Oct. 8
Progress is inevitable at times so the first view of the City of Wayland, Mich. was of its eastward expansion out towards four lane Route 131 that connects Kalamazoo to Grand Rapids and all points in between. In its wake, it brought the usual suspects of franchise food shops, gas stations with digital price signs and other cookie cutter commercial buildings big and small that line 135th Avenue.
Once you hit the railroad tracks though, you come to the older section of Wayland and to the red light (that used to be the lone traffic light in town) on Main Street. The intersection corners hold the old Wayland Hotel and Bar on one corner, McDuffs (modern, brick, one story, big plastic lighted sign), an older building still looking for a purpose and the old Wayland State Bank that now holds City Hall.
I first went to the Police Department (right next to the Fire Department) to swap patches and eventually met the brothers Miller – Chief Dan Miller (Police) and Chief Joe Miller (Fire, volunteer). Chief Dan was off duty and taking the new fire truck to get gassed up for the Homecoming Parade later that night but smiled when he told me to head into the office to get the patches he had collected for me.
If you want to get the old dirt, you head to the library and it was there I was able to peruse a couple of history books there and talk with Lynn Mandaville. She was intrigued with the odd odyssey I was on and it wasn’t long before she reinforced (again) to me what a wonderfully small word we inhabit. (insert the da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da music from Twilight Zone here)
Once I said New York, she quickly told me she and her husband had gone to Alfred University. Her eyes widened as did her smile as I told her I had gone to Alfred Tech and the small world was made complete when she said she was from Wayne, New Jersey originally.
All it took was a drive of about 600 miles to sit down in Wayland, Mich. to talk with someone whose past was closer to your own than one knew before the drive started. Lynn said she loved Michigan but wished that she could combine it with her memories of New York to make it an even nicer place to live.
“Township #3” came about when U.S. Deputy Surveyor Lucius Lyon used the tools of his trade in 1836 to slice up the land into parcels the government then put up for sale. The first settler in the city limits was one Nelson Chambers (a Connecticut boy) who built a log cabin in 1837. The location he would later built the Wayland House in was called Chambers Corners for a bit, but also be called Lumberton (from the vast stands of pine that created the area’s first boom.
The village of Wayland was recognized as a “separate organization” on April 1, 1844, and incorporated in 1868, with the 1870 census recording that 585 folks called it home. Unfortunately, no one has been able to find out why the Township of Wayland was so named nor subsequently the village that would become a city of about 3,900 souls.
The city is surrounded by farm land and has a livestock auction company that helps buttress the fact that once the timber was felled, the land became the livelihood anchor for most folks until the big city jobs and highways started to draw them away.
There is another tie to New York in the way of one Ben Bachelder who upon hearing that other New York town names were all around Wayland, said his cousin had done the family research and found that their ancestors came from Perry, New York.
I dropped into the Flea Market on Main Street to see if a small memento was in the offering and the nice lady who worked the counter said she had been there 30 plus years. She echoed what others had said, that the city had become a bedroom community for the jobs the north/south cities offered and that it just wasn’t the same. Not only had too many local businesses closed over the years, but as the city grew, the feel that “you knew everybody” just wasn’t here anymore.
She spoke to one customer, Dave, about when Shorty was the lone cop in town and how he would take the kids in trouble to their parents and give the drunks a ride home when needed.
But, there was a real hometown pride thing going on that night during the Homecoming Parade. The street was lined with parents and kids as the city celebrated football and all things high school.
The game didn’t go as well though when the Ottawa Hills Bengals beat the Wayland Wildcats 45-15.
Once you hit the railroad tracks though, you come to the older section of Wayland and to the red light (that used to be the lone traffic light in town) on Main Street. The intersection corners hold the old Wayland Hotel and Bar on one corner, McDuffs (modern, brick, one story, big plastic lighted sign), an older building still looking for a purpose and the old Wayland State Bank that now holds City Hall.
I first went to the Police Department (right next to the Fire Department) to swap patches and eventually met the brothers Miller – Chief Dan Miller (Police) and Chief Joe Miller (Fire, volunteer). Chief Dan was off duty and taking the new fire truck to get gassed up for the Homecoming Parade later that night but smiled when he told me to head into the office to get the patches he had collected for me.
If you want to get the old dirt, you head to the library and it was there I was able to peruse a couple of history books there and talk with Lynn Mandaville. She was intrigued with the odd odyssey I was on and it wasn’t long before she reinforced (again) to me what a wonderfully small word we inhabit. (insert the da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da music from Twilight Zone here)
Once I said New York, she quickly told me she and her husband had gone to Alfred University. Her eyes widened as did her smile as I told her I had gone to Alfred Tech and the small world was made complete when she said she was from Wayne, New Jersey originally.
All it took was a drive of about 600 miles to sit down in Wayland, Mich. to talk with someone whose past was closer to your own than one knew before the drive started. Lynn said she loved Michigan but wished that she could combine it with her memories of New York to make it an even nicer place to live.
“Township #3” came about when U.S. Deputy Surveyor Lucius Lyon used the tools of his trade in 1836 to slice up the land into parcels the government then put up for sale. The first settler in the city limits was one Nelson Chambers (a Connecticut boy) who built a log cabin in 1837. The location he would later built the Wayland House in was called Chambers Corners for a bit, but also be called Lumberton (from the vast stands of pine that created the area’s first boom.
The village of Wayland was recognized as a “separate organization” on April 1, 1844, and incorporated in 1868, with the 1870 census recording that 585 folks called it home. Unfortunately, no one has been able to find out why the Township of Wayland was so named nor subsequently the village that would become a city of about 3,900 souls.
The city is surrounded by farm land and has a livestock auction company that helps buttress the fact that once the timber was felled, the land became the livelihood anchor for most folks until the big city jobs and highways started to draw them away.
There is another tie to New York in the way of one Ben Bachelder who upon hearing that other New York town names were all around Wayland, said his cousin had done the family research and found that their ancestors came from Perry, New York.
I dropped into the Flea Market on Main Street to see if a small memento was in the offering and the nice lady who worked the counter said she had been there 30 plus years. She echoed what others had said, that the city had become a bedroom community for the jobs the north/south cities offered and that it just wasn’t the same. Not only had too many local businesses closed over the years, but as the city grew, the feel that “you knew everybody” just wasn’t here anymore.
She spoke to one customer, Dave, about when Shorty was the lone cop in town and how he would take the kids in trouble to their parents and give the drunks a ride home when needed.
But, there was a real hometown pride thing going on that night during the Homecoming Parade. The street was lined with parents and kids as the city celebrated football and all things high school.
The game didn’t go as well though when the Ottawa Hills Bengals beat the Wayland Wildcats 45-15.