The Fire Not Forgotten

On a sticky late-September evening in 2004, after the last boaters tied up for the night in the Cheboygan County Marina, Curtis Chambers locked up his captain’s office, climbed into his jeep and drove to the old county jail. There, in the shadow of the imposing red-brick building that had housed nearly a century’s worth of town sheriffs and the rowdy lawbreakers in their custody, Chambers found the sign he had heard about.

It was your typical historical marker: big, green, gold, and to most folks who stand before it on the freshly shorn jailhouse lawn, an innocuous account of what happened where, when. It noted the structure’s former role as sheriff’s residence and jail, the scads of drunken ’jacks tossed inside to sober up during the town’s lumbering heyday, its current role as a local history museum. And then it highlighted this man:

“Cheboygan County’s two-fisted sheriff, Frederick Ming (1865–1943) was the most notorious of the nineteen lawmen who lived here. During Ming’s six years as sheriff, ‘no bully was big enough to stay out of jail if Ming decided to furnish him with room and board.’ In October 1900 Ming, his deputies, and speculator John McGinn burned Indian Village on Burt Lake in a land grab from the Indians. Ming served in both houses and founded the tuberculosis sanitarium in Gaylord.”

Chambers gritted his teeth at the sight of Ming’s name. “It sickened me,” he said. “The next day I got on the phone to the city manager, the mayor and the head of the historic society.”

Understand, Chambers isn’t a guy given to overreaction. A former Navy man, Chambers exudes the kind of precisely measured cool that can only be chiseled from rigorous self-discipline. He is tall, trim as a man half his age, with a neatly clipped salt-and-pepper mustache. He runs miles each week, attends church with his wife each Sunday, looks people straight in the eye when he speaks, and stands at rapt attention—back ramrod straight, legs wide, hands clasped—when he listens.

But Chambers is also a member of the Burt Lake Band of Indians. His great-grandmother was among those Indians on the receiving end of Sheriff Ming’s wrath. And like the other local descendants of the Indians who watched their homes go up in flames that October day in 1900, Chambers counts the burnout, as it’s come to be known, as the blackest moment in their collective history.

Article Comments

  • Anonymous

    I can’t put into words the impact reading your article on the web about the burn-out on Indian Point made on me.

    Outrage, and then sadness overwhelmed me as I read your account of the mistreatment of a group of people living, and working in Michigan. The complicity of the law, and state, in perpetuating this atrocity, should always keep us alert to what government can do, if good people are not vigilent. (It sounds eerily similar to what happened in Waco, Texas just a decade ago, so yes, such atrocities can happen again.)

    Where are the calls for reparation? Where are the calls for justice?

    Tribute goes to those people who after enduring such an event, went on and began working toward the future without looking back. Now that, is truly honorable.

    George Ranville
    Grand Rapids, MI

  • Maurice Eby

    This article is very good, but did make some avoidable factual mistakes. The tip of Indian Point was bought by Samuel H. Price [a white man] on September 12, 1854 from the U.S. government. (Cheboygan County Clerk Records) John and Caroline Riggs [white people] sold this property to Robert Patterson in October of 1879. This parcel was 45 acres. McGinn never obtained this prime piece of land, but George Humphrey did seize it in a tax sale in 1893 from the white owner,Patterson. He sold it to Pittsburg people who built The Colonial Point Hotel in 1902. An official county map of 1903 calls this area Colonial Point. The hotel went broke and burned in about 1909. The girls camp was on former hotel property and in operation by 1916. I have a picture postcard from 1916. According to deeds, Chick Lathers bought the McGinn property in 1923.

  • James Train

    Irene Train Mosser was my grandfather’s sister. She was a very old woman when I was a child.

    My family’s farm was less than a mile from where this happened. I have been gone for decades now. Until day, my sister and I had no idea that this had happened. We are beyond shocked, and we cannot believe the actions and inaction of our relatives at the time.