|
Idlewild
residents
try to
revive
lost
‘Black
Eden’
By JOHN
CARLISLE
IDLEWILD,
MI You’d
never
know
this was
once
paradise.
There’s
not much
traffic
on the
crisscrossing
dirt
roads.
The old
shacks
set back
in the
woods
are
mostly
empty.
There’s
little
noise
other
than the
sound of
the wind
blowing
the
leaves.
But this
remote
area was
once
alive,
crowded,
famous
around
the
world
not just
for what
it was,
but more
for what
it
meant.
In Jim
Crow
times,
when
black
people
weren’t
allowed
at white
vacation
spots
and
couldn’t
rent
most
hotel
rooms
while
traveling,
when
black
musicians
were
barred
from the
country’s
top
stages,
they all
came
here to
a rural
part of
western
Michigan
and
created
their
own
incredible,
improbable
world
called
Idlewild
in the
middle
of the
woods.
During
its peak
after
World
War II,
it drew
tens of
thousands
of
people
every
summer.
Hundreds
of
cottages
sprang
up.
Nightclubs
with
names
like the
Flamingo
Club and
the
Paradise
Club
brought
world-class
musical
greats
to
perform
for
audiences
who
dressed
in their
best
suits
and
gowns.
“You
were
hanging
out with
Della
Reese,
you
would be
in a
nightclub
with Joe
Louis
and
Louis
Armstrong,”
said
Mary
Trucks,
manager
of the
Idlewild
Cultural
Center.
“For
black
people,
it was
their
paradise.
It was
the
place to
be.
Everybody
was
here.”
And
then,
suddenly,
everybody
was
gone.
By the
1960s,
the
Civil
Rights
Act was
passed,
legal
segregation
ended,
Idlewild’s
summer
residents
started
vacationing
in
places
they
weren’t
able to
before,
and the
entertainers
followed
them.
The
cottages
crumbled,
the
nightclubs
closed,
the
people
moved
elsewhere.
It
became a
closed
chapter
in black
history.
But long
after
its
heyday,
it has
remained
home to
a few
hundred
residents
and a
handful
of
newcomers
who,
still
dazzled
by the
memories
or
inspired
by the
significance
of
Idlewild,
are
trying
hard to
lift it
back up.
It’s too
important
a place,
they
say, to
have let
it fall
this
far.
“I
understand
we were
so eager
to
become
part of
the
nation
that we
had been
disassociated
from
that we
jumped
at the
opportunity
to go
places
that we
had been
restricted
from,”
said
Patricia
Arnell-Turner,
who
recently
moved to
Idlewild
to
resurrect
an old
country
store.
“There
were
positive
things
that
happened
with the
signing
of the
Civil
Rights
Act, but
there
were
negative
things
that
were not
thought
out. We
should
never
have
abandoned
what we
already
had.”
$1
down, $1
per
month
Idlewild
was
started
in 1912
by white
investors
who
thought
a resort
for
black
vacationers
during
the Jim
Crow era
could be
a draw.
They
bought
2,700
acres
around a
few
small
lakes in
Lake
County,
deep in
the
Lower
Peninsula’s
northwestern
woods
just
east of
Lake
Michigan,
and
promoted
it as a
black
vacation
resort.
They
took out
ads in
big-city
newspapers
offering
lots for
$1 down
and $1
per
month,
bragging
of the
hunting,
fishing,
boating
and
horseback
riding
to be
enjoyed
here.
Word
soon
spread
among
black
professionals
in New
York,
Chicago
and
Detroit
of this
outdoor
getaway,
one of
the few
places
in the
country
where
they
could
vacation
and buy
land.
They
came in
droves.
By the
mid
’20s,
more
than
6,000
people
had
bought
more
than
17,000
lots
here.
W.E.B.
Dubois,
founder
of the
NAACP,
owned
property
here. So
did
Dizzy
Gillespie,
author
Charles
Waddell
Chesnutt,
Fisk
University
President
Lemuel
Foster,
Madam
C.J.
Walker,
the
first
black
female
millionaire
in
America,
and
dozens
of
doctors,
lawyers
and
teachers.
“We were
so
country,
and we
started
meeting
all of
these
people
from all
over the
country,”
said
77-year-old
Betty
Foote,
who was
born and
raised
here and
still
lives in
a modest
home in
the
woods.
“They
were so
fabulous.
They
were
like our
mentors.
We
wanted
to be
just
like
these
people.
They
dressed
great,
they had
fancy
cars,
pockets
full of
money.”
The
entertainment
was
astonishing
for a
little
country
vacation
spot.
Cab
Calloway,
Duke
Ellington,
Etta
James,
Dinah
Washington,
Billy
Eckstine,
Jackie
Wilson,
B.B.
King and
Sarah
Vaughan
were
among
the
hundreds
of
musicians
who
performed
here.
It grew
into the
biggest,
most
successful
resort
in the
Midwest,
black or
white.
At its
peak in
the
1950s
and
’60s, it
drew up
to
25,000
vacationers
in the
summer,
and was
home to
more
than 300
black-owned
businesses,
hundreds
of
cottages
and
thousands
of
residents.
There
was a
post
office,
a fire
department,
a roller
rink for
kids, a
public
clubhouse.
Then
legal
segregation
ended
and with
it the
reason
for
there to
be an
Idlewild.
Tourists
stopped
coming,
the bars
and
motels
closed
for lack
of
business,
and
residents
left as
work in
town
dried
up.
Soon, as
with
many
towns in
America,
drugs
and
crime
moved
in; for
a while
in the
1970s it
even
became a
hot spot
for
prostitutes
who
would
famously
waylay
the
hunters
passing
through
the
woods
every
fall.
It
became
just
another
poor
rural
town,
with
empty
houses
overrun
by
greenery
and
abandoned
storefronts
standing
as
embarrassing
reminders
of how
things
once
were
great.
The
population
fell to
about
400,
about
where it
is
today.
Ron
Griffin
presides
over
what’s
left.
He’s the
Yates
Township
supervisor,
and
Idlewild,
which
isn’t a
town so
much as
a plot
of land
given a
name,
lies
within
its
borders.
He lists
the
issues
he’s
struggling
to get
help
with — a
fallen
bridge
that
makes a
road
impassable,
a lack
of
simple
services,
dirt
roads
that
need
paving,
no
investment
at all.
“I can’t
get the
county
to plow
the
roads to
get the
people
in and
out,” he
said.
“We had
one guy
whose
wife was
critically
sick,
and we
had to
get some
guys
together
to plow
them out
and get
an
ambulance
here. We
need
roads,
we need
signage,
but the
biggest
problem
we’re
facing
is
getting
that
solid
amount
of money
so we
can do
something.”
Griffin
grew up
in
Detroit,
came
here to
fish and
hunt
over the
years,
and
moved
here
permanently
25 years
ago. He
has been
supervisor
for two
years.
“We’re
not
trying
to go
back to
the ’50s
and
’60s,
but back
to
things
we had.
Back in
the day,
all your
resources
were
really
coming
out of
Idlewild.
We had
gas
stations,
we had
stores,
we had
bars, we
had the
whole
nine
yards.
Now
we’re
basically
striving
like a
lot of
communities.
Our
biggest
problem
here is
getting
revenue
in here
to
really
do
something
constructive.”
He went
on — no
buses,
no
restaurants,
no mail
delivery.
And not
a lot to
do here.
“Right
now,
after 6
o’clock,
Idlewild
shuts
down.
After
the sun
goes
down,
you’re
on your
own.”
One-man
revival
effort
After
this
place
hit
rock-bottom,
after
nearly
everyone
had
left,
one man
came and
took
Idlewild
on his
back.
John
Meeks is
the
closest
thing to
Idlewild’s
mayor.
He’s
head of
the
Idlewild
Chamber
of
Commerce.
He
organizes
music
festivals
to draw
tourists.
And
though
Idlewild’s
rebirth
so far
consists
mostly
of the
dreams
of a few
true
believers,
he’s a
tireless,
enthusiastic
booster
who
insists
that
Idlewild
is on
the
upswing.
“People
say
Idlewild
is
dead,”
the
92-year-old
said.
“But
Idlewild
has made
tremendous
progress.
There
was a
35-year
period
when
there
were no
permits
issued
for new
homes.
Since
Idlewild
turned
around,
we’ve
had a
multitude
of homes
built.
Not
summer
homes,
but
year-round
homes.”
Meeks
was born
in
Illinois,
did a
stint in
the army
and
moved to
Detroit,
where he
eventually
owned
eight
dry
cleaners,
some of
which
still
stand
today,
still
bearing
his name
long
after he
sold
them.
One day,
a friend
took him
to
Idlewild
to party
for the
weekend.
“It was
wall-to-wall
people,”
he said,
smiling
wide. “I
saw some
of the
most
beautiful
women
I’d ever
seen in
my life.
And I
said,
‘This is
the
place
for John
Meeks.’
”
He has
been
here
every
summer
since
1954. “I
had so
much fun
up here
that I
will
never
forsake
Idlewild,”
he said.
“The
best
part of
my life
was
spent up
here.”
Meeks
grew so
attached
he moved
here 20
years
ago and
became a
one-man
revival
effort.
He
bought a
shuttered
historic
hotel
and
renovated
it. He
opened a
new
public
park.
And he
started
a
chamber
of
commerce
in a
town
that had
no
commerce
to speak
of.
“Back
then
there
was only
one
business
open in
Idlewild
and that
was
Larry’s
Landscaping,”
Meeks
said.
“Everything
else was
closed.”
Now, a
cultural
museum
is open.
Tourists
are
coming
in the
summer.
And
people
are
moving
here
specifically
to help
rebuild
an
important
part of
history.
“John’s
an
amazing
man,”
said
Kevin
Turner,
one of
Idlewild’s
newest
residents.
“Since
he sold
his
cleaners
in
Detroit,
he’s
been
spending
his own
money in
doing
things
here. I
mean,
he’s 92
years
old and
I’ve
seen him
on that
tractor
behind
the
chamber
... all
day from
8
o’clock
in the
morning
’til 8
o’clock
at
night. I
know
that’s
what
keeps
him
going.
Before
he
leaves
this
Earth he
wants to
see
Idlewild
come
back.”
A
store is
a start
Turner
pulled
out a
stack of
blueprints.
They
showed a
sculpted
Detroit
RiverWalk,
two
decades
before
it
actually
happened.
Turner
says
he’s the
one who
designed
the
original
concept
as a
Detroit
city
planner.
He spent
a career
working
on
multimillion-dollar
projects.
Now the
59-year-old
is
designing
the
interior
of a
general
store
that he
and his
wife
recently
bought
in the
middle
of the
woods.
Turner
had come
here as
a kid,
and
brought
his wife
to show
her.
“She
came and
fell in
love
with
it,” he
said.
“She can
see
beyond
what’s
happened
to it.”
“It’s a
way of
giving
back to
the
community,
a way of
giving
back to
my
people,”
said his
wife
Arnell-Turner,
a
retired
school
principal
from New
York. “I
just
think
it’s
somewhat
of an
honor to
be here.
It’s a
historic
community
and it
has a
phenomenal
history.
I don’t
know any
other
place
you can
go as an
African
American
and
experience
this.”
Their
store,
Road
Runners,
is a
typical
rural
one-stop,
right
now the
only
store in
town.
They
sell
cans of
soup,
bags of
chips,
beer and
pop,
coffee
and tea,
cigarettes
and
liquor.
Party
store
things.
It’s
small
and lies
in the
woods,
off the
main
roads.
But in
Idlewild,
where
everyone
has to
drive to
nearby
towns
like
Baldwin
or Chase
to buy
anything,
it’s a
small
but
welcome
sign of
life.
Like the
cultural
center,
like
Meeks
constantly
trying
to
launch
another
festival
or
another
event,
it’s
another
sign not
only
that
someone
believes
there
can be a
future
here,
but also
that
this
place’s
past is
too
important
to
forget.
“I’m
proud to
be a
part of
the
re-emergence
of
Idle-wild,”
Turner
said.
“The
legacy,
the
history,
makes it
what it
is,
especially
for
African
Americans.
This was
a place
they
could
come and
not be
intimidated,
where
they
enjoy
themselves
and
enjoy
the
fruits
of their
labors.
But it’s
still
here.
The
history
is still
here and
it
should
be
told.”
Columnist
John
Carlisle
writes
about
interesting
people
and
places
in
Michigan.
His
stories
can be
found at
freep.com/carlisle
. Follow
him on
Twitter
@_johncarlisle.
Contact
him:
jcarlisle@freepress.com
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