Anatomy of a Murder?

Val was thinking about the book that Voelker wrote about the murder that happened here at the Lumberjack back in ’52. Wikipedia says that the “murder scene body outline is still there, although it is possibly a restoration and not the original outline”…really? Jack told us once that when he re-paneled the place he shot a couple more holes in the wall too.  After the book became a bestseller, and Otto Preminger made it a movie, the murder put the town on the map for some time. There was a lot of focus on the murder and the murder trial in the book, but people forget that the whole thing started with an alleged rape, and there were alleged panties left in the woods at the end of the park. The husband of the owner of the panties, after learning of the alleged rape, went straight to the Lumberjack and shot the alleged rapist – boom! Voelker convinced a jury that in an “irresistible impulse” the man shot the bar owner and should not be found guilty due to temporary insanity. I understand what irresistible impulse is. When I get on a scent…  I don’t know if it was temporary insanity or not, but I do know that when we walk the park today - out on the remote edges of the park – you can still find panties in the grass. Val always pulls me away and says, “No, Remi – that’s yucky.”

One remnant of the 50’s is the old camp office. This is the same building you see at the end of Otto Preminger’s movie, “Anatomy of the Murder,” with James Stewart and Lee Remick. It’s historical as is so much of this place. This is where the park manager lived and worked for many years. The new park office is at the entrance of the park, and the park manager no longer lives there. Kim spent so many years in close proximity to campers that some nights, when the park is full, she wakes up at daylight still in the park, sitting in her van in the parking lot. Dedication to duty like that is not easily found these days.  Kim explained to Dave that in order to convert the old office and home to a rental cabin she had a need of a wall to separate the entrance to the basement from the rental space so Dave built her a wall. Call Kim at Perkins Park if you want to rent the place - after all it is a piece of history.

From the front yard of the cabin you can see the smokestack from the old Ford wood plant. Henry Ford had a plant here in Big Bay to make the wood parts for his vehicles. You may – or may not – remember the station wagons with the shiny wood doors and quarter-panels. Well, Big Bay is where the wood came from. He built the hotel in town, and Henry was a founding member of the Huron Mountain Club, which is still very exclusive and private. The club is located at the end of the Mountain Club road, and there is security at the gate, as well as roaming security ensuring no one trespasses on guests or wildlife on club property. There are more stories to be told, so if you are inclined to make the drive up from Marquette on the twisty and sometimes bumpy road so much more may be learned.

You get a view of people in a campground that you just do not get in a regular neighborhood. Even if people have nice trailers or motor coaches they spend a lot more time out of doors, and the proximity is close. Things can be heard that are not meant to be heard by the world. Tones of voice can tell a whole story. It’s like when Val says, “Oh, you are such a good boy.” If she uses the same tone of voice and tells me that I am a flea bitten scoundrel it means the same to me. In the same way when the man says, “I could use some help here,” tone of voice is everything. Sometimes it’s body language that’s the illuminator. Like when some inexperienced person is backing a trailer into a spot, and has tried for the umpteenth time to get it where it needs to go and then hits a tree - when that guy gets out of the truck be assured that nothing needs to be said – his body language writes a book. I’m laying here on my leash right now watching some people across the road. The man is sitting in a chair. He is looking in the direction of the lake, drinking something out of a mug with one hand, and petting a dog with the other. Now that’s human contentment if I ever saw it.

Dogs and trees are simpatico. Trees are good for sniffing, peeing, shade, and for chasing the sticks that fall from their branches. The only time I don’t feel in harmony with a tree is when I am chained to one. Val explains that there are rules, and I understand that, but still… As I lay here looking at my companion, the tree, I notice the rough bark of a hard maple. Then my gaze takes me skyward up the truck in order to appreciate the limbs, branches, and leaves. The light that filters through from above mottles the colors seen from below. So many shades of green, brown, even black.  I ponder the spray of branches and the limbs that wither down to tender sprigs with leaves on the end. The leaves at the top of the tree are beneficiaries of all the sun, and the first spraying of water from clouds above. From my vantage on the forest floor I wonder why the leaves at the top of the tree are not as big as dinner a plate, and the less fortunate ones at the bottom as small as a tea cup. There’s not a breath of air right now. The leaves are held in suspended animation. Unusual, being right next to the lake, not to have even a slight breeze. Wait a minute… I see movement. Yes, there are one or two leaves that moved ever so slightly. Now more leaves are moving. The ends of the branches have begun to move and there is sound. The combination of wind and leaves makes a sylvan symphony for my listening pleasure.  Seeing, hearing, and feeling the breeze on a warm summer day titillates my senses, and I feel alive.