December 1955
- charliebunton
- 1 hour ago
- 4 min read
Winter had settled gently over Rogers City; the kind of snowfall that softens the world and makes every porch light glow a little warmer. But on this quiet morning, the town awoke not to the hush of snow, but to the heavy news that one of its earliest pioneers—Paul H. Hoeft—had passed away. He had seemed well in recent days, still carrying himself with the sturdy confidence of a man shaped by frontier life, but a sudden stroke had taken him. With his passing, one of the last living links to the county’s earliest days was gone.
Hoeft’s story was woven into the very grain of the region’s forests. After finishing school, he stepped into the family business founded by his father, Herman Hoeft—a bustling enterprise that bought and manufactured forest products, ran a lumber and stave mill, and operated a general store. Their goods traveled to market aboard their own steam barges, the Messenger—lost to a fire in 1890—and the C.H. Starke, whose whistle once echoed across the lake like a promise of prosperity.
That prosperity took physical form in Huron Heights, the grand twenty-five-acre estate perched atop the hill leading out of town. Locals began calling it “Hoeft’s Hill,” a name spoken with equal parts admiration and awe. The mansion itself was a testament to the era’s lumber barons—wide verandas, polished woodwork, a music room where a grand piano gleamed beneath lamplight, and a bar where laughter and conversation lingered late into the night.
But Hoeft’s legacy stretched far beyond wealth. He poured his energy into shaping the community he loved. He served as a director on the first board of the Michigan Limestone & Chemical Company, guided the township as supervisor for more than forty years, was president of the Presque Isle Savings Bank, and sat on the board of the Rogers City Power Company. His fingerprints were everywhere—quiet, steady, foundational.
And yet, for all his accomplishments, Hoeft was happiest on the water. From boyhood, the pull of Lake Huron had been irresistible. He spent countless hours aboard his pleasure boats—the Leila, and later the Topaz VII. His greatest gift, though, was one he left for generations he would never meet: more than 300 acres of shoreline and forest, donated to create P.H. Hoeft State Park. Today, waves still roll onto that sandy beach, children still chase each other beneath the pines, and every visitor—whether they know his name or not—walks through the legacy of a man who loved his community deeply.
Life in Rogers City, meanwhile, carried on with its familiar rhythms. In the high school gym, the air thick with the scent of popcorn and polished hardwood, the Hurons varsity basketball team opened their season with a heart-stopping 45–43 victory over Oscoda. Coach Dick Abraham, steady and optimistic, had good reason to believe in his squad. Six returning lettermen—captain and center Tom Paulus, along with Jim Buczkowski, Mark Smolinski, Bill Shay, Ron Idalski, and Jim Bisson—brought experience and grit to the court.
Basketball fans were treated to something even more extraordinary when the world-famous Texas Cowgirls rolled into town. Much like the Harlem Globetrotters, they dazzled crowds with a blend of athleticism and comedy, facing off against Rogers City High School alumni in an exhibition game that filled the gym with laughter, applause, and the squeak of sneakers dancing across the floor.
Far from home, in Frankfurt, Germany, Army Sgt. Irving Sheldon opened a local newspaper and froze in surprise. There, printed in color, was a cartoon of a beaver swimming alongside children at the Rogers City Municipal Beach. The caption read: “A playful beaver joined a group of surprised youngsters to take part in the water fun, Rogers City Municipal Beach, Michigan.” In that unexpected moment, halfway around the world, the familiar warmth of home reached him like a hand on the shoulder.
And then—Christmas arrived. Snow crunched under boots as families gathered downtown, breath rising in little clouds of excitement. Santa Claus made his entrance not by sleigh, but in the back of a Rogers City Police Department squad car, lights flashing festively. More than 2,250 children lined up to meet him, cheeks rosy, mittens damp from snow, each receiving a box of candy and nuts. Their wish lists were filled with the treasures of the era—Davey Crockett toys, dolls and dollhouses, and the ever-magical View-Master. Santa ended his visit at the Rogers City Hospital, bringing the holiday spirit to children who couldn’t join the festivities. In those quiet rooms, the true heart of Christmas shone brightest.
