This story is true. but I cannot remember the exact year - probably in the mid 60’s. I think Bonnie and I were married, but it is not relevant.
Michigan's deer season had been in since Nov. 15, and Bonnie and I were in Shingleton, MI for Thanksgiving. I was also going to do some deer hunting and was truly looking forward to the experience.
Shingleton, MI is a small community of 5-600 located on M-28 just east of Munising. Munising is a small town, at the time perhaps 4500 - 5000 souls located on the northern side of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan on the shores of Lake Superior about 50 miles east of Marquette, MI. The distance from Munising to Shingleton is about 12 miles. South of Shingleton toward Manistique lie extensive hunting lands that many from the Lower Peninsula hunt for the elusive Michigan whitetail. This is remote hunting, swamps; bogs and uplands abound. While roads crisscross the area, they tend to be two rut roads that loosely follow the terrain and can be impassable at times.
Tom & Glady Dolaskie, my wife's parents, owned a general store at the cross road of M-28 and M-94. There was a Post Office in the store and Tom was the postmaster. However, Tom's background as an outdoors man is legend. He grew up in the logging camps that were located in the area and made his living for many years cutting logs for the timber industry. He hunted and fished the entire area and was as familiar with the surrounding countryside as you would be of your home.
We had all gone to bed after the usual evening of card games and much talk. Our plan was to rise early, breakfast and then go hunting north of Star Siding back in large swamp area that ran north to Lake Superior. Sometime after we had all fallen asleep we were roused by a knocking at the back door. It was perhaps 11:30 PM. The knocking did not stop. I heard Tom get up and go down the stairs. I could hear voices at the back door, but the location of the bedrooms did not permit me to overhear the conversation.
A few minutes later Tom came up the stairs and knocked on our bedroom door. He asked me to come downstairs. Of course by this time Bonnie and Glady were awake, so we all traipsed down the rickety old stairwell. There stood a man dripping wet and quite wound up. About that time I remembered being awakened by a freak thunderstorm that moved through the area just after we had gone to bed. I lay in bed listening to the crashing and booming and wondered what that would mean to the hunt the next morning. There was a good amount of snow on the ground, I wondered if it would all melt away. Of course, you just knew the woods would be sopping wet, and you were in for a muddy day of slogging trails.
The man and his hunting partner had camped south of Shingleton near a place called the Red something or other, I cannot recall. It was located in a very backwoods area that I had been to before, but it had been some time. Tom knew the area very well and knew from the description the man gave just where they were camping.
Glady called the ambulance service, and they would send an ambulance. I was to accompany the man back to their encampment and render what assistance I could. Being a young man and not trained in any first aid or CPR, I really had no idea what to do except to provide company. Tom would wait for the ambulance and accompany the driver to the campsite in the woods.
Munising has a small hospital, and the few doctors who service the area tend to be General Practitioners. The ambulance service is provided by the local funeral home, Bowerman-Halifax, and what serves as an ambulance is also a hearse. The vehicle was a gorgeous black Cadillac hearse with the small, tasteful sign of Bowerman-Hallifax funeral home on a bronze hood ornament.
The man, who by the way was from Kalamazoo, MI, and I drove to the campsite. Down a barely passable two rut road we bounced and arrived at one of those spacious canvas tents that have sidewalls. We found his partner, barely conscious, lying on a cot beside a small potbellied wood burning stove. Lightening had apparently hit a tree nearby. Searching for ground, it came down the tree, hit the metal stovepipe leading to the stove, and then grounded through the cot and the man leaving a gash in the earthen floor of the tent. The man was injured, had difficulty breathing, and seemed to be in great distress. We were able to cover him with a blanket and tried to keep him awake so he would not go into shock.
We had been at the campsite for perhaps fifteen minutes when we became aware of a vehicle approaching the camp. After the thunderstorm had passed through which was apparently the leading edge of a cold front, the temperature plummeted. It was now about zero, and the roads had become covered with "black ice". Driving out from Munising had been treacherous. But, here we were, trying to care for an injured man and what pulls into the campsite? You guessed it, a brand new, black, gorgeous Cadillac hearse driven by the funeral home director, Footsie Bowerman. Tom had guided him without fail, but the real surprise was when the backdoor opened out stepped Dr. Olson, one of the physicians who serviced the Munising area. When Tom had told Footsie that a hunter had been struck by lightening, Footsie called Doc Olson and Doc Olson told Footsie to pick him up on the way out of town. Together they slipped and slid out to Shingleton. Then joined by Tom they maneuvered their way to the campsite, and there sometime after midnight on a bitterly cold November night Dr. Olson, delivered by a hearse, treated the hunter from Kalamazoo.
The men from Kalamazoo were astounded. Only about 30 minutes had passed since the man had left with me in tow to return to the campsite. Yet in that 30 minute time frame an ambulance that is not on duty that late at night was summoned, a doctor was roused and picked up, 12 miles of icy road were traversed, then another 8 or so miles to the campsite and here we all were. The fellows from Kalamazoo said you couldn't even get that kind of service in a big city where they had round the clock services.
The man hit by lightening survived, but was never the same. He suffered heart damage, walked with a limp, never regained full motor control of his limbs, and lived the rest of his life on disability, unable to work. But before the two left the area, they came by the store to thank Tom & Glady for their help. His hunting partner returned to the UP many times hunting and fishing. He always stopped in the General Store and visited with Tom & Glady. Their conversations often returned to that stormy November night and the outstanding service and care that Footsie and Doc Olson provided. The man eventually grew older, retired and stopped coming to the UP some years ago. Tom & Glady retired and sold their store, and contact was lost. The memory is still etched in my mind, and I put it in this blog so others of my family may learn about the care, concern and service to others rendered to strangers in the cold night of the Northwoods.
The people who live in the Munising area of the Upper Peninsula have a unique spirit formed in part by the remote and rugged life of the area. While some may be amazed by the effort, those who live there would say, yep, just like Footsie and Doc Olson. Footsie has passed on. I do not know about Doc Olson except I know he retired some time ago. But the spirit that drove those men on that night still lives on in the residents of that country.
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