Beaver Island, Michigan – Kingdom, Fishermen, and the Fight to Survive

In this episode of End of the Road in Michigan, we journey to Beaver Island — the largest island in Lake Michigan and the only place in America that once had a king. From 1848 to 1856, James Jesse Strang ruled here as a self-proclaimed monarch, building roads, homes, and a newspaper before his dramatic assassination at the St. James docks.

We explore the Irish fishing community that reclaimed the island, the rise and fall of its Great Lakes fishing dominance, and the daring rescues of lighthouse keepers and the U.S. Coast Guard.

The story continues with the roar of logging trains through the forests, the quiet service of “Dr.” Feodor Protar, and the hard years when the population dwindled to fewer than 200 residents. This is a story of isolation, industry, and community spirit, told through the photographs and voices of history.

Episode Transcript

(00:00):
A white clapboard building stands near the harbor in St. James, the main village of Beaver

(00:05):
Island, Michigan.
It's the King's Strang Hotel, and its very name echoes an improbable chapter of American
history.
In the mid-19th century, this remote Lake Michigan Island was ruled by a self-proclaimed
monarch, James Jesse Strang, a charismatic Mormon leader.

(00:26):
King's followers settled here in 1848, and he declared himself King, establishing what
would become the only recognized kingdom on American soil.
Under King Strang, the island's wilderness was slowly transformed.
Trees were cleared, roads and houses built, and a newspaper, the Northern Islander, began

(00:49):
printing local news.
Stang even won a seat in the Michigan legislature, astonishing outsiders with his political
prowess.
At first, Strang's kingdom flourished, but absolute power went to his head.
He enforced strict doctrines, even mandating proper dress for women, and took multiple
wives, moves that alarmed both his own followers and the Irish fishermen who had lived on

(01:14):
the island before the Mormon influx.
Tensions climaxed in 1856.
On a June day at the harbors' wharf, two disgruntled men approached Strang and shot him.
Mortally wounded, King Strang died shortly thereafter, and his short-lived kingdom crumbled.

(01:35):
That July, an irate mob from nearby Maconac Island, descended on Beaver Island.
The remaining Mormon colonists were driven out by force, putting a violent end to the eight
year reign of King Strang.
In the power vacuum, the island's original settlers returned.
Irish families from County Donagall and other great lakes islands arrived, eager to reclaim

(01:58):
America's emerald isle.
By the late 1850s, Beaver Island was an Irish enclave once more.
Galic could be heard on the streets and in the little log church.
In fact, everyday conversations and even Catholic mass were conducted in the Irish tongue.
The 1880 census recorded a population of 881, including dozens of Gallagars, boils, and

(02:23):
O'Donnells, names that still dominate the island's cemeteries.
Isolated by winter ice and distance, this tight-knit community developed its own unique identity
and traditions.
Fishing soon became the lifeblood of Beaver Island, the surrounding waters teamed with white
fish and trout.
For a time, island fishermen enjoyed a near monopoly on the rich fishing grounds and Beaver

(02:47):
Island's commercial fishery boomed.
By the mid-1880s, the island was reputedly the largest supplier of freshwater fish in
the entire country.
Photographs from around 1900 show men hanging heavy nets to dry in the sun, the docks lined
with barrels of salted fish destined for markets far away.

(03:10):
But this golden era did not last.
The invention of steam tugs allowed mainland crews to reach the offshore banks and haul
in huge catches breaking Beaver Island's grip on the fishery.
Worse, the waters were overfished.
Starting in 1886, the once plentiful fish populations plummeted.

(03:30):
By the early 1890s, the annual harvest was barely half what it had been.
The islanders fiercely independent even defied new state fishing regulations meant to save
the stock.
In 189.8, a state warden's attempt to enforce a seasonal fishing band led to a moonlit boat
chase and gunfire, an incident locals Riley dubbed "the Battle of the Beavers."

(03:56):
The days of plenty were ending, and Beaver Island's fisherman would soon face lean times.
Even as the fishing industry rose and fell, the U.S. government established a life-saving
presence on Beaver Island shores.
After several maritime mishaps in the areas foggy, storm-prone waters, a brick lighthouse

(04:17):
was built at Whiskey Point in 1856 to mark St. James Harbor's entrance.
By 1875, a life-saving service station opened near the lighthouse to respond to shipwrecks
and emergencies.
Crewed largely by local mariners, the Beaver Island station gained renown for its daring
rescues.

(04:37):
It said that in the late 1800s, these volunteer surfmen never lost a single soul, neither
victim nor rescuer, despite braving gales and ice in their open robots.
In 1915, the life-saving service merged into the new U.S. Coast Guard and the station at
St. James continued its mission with motor life boats and a full-time crew.

(05:02):
Some Coast Guardsmen were islanders themselves, a few married local girls, and settled here.
The Coast Guardmen became an integral part of island life.
They even acted as the town's firefighters, and for many years is the only telephone
on the island was the one at their station, a vital link during emergencies.

(05:23):
Their white boats and crisp uniforms were a welcome sight on the waterfront, symbols of safety
for a community surrounded by tempestuous seas.
On the south end of the island, the Beaver Head Lighthouse stood as another guardian.
First lit in 1851, this lonely brick tower and its booming foghorn added in 1890, worn

(05:46):
sailors away from the treacherous shoals off Beaver Island.
Thousands of lighthouse keepers kept its beacon a glow.
They lived in a simple attached cottage, rising on cold nights to refuel the lamp or sound
the fog signal when Lake Michigan's murk rolled in.
By the 1930s, the old caracene lamp had been upgraded to an electric light, but the keepers

(06:09):
life remained isolated and rugged.
The lighthouse and the Coast Guard station together made the island an important navigational
point.
In quiet moments, islanders could hear the low drone of the foghorn or see the flash of
the light, reassuring reminders that the outside world did not entirely forget them.

(06:29):
Meanwhile, a new industry arrived that would forever alter Beaver Island's landscape.
In 1903, the Beaver Island lumber company launched a major logging operation.
Timber crews swarmed the island's Virgin Hardwood forests, felling giant maples and beaches
to feed America's growing furniture industry.

(06:50):
The company laid narrow gauge railroad tracks from St. James deep into the woods.
Small steam locomotives chugged along these rails, each pulling cars piled high with logs
destined for the sawmill by the harbor.
At its peak, the lumber company employed over a hundred men and ran three different engines
on more than ten miles of track.

(07:13):
The wonders recall how the ground would rumble as the logging train came through.
Its whistle echoing across the island's interior.
Sawmill blades whined day and night, turning out boards, shingles and cordwood that were
loaded onto ships bound for cities like Chicago and Detroit.
This logging boom lasted about a dozen years.

(07:36):
By 1915, the great stands of Timber were largely exhausted.
The company dismantled its mill, pulled up the rails and shipped out its equipment.
Many of the lumberjacks, however, found they had come to love Beaver Island.
When the work was done, some stayed for good, marrying into local families and adding new

(07:56):
surnames to the island's Irish tapestry.
The logging era, brief but intense, injected fresh energy and sorely needed cash into the
island's economy at a time when the fishing was faltering.
But once the big lumber camps emptied out, Beaver Island became quieter than ever.
In those early 20th century years, an unlikely figure earned a place in island lore.

(08:22):
Fayador Proto, a former European actor and intellectual, arrived on Beaver Island in
1893 with dreams of a simple, Tolstoy in life.
The islanders knew him simply as "Doc Protar."
Although he had no formal medical training, Proto could mix remedies from herbs and
knew a bit of first aid.

(08:44):
For decades he served as the island's unofficial doctor, often the only medical help available
when winter storms cut off all contact with the mainland.
He refused payment for house calls, traveling miles through snow to care for the sick and
injured.
Islanders would later recall how Dr. Proto's lantern bobbed through blizzards at night as he

(09:05):
went out to deliver a baby, or set a broken bone.
In March 1925, Fayador Proto died in his tiny log cabin.
Grateful residents carried stones up to Bonner's bluff and built him an elaborate tomb of field
stone and iron, complete with a plaque honoring their "heaven-sent" friend.

(09:26):
Proto's tomb still stands today, a quiet monument to kindness and community, in an era when
Beaver Island often had to fend for itself.
By the 1930s and 40s, Beaver Island felt the inexorable pool of modernity and the pain
of isolation.
The village of St. James now saw the occasional automobile bumping along its unpaved main street.

(09:51):
One could buy groceries, hardware, or a cup of coffee at local fixtures like Burns Grocery
and Hardware, run by the Lafranille family.
A diesel generator installed in 1939 finally brought electric lights to some of the homes
and businesses, before that even the hotel and Coast Guard station had to maintain their
little generators.

(10:14):
Yet progress was slow and life remained rustic.
The island's young people increasingly left to seek opportunity on the mainland, and those
who stayed watched their population shrink.
The fishing industry, already weakened, took another devastating blow in the 1940s when
invasive sea lampries decimated the trout and whitefish stocks.

(10:38):
Freight steamers that once stopped regularly at St. James began to bypass the island.
By the end of World War II, Beaver Island's year-round population had dwindled to under
200 souls.
A sense of uncertainty hung in the air.
But the last families have to abandon the island as residents of smaller nearby Isles had

(11:00):
done?
Yet even in these lean times the island's spirit endured.
Photographs from the late 1940s show a Coast Guard cutter unloading supplies at the municipal
dock, crates of food, fuel, and mail being passed down to islanders bundled in winter
coats.
Such scenes were lifelines for a community that, once the summer fairy stopped running,

(11:24):
founded on the outside world for crucial provisions.
The history of Beaver Island is a tale of boom and bust of isolation and determination.
From the eccentric reign of King Strang to the heyday of fishing and logging, from heroic
rescues at sea to quiet acts of neighborly care, Beaver Island's past is rich with stories

(11:46):
of people making a life in a place many would call "inhospitable."
By 1950 this resilient community had weathered a century of extraordinary change.
The stage was set for a new chapter, one that would in the coming decades see the island
reinvent itself yet again, this time as a tranquil haven for visitors seeking a glimpse of a

(12:10):
bygone way of life.
But those later stories belong to another time.
Here we leave Beaver Island in mid-century, a remote village with proud Irish roots,
steadfast in the face of adversity, forever watching the horizon for the next boat to arrive
with promise of a better tomorrow.