugar beets, schools, and churches to the mix, and you have the pictures in this book. These postcards show you how Bay City looked at its peak in the very early 1900s until about 1940-a time when people were glad they had reached their destinations and happy to send a postcard when they arrived.

When the phrase "Do you remember?" is uttered in Bay City, it is usually followed by the name of a hotel, restaurant, business, or building. Slowly, many parts of local history have been lost to the sands of time. Fire took many, followed by condemnations and the inevitable advance of progress. An empty lot may be all that remains of a once-prominent structure, but sometimes a new landmark emerges. In the case of one famous address at Center and Water Streets, the Wenonah Hotel rose out of the ashes of the Fraser House, another prominent facade. Seven decades later, the Wenonah, too, succumbed to fire; out of those ashes rose the Delta College Planetarium, a third-generation landmark. Photographs help residents remember, though each person who experienced something firsthand has his or her own distinct connection with these pieces of lost Bay City.