R.I.P. Detroit's Big Stove

Long before Detroit became the Motor City, it was bustling factory town. As early as 1880, the city was recognized as the center of US stove production. We had ascended to that prominence relatively quickly, given that James and Jeremiah Dwyer had started the city's first stove factory only 20 years earlier at the foot of Mt. Elliott. Early stoves manufactured in Detroit could burn wood, coal, or coke, but the industry evolved to accommodate natural gas once supply systems were put in place in major cities.

Even in the late 19th Century, manufacturers recognized the value of publicity. That's why the Michigan Stove Company decided to display a truly giant stove at the 1893 World Columbian Exposition in Chicago. That world's fair was intended to welcome the world to the Windy City while commemorating the 400th anniversary of Columbus' discovery of the New World.

An unknown sculptor (possibly either John Tabaczuk or Joachim Jungwirth) constructed a stove 25 feet tall, 30 feet long, and 20 feet wide. Its weight was estimated at about 15 tons. Unlike real stoves, it was mainly built of wood (white pine, redwood, basswood, and possibly some spruce). But the exterior was carved and painted to resemble the company's popular Garland nickel trimmed cast iron model.

To further enhance the giant stove's prominence at the Chicago fair, it was placed on a 20 foot high platform and surrounded by various state-of-the-art stoves that might interest consumers.

After the fair closed, the Stove was dismantled, shipped back to Detroit, and re-erected in front of the Michigan Stove Company factory on East Jefferson.

Detroit's stove industry was still booming. Five firms dominated Detroit stove production:

• The Art Stove Company
• The Detroit Stove Works
• The Detroit Vapor Stove Company
  
• The Michigan Stove Company
• The Penninsular Stove Company
• The Art Stove Company

By 1922, these companies and their competitors in Detroit employed thousands of workers to build over 400,000 units and sell them for over $10 million.

In 1927, the Stove was moved further down East Jefferson to a position near the Belle Isle Bridge.

In 1955, the Michigan Stove Company's successor, the Welbilt Company, went out of business. The Stove was leased to the Schafer Bakery Company and used as an icon for a different industry. And when Schafer was no longer interested in it, the Stove was given to the City of Detroit in 1965 and moved to the Michigan State Fairground at Woodward and Eight Mile Road.

Having been exposed to the elements for virtually all of its existence, the Stove was showing its age. So it was once again dismantled and its parts were stored at the Fort Wayne Historic Museum.

Detroiters remembered it, though, and wanted it back. The City's History Department was able to recruit corporations, trade unions, and individuals to restore the damaged parts. And the Stove was once again re-erected at the Fairgrounds in time for the opening of the 150th Michigan State Fair in 1998. (Meecheegander notes with pride that Michigan was the first state to host a State Fair.)

The Stove remained there for another 23 years, even after the state's dismal economy forced the cancellation of the State Fair after the 2009 event.

On August 13 2011, Meecheegander was riding up Woodward with friends after they'd spent the day exploring some of Detroit's historical landmarks. As they passed the Fairgrounds, he saw the Stove through the trees and remarked on it. It turned out his friends had never known the significance of the Giant Stove even though they must have seen it when they took their kids (who are now grown) to the State Fair.

And they never will see it. During a thunderstorm that hit shortly after we got to their home just off Woodward and 11 Mile Road, lightning struck the Stove. By the time anyone noticed that the structure was on fire, the Detroit Fire Department declared the Stove to be a lost cause.

One Could Choose a Worse Role Model

I don't follow baseball with the same rabid intensity I did 10 or 20 years ago. Even in those days, though, I never confused admiration with adulation. Worshiping athletes is the stuff of childhood. Adults are all too aware that superstars of any sort have feet of clay. Witness the Roger Clemens trial that's currently underway.

But there are a couple of baseball players I sincerely admire, as much for their character as their achievements. This is about one of them.

You had to be living in Detroit in 1976 to fully appreciate the impact that Mark Fidrych had on the Tigers when he made his first major league start in mid-May. (And he only got that start because the scheduled starter was down with the flu.) He threw a complete game 2-1 victory, not yielding the first of his two hits until the eighth inning.

He would go on to win 19 games and lead the league with a 2.34 ERA. He was also named the starting pitcher in the All Star Game and Rookie of the Year and came in second in voting for the Cy Young Award,

What really captivated fans, though, was his boyish enthusiasm. The gangly 21 year old who was nicknamed The Bird because of his uncanny resemblance to the Big Bird character on Sesame Street was everyone's inner child suddenly transported to center stage. He talked to the baseball. He crouched down and manicured the mound at the start of each inning. He cheered like a madman at the plays his fielders made to back him up. By the time he led the Tigers to a win over the Yankees in a nationally televised game in late June, he had fans from coast to coast.

He was a genuine goofball. I remember watching an interview when he was asked what he wanted more than anything else. After pondering the question, he said he'd always wanted to own a dump truck.

1976 was the Year of the Bird. The Tigers gave him a $25,000 bonus after the season ended and signed him to a three-year contract worth $255,000. Given that the minimum salary for Major League Baseball was around $35,000 then (it's now about $410,000), this was a significant raise but less than an astronomical one.

Alas, 1976 was also pretty much the extent of The Bird's career. He tore knee cartilage during

Spring Training in 1977. Six weeks into the season, he felt his arm go dead. That injury wouldn't be diagnosed as a torn rotator cuff and repaired until 1985, five years after he'd reluctantly retired. During the 1977-1980 seasons, he compiled a 10-10 record.

But the fans remembered him. He'd frequently be stopped by strangers back home in Massachusetts and asked for his autograph. When fans would offer condolences for his ill fortune, he'd admonish them. What was there to be sorry about? He'd fulfilled his dream of pitching in the major leagues. He'd then gone home and married the girl he loved. They had a nice home and a lovely daughter. He had a successful business that he enjoyed. And strangers frequently stopped him to shake his hand. What more could a person ask out of life?

The last time I saw Mark Fidrych was during the ceremonies following the last game in Tiger Stadium at the end of the 1999 season. Retired players in uniform trotted out one by one from the center field gate to their old positions. I thought nothing would surpass the acclaim that greeted Al Kaline emerging and headed for right field (known as Kaline's Corner in Tiger Stadium), but I was wrong. When Fidrych sprinted onto the field and ran to the mound at full bore, the fans erupted into cries of Bird! Bird! Bird!

He squatted down, pulled empty plastic bags from his uniform pocket, and began filling them with dirt from the mound. When questioned about this later, he said that an awful lot of people had helped him make it to the Major Leagues and that he wanted to share with them mementos of his career. The dirt would be part of those mementos.

I hope the mementos got constructed and shared before Fidrych's untimely death on April 13, 2009. Working on repairs beneath one of his company's 10 wheel dump trucks, his clothes got ensnared in a spinning take-off shaft and suffocated him.

Thinking back to his brief but meteoric career, I can't help thinking about the ghost-written autobiography that came out after that 1976 season. It's a typical spur-of-the-moment cash-in-on-the-moment book, not really worth the effort of reading. But the title is pure Bird: No Big Deal.

Rest in peace, Mark Fidrych. You and your enthusiasm and your humility were a very big deal for me. Your head was screwed on pretty well.

"Sometimes I get lazy and let the dishes stack up, but they don't stack too high. I've only got four dishes."

Introduction

This blog had its genesis with the preparations to host a national professional conference in metropolitan Detroit.

Since 1985, I've been associated with AIRS, the Alliance of Information and Referral Services. Our practitioners are the folks who staff 2-1-1 centers and community helplines across the US and Canada, as well as the folks who support the staff who work the phones. And since around 1993, I've been on the Board of Directors of MI-AIRS, Michigan's affiliate to the national AIRS.

When the decision was made to hold the 2011 AIRS Training and Education Conference in Michigan (the Hyatt Regency in Dearborn, to be more precise), MI-AIRS agreed to provide substantial help to the AIRS staff. I agreed to help stoke up interest in the Conference by writing a series of posts to the primary listserv read by I&R professionals.

The postings (57 of them, running from 4/10/11 through 6/5/11, the opening day of the Conference) were intended both to educate readers and to entertain them. Topics viewed from Michigan and Detroit trivia to tourist information.

It turned out to be a lot more work than I had anticipated. It also turned out to be immensely rewarding. I realized how deeply embedded a Michigander I am.

Not wanting to let go of that satisfaction, I've decided to continue the postings in this forum. Not on a daily basis though. Instead, I'm going to post when the muse strikes me.

--Dick Manikowski

PS--As for the Meecheegander name for this blog, that's the identity I assumed for the listserv postings. The Yahoo user name Michigander was already taken, so I became Meecheegander. Meecheegander is also my Twitter handle, but those postings aren't necessarily focused on the Great Lakes State.