The story continues . . .

My younger brother, Ron, has lived in Japan for 24 years but has made it a point to return to Michigan and California almost every year to expose his daughter, Seiko, (now 17) to her American family and to American culture. I’m tagging along on his scheduled trip to visit friends, family and reminisce about growing up in a place that seems quite foreign to me now. Last Friday’s blog described the experiences of my first three nights in my home state.

This is Part 2 of my Michigan adventure!

My Michigan Adventure continues . . .

After departing the all-American town of Rockford, we head northwest toward Harrison – a small resort town (pop. 2,114) in the middle of the mitten. The town’s website boasts access to “20 lakes in 20 minutes,” though we’re probably among the few visitors they see in this mid-March “mud season.” My niece, Michelle, lives here with her husband, Dan, and their three kiddos: Mikayla (12), Katelyn (10) and Collin (8). The kids greet us on the driveway and usher us into the house, wanting to show us their bedrooms and, especially, their brand-new indoor swimming pool. This is a bit of a rarity in Michigan, given its access to lakes large and small. As usual, the kids enjoy it thoroughly.

Early Monday morning, we’re on the road again, heading to the town of Clare. More specifically, our destination is Cops & Doughnuts Bakery. Clare’s downtown bakery had been in constant operation since 1896 but was within weeks of closing back in 2009 when the Clare Police Department – all nine of them – came to the rescue. They re-named the place “Cops & Doughnuts” and it’s become an institution, adding four other retail locations (they call them “precincts”) and an online business. It takes me awhile to decide from among the dinner-plate sized cookies, apple fritters (called “Felony Fritters) that weigh 1/2 pound each, and maple-frosted eclairs with two strips of bacon. My choice? A cinnamon roll the size of a bad guy’s fist. There’s no question I’ve gone off the wagon and rekindled my carb addiction when Seiko asks me, “Aunt Marilyn, are you going to eat the whole thing?” To which I replied without a hint of shame, “Yes, I am.”

It’s another half-hour drive to Mt. Pleasant, smack-dab in the middle of the mitten. My impressions? Every town we’ve passed through since day one has a Dollar General Store. Grain silos are more sophisticated than I remember. Mid-Michigan is flat, and the highways are so straight I could put the car on cruise control and never touch the wheel. (But I don’t do that, despite my almost coma-inducing cinnamon roll.)

My niece, Kellie, works for the Michigan Special Olympics in Mt. Pleasant where she is involved in event logistics. She shows us around a huge warehouse filled with sporting equipment. Ron is in heaven!

Continuing on, the place names get more and more familiar as we get closer to Saginaw. Driving east on Gratiot Road, we pass St. Andrew’s Cemetery where my parents and dozens of Murphy relatives are buried. Turning left on Center Road, we drive by the building which was once Stewart Fabrics, one of my early part-time jobs. Making a right on Brockway, we soon approach the familiar streets of Lathrup Park subdivision: Wilson, Coolidge, Avalon, Lathrup and – finally – Glendale.

A week or so ago, I had sent a letter to the residents of 1375 Glendale, mentioning that my brother and I had grown up in that house which our father had built in 1949 – and requesting, if possible, an invitation to take a quick look around the inside. I’d received a text message from the new owner, Ray, inviting us to stop by the old homestead anytime. We turn left on Glendale and take a trip through memory lane. Not a lot has changed in the old neighborhood. Small homes on big lots are mostly well-kept and the street is still a latticework of temporary asphalt patch jobs.

Our little house at 1375 Glendale

Our little craftsman-style house, built by my dad and his brothers from a Sears & Roebuck blueprint in 1949, is just as I remember it. The front yard once had two giant Dutch Elm trees that were felled by disease when I was a teenager. Long gone was an overgrown Blue Spruce, planted in the middle of the yard, which had been taken down some years ago, as was the crabapple tree which sprouted pretty pink blossoms every spring, but was a messy nuisance for the rest of the year for my dad and brothers who mowed the lawn.

Ray was out front and welcomed us inside. The ugly old carpet was gone to reveal beautiful hardwood floors. The small living room looked much bigger with just a sofa and a couple of lounge chairs. Ray had put new flooring in the kitchen which reminded me of the old gray linoleum floor that was there when I was a kid. The vintage wooden cupboards were brightened with a coat of white paint. He said he had tried, and failed – as had my mother – to figure out a better way to configure the awkward and too-small kitchen. But it, too, looked bigger with a small breakfast table. It makes a difference when there are only two people living there, as opposed to six of us. And how we ever managed with only one bathroom, I’ll never know.

After dropping our bags at my cousin, Barb’s, I’m off to meet up with my high school classmates at a restaurant called Beef O’Brady’s. A group meets every month in response to the organizer’s email invitation. A few days ago Jean had posted on Facebook that another classmate and I were visiting Saginaw from out of town, and it would be great to have a robust turnout. One of my classmates, who I’ll call BJ, responded on Facebook: “I’d love to see Dave B. but if Marilyn Murphy is going to be there, I’ll stay home because she’s a radical.” 

I was stunned at first, but my fluster turned to flatter as I pondered the gravity of her accusation. Nobody would ever have accused me of being anything other than a wimpy wallflower in high school. It’s a badge of honor! I’ve come a long way, baby!

It was a delightful evening. The first time I’ve ever felt popular with this group! And so nice to know that we all grow up and grow out of the cliques, competition, and small-minded thinking of adolescence.

The next couple of days are filled with nostalgic visits to places I fondly recall from childhood. The texture of Spatz’s bread is not too fine, not too coarse – but juuust right! I spy a cinnamon roll in their vintage wooden bakery display and decide that I must have it. Not quite as good as the one from Cops & Doughnuts, but it’ll do. (And yes, Seiko, I will eat the whole thing!)

I remember summer nights, standing in happy anticipation, waiting in line at Mooney’s Ice Cream at its location where Gratiot meets Brockway. Today, it’s a small storefront hidden in a strip mall on State Street, a couple of doors away from Dollar General. The signage is different from the white on blue that I remember. What has happened? Is nothing sacred? I learn from the friendly young woman who serves me that Mooney’s had closed down in the late 90s for an entire decade before re-surfacing in this new location. But their flavor selection is still as awesome as ever and a single scoop (Almond Joy is my favorite) is huge! (And yes, Seiko, I will eat the whole thing!)

I hated living in Saginaw when I was a kid. Declining population, increasing crime, white flight, segregation, discrimination . . . I just wanted out of there from my earliest memory. It hadn’t improved much in recent years, ranking 3rd in the nation, per capita, in violent crime in 2013 and 4th in 2014. At least it has better water than Flint.

But over the last couple of years, Saginaw has seen a sharp decrease in violent crime. In 2015 it dropped off the Top Ten and was all the way down to #21 in 2016. It’s apparent that some people are making a big effort to revive the charms of a town that flourished in the latter half of the 1800s when lumber was king and Saginaw had millions of acres of virgin white pine forests. There are some beautiful old mansions and historic buildings dating back to that time. And much evidence of the good old days of the 50s and 60s when sugar beet distribution and auto-parts manufacturing were thriving.

The neon sign from Aubry’s Cleaners, which commanded a view of downtown Saginaw from the corner of Janes and Franklin, has been re-installed in a parking lot in Old Town behind the old Ippel’s Department Store building.

When I was a child, Saginaw’s somewhat sorry claim to fame was, “Home of the world’s tallest bean elevator.” It’s long-since abandoned and the neon bunny no longer blinks on and off at night like it once did.

But as I write the last of this blog, eating an over-easy egg and the last of the Spatz’ bread I smuggled home, I realize what I gained from my journey to Michigan – besides the inevitable few extra pounds from the doughnuts and ice cream and white bread. I reconnected with cousins, nieces, and nephews that I hadn’t known as well as I now do. I learned much that I had not known about my mom’s side of the family. I learned that my high school classmates grew up to be really nice people (most of them, at least). I remembered how to play Euchre. Most importantly, I gained perspective and appreciation for the little neighborhood in which I lived, for the parents who raised me, and for town where I grew up.

Nostalgia is a tasty flavor after all.

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