November 1955
- charliebunton
- 1 day ago
- 3 min read
The familiar hum of engines and the warm scent of motor oil drifted through the Oldsmobile Automobile Agency as a new chapter unfolded in Rogers City. After decades under the steady, trusted hand of Otto Florip, the dealership’s keys passed to two newcomers—John Minelli and Tom McArdle—men whose footsteps were still fresh on the town’s sidewalks but whose experience in the automobile world ran deep. Minelli brought twelve years of Pontiac know‑how from Ionia, while McArdle carried the confident ease of someone shaped by the bustling auto trade of Mount Pleasant. Both had just returned from Detroit, where the General Motors School had immersed them in the gleaming lines and powerful promise of the 1956 models.
Their new home, the McArdle & Minelli Oldsmobile dealership on US‑23, stood crisp and modern against the roadside, its windows catching the morning sun like polished chrome. Inside, the familiar faces of William Standen, Orian DeKette, Edward Munn, and Adolph Schlak continued their work, their hands steady and sure as ever. The grand opening felt like a festival—hundreds of townspeople filling the showroom with laughter, handshakes, and the soft shuffle of winter coats. Beneath the bright lights, Otto Florip accepted farewell after farewell, the weight of twenty‑eight years of service reflected in the warm gratitude of the community he had served so faithfully.
Across town, the sound of a brass band carried on the crisp air as Dr. Robert Ries stepped forward to lay the cornerstone of the new Rogers City Elementary School. The Indiana limestone block, cool and pale beneath the afternoon sun, bore the simple, proud numerals: 1956. Within it rested a copper time capsule, its surface gleaming like a penny fresh from the mint. Inside were eighteen pieces of the town’s story—histories, directories, lists of students and teachers, a copy of the Presque Isle County Advance—carefully placed to speak to future generations. Children pressed close, their breath fogging in the air, while Superintendent Harry Grambau, board members, construction representatives, and families watched the moment settle into memory.
Meanwhile, the woods echoed with the sharp crack of rifles as deer season opened. Hunters moved through the frosted underbrush, their boots whispering over fallen leaves. Kenneth Ohlrich was the first to emerge from the forest’s hush with a 4‑point buck, the animal’s coat still dusted with the morning’s chill. His early success earned him not only pride but a cash prize from the Advance, a small celebration of skill and timing.
But nature soon shifted its tone. What began as a cold rain thickened into heavy snow, and by afternoon the wind rose—forty‑mile‑per‑hour gusts roaring in from Lake Huron like a living force. The storm clawed at wires and poles, snapping them with sharp, echoing cracks. By nightfall, darkness settled over Rogers City as electricity and phone service failed, leaving homes lit only by lanterns and the soft glow of candles. Even the mighty Calcite quarry fell silent, its power cut, though its linemen braved the storm to help restore the community’s lifelines.
Inside local groceries and meat markets, workers scrambled to save what they could, the cold air of open freezers mixing with the metallic scent of melting ice. Despite their efforts, thousands of dollars in perishables were lost. The Rogers City Power Company, its records stretching back to 1913, reported that no storm in its history had ever struck with such force. Yet amid the damage, one truth settled over the town like a sigh of relief: not a single person had been hurt.
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