When villages become ghost towns
We’re always putting things off. In fact, we didn’t even begin writing this until about 5 minutes ago. Not that we’re lazy, slothful or preoccupied with hanging out at the how-to-waste-your-time website — there really is such a place, by the way — but because we’re always up for a good challenge. And there’s nothing more challenging than crafting a 600-word missive in just 300 seconds.
Unless it’s cleaning the house.
What a royal pain that is. No matter how frequently you do it, the dust keeps coming back. So what’s the point? Besides, Emeril Lagasse says dirt isn’t as unhealthy as one is brought up to believe. Which is why we wouldn’t be a bit surprised if that’s the secret ingredient he uses to “kick it up a notch.”
Bam!
Regrettably, some people — they’re usually of the female persuasion — don’t see it that way and take great delight in chewing out those of us who do. So just to keep them happy, anytime the gales of November come early, we dig out our magic wand — some people call it a broom — and just like that, it all disappears. Thanks to what we say while waving it. Not abraca-pocus or pocus-cadabra. But something far more excellent.
Dust. Wind. Dude.
Dirt and grime aren’t all that might soon be disappearing. A woman in Breedsville, a tiny community of about 200 located midway between Paw Paw and South Haven, thinks it’s time to really clean house. So earlier this year, Mary Harrison circulated petitions, collected a handful of signatures — because that’s all she needed — and placed on the ballot what’s probably the weirdest proposal in the state to be decided this month. No, she doesn’t want to rename the place “Half-Breed.” That’s a Cher song. Rather, she wants to go whole hog.
And wipe it off the map.
Harrison says everyone would be better off if Columbia Township, where Breedsville is located, ran the show instead. She’s had a beef with the village for years, contending the roads would be nicer and government transparency would improve — village ordinances are too difficult to access, she claims — if the place were dissolved. But the last straw was the community’s recently updated blight control efforts that target building materials. If you want to pile up bricks and lumber in your yard, she says, so what?
It's none of the village’s business.
Between being embroiled in a legal battle over that issue and conducting what’s now her third attempt to send Breedsville to the showers, the odds of success are not exactly in Harrison’s favor. Barryton residents in Mecosta County tried and failed in 2020. Same thing in Calumet two years before that. Even anti-tax fervor in Goodrich failed to move the needle. Plainly stated, no Michigan village has ever successfully dissolved.
And it’s not because it takes one to raise a child.
It’s partly for financial reasons. Any existing indebtedness would automatically be assessed only to the former villagers, not the entire township. Secondly, two-thirds of the population — not just the village but also the township at large — would have to approve the repealer for it to take effect. And with an opposition group headed by business owners who want nothing to do with being managed by the township, finding 1,438 people eager to give Breedsville the heave-ho is a mighty tall order. But the No. 1 reason the village’s certain to still be there come next Wednesday? All those bikers, construction workers, cowboys and motorcycle cops that turn out every Election Day. They’re Village People, you see. Not Township People.
And nobody messes with their Y-M-C-A.
Talk Back with Doug Spade and Mike Clement is heard every Saturday morning from 9 a.m. to noon Eastern Time on Buzz 102.5 FM and online at www.dougspade.com and www.lenconnect.com.
This article originally appeared on The Daily Telegram: Talk Back: When villages become ghost towns
