The 50th Anniversary of the Metz Fire: October 15, 1958
- charliebunton
- 4 days ago
- 6 min read
On October 15, 1958, Reverend Stan Fron, pastor of St. Dominic’s Catholic Church in Metz, led a mass marking the 50th anniversary of the Metz Fire, which devastated the town and took the lives of 37 men, women, and children. Those gathered—neighbors, descendants, and the last living witnesses—remembered the fire not as some far-off event, but as a moment that shaped the spirit of Presque Isle County. Half a century later, the memories were still vivid: the heat, the smoke, the fear, and most of all, the courage that emerged from ordinary people.
The summer of 1908 was the hottest and driest anyone could remember. Records later showed it had the least rainfall in over 50 years, and by early October the ground was like tinder, ready to ignite. Fires were already burning across Michigan, but no one could have guessed what was about to unfold here.
On the morning of Thursday, October 15, 1908, Millersburg woke to sparks leaping from the Thompson Shingle Mill. Men scrambled to fight the flames, but strong winds sent embers aloft, igniting the Hamilton Mill minutes later. For hours they battled the blaze with the village’s only fire engine, hauling water from the Ocqueoc River. Their hard work saved Millersburg—though the wind drove the fire eastward.
Metz began that day peacefully. Children walked barefoot to school, women tended infants, and men worked the fields. By noon, smoke rose on the horizon. At first, villagers shrugged; smoke had hung over the county for weeks. But within an hour, the sky darkened and the wind carried embers straight toward town.
St. Peter Lutheran Church was the first to fall. The villagers did their best to save it, but within minutes it was completely gone, leaving behind only a crucifix, an organ, and a Bible. Families buried their valuables in their yards, doused their roofs with water and other liquids, and kept watch for flying sparks.
Children recalled the terror vividly. Seven‑year‑old Evelyn Ohlrich remembered her mother, frantic with worry, as their barn caught fire and her brother rushed to free the horses just in time. “We saved our house… so many of our neighbors lost theirs”. Others were not so fortunate. The Henry Kemp family perished trying to save their home. The Anthony Wagner family suffered horrific burns; their son Robert died on the road, and Reverend Ernst Thieme, pastor of St. Peter Lutheran Church wrote that seeing the parents’ injuries was “so terrible I could hardly bear it."
In the chaos, families were scattered. The children of Mathias Dost became separated, and four‑year‑old Elizabeth was left behind. One of the boys ran back into the house to find her but fell through the floorboards into the cellar, managing to escape through an outside door. From the adjoining field, the children watched helplessly as their youngest sister perished in the fire. The next day, her siblings found her remains and carried them in a handkerchief. Stories like theirs still echo through our community today.
Travelers and clergy were swept into the disaster. Bishop Charles Williams, visiting Metz that morning, later wrote to his wife that by afternoon the village had become “a desolate waste of ashes and sand,” and that he walked “four miles through ashes, cinders and smoke” to reach what remained.
As Metz burned, families rushed toward Hagensville, Posen, or any safe spot they could find. The Nicholas Centala farm took in thirty people, while the homes of George Grambau and Joseph Spleet also became shelters. St. Michael’s Lutheran Church at Nagel’s Corner turned into a refuge as men lit backfires to protect it. Children sent home from school wandered into farmhouses, confused and barefoot.
Then came the greatest tragedy: the Nowicki’s Siding disaster. When the relief train arrived in Metz, families rushed aboard—nearly forty people crowded into a steel gondola. As the train headed south, it entered a corridor of blazing cedar ties. The rails warped in the heat, and the train derailed into a pit of fire. Mothers threw their children from the burning gondola. Mrs. August Hein tossed her three-month-old baby and four older siblings to safety. Mrs. Oliver Hurket, trapped with her three‑day‑old infant, shouted “Catch!” as she threw her baby to a man below before climbing out herself.
Some survived by crawling into a field of burning stumps, pressing their faces into the dirt for air. Station agent Jerry Annis said, “The air was fearful… a man could not walk far and live”. Sixteen people died at the siding, including entire families.
The fire continued east. In South Rogers, railroad workers came across four children hiding in a ditch, with their mother found alive in a nearby field. Rogers City braced for the worst, placing barrels of water along roads around town and lighting backfires. Paul Hoeft offered his steamer, the C.H. Starke, to evacuate residents if needed.
By dawn on October 16, Metz had vanished. People wandered the streets aimlessly, unsure where to go or who they had lost. Thirty‑seven lives were lost, over 200,000 acres burned, and eighty‑four of the township’s 110 homesteads lay in ruins.
Relief arrived swiftly. The Detroit & Mackinac Railway sent food and clothing. Governor Fred Warner visited and established the State Fire Relief Commission, to investigate the devastation and set up monetary funds to assist the victims of the disaster. Supplies poured in from as far away as Detroit, Grand Rapids, Chicago, and Milwaukee.
Families rebuilt with determination. Tarpaper shacks rose first, then farms, stores, and homes. The Hardies Brothers and Konieczny Brothers reopened their stores. The depot was rebuilt, and trains returned. St. Peter Lutheran Church, destroyed in minutes, was rebuilt through donations from the Iowa Synod and the State Fire Relief Commission, with the railway shipping materials free of charge. It was dedicated on July 4, 1909.
For decades, Metz kept the charred stump of its liberty pole—the only left standing after the fire—as a symbol of endurance. The Metz Fire tested our people beyond imagination, yet it revealed the strength, compassion, and resolve that define Presque Isle County. We remember the lives lost, honor the courage shown, and celebrate the community rebuilt from ashes—stronger than before.
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