EUA – LAPEER COUNTY, MICHIGAN – A LUTA DE “FORT ZIEGENHARDT” (1952)

70 years ago in 1952, the Thumb area was making national headlines with the attempted eviction of two farm families. The Lapeer county sheriff attempted to forcefully remove 60 year old widow Elizabeth Stevens and her nine children from her family farmstead in Clifford but were stopped by a group of farmers from the surrounding area. Her case was tied directly to that of the Ziegenhardt family. The Ziegenhardts were made up of three elderly brothers and their widowed sister who resided in a farmhouse along M-53 in Burnside Township, not far from Marlette. The brothers had never married and spent all of their time working the 480-acre farm. By all written account, the farm was considered one of the best in the thumb,and was directly owned by the two older brothers, Chris and Paul. They had been working that particular farmland for nearly four decades, starting in 1913. Stevens, likewise had been on her land for decades.

The family farms were insured by the Lapeer County Farmers Mutual Fire Insurance Association. The poorly run agency did not fare well during the depression of the 1930s, and record keeping in particular was quite poor. 1935 marked the end of the company as it went into bankruptcy, burdened by $90,000 in debts. Assessments were levied against the policy-holders and a court-appointed receiver was told to collect. It was this assessment that would lead to the ultimate showdown between law enforcement and locals.

The assessment was challenged by many farmers in court, saying they should not be responsible for mismanagement and possible embezzlement on the part of the company. After over a decade in the courts, many farmers eventually settled for pennies on the dollar, but the Ziegenhardts refused to concede. The Ziegenhardts owed $280, while Stevens owed $175.

On Oct. 13, 1950, the case had made its way to the Michigan Supreme Court, who refused to hear it, siding with the lower courts. To make a long and intricate legal story short, the two families refused to pay, and the farms were auctioned off to a woman named Grace White, an attorney from Lapeer. The Ziegenhadts $40,000 farmland was sold to cover a $280 debt. Grabbing both farms for a tiny fraction of their true worth, White claimed to have offered to lease the land back to both families, but was rejected out of hand. Sheriff Leslie Mathews was ordered to start evictions, but resigned rather than kick the family out, so the job fell to Clark Gregory. The farm families dug in for a siege, with the Ziegenhardts going so far as to build barricades around their house and put up a sign that said “1913 to forever. Fort Ziegenhardt. Sorry, Grace.”

When the sheriff finally did come to kick the families out, it did not go well for them. Public sentiment was strongly in favor of the two farms, with hundreds of farmers coming to their defense. The initial battle actually saw law enforcement “arrested” by the public for attempting the eviction. They were beaten back by the friends and neighbors who had come to the Stevens farm in solidarity with the widow and her children.

It was only a matter of time before police returned about a month later in far greater numbers reinforced by state troopers. Armed to the teeth and wearing bullet proof vests they were able to drag the families out of their homes. When the Ziegenhardts were forced out, Grace White, the new land owner took an axe from them and smashed her way into the house as police threw of their belongings into the barn. The elderly men were told they could spend the night there, and were expected to do chores in the morning. They would live in the barn contesting the eviction for several more months. Stevens, likewise was carried out of her house in tears. Sadly, Stevens died of heart ailments less than a year after being forced from her home, her lawyers wanted court officials brought up on murder charges.

All in all, certainly one of the most exciting things to have happened on a Thumb area farm that captured headlines the world over.

Fort’ Ziegenhardt drama put county on map

November 09, 2014

BY JOYCE BONESTEEL
Contributing Writer

LAPEER — Richard Bahls hurried down the curved steps of Lapeer’s historic courthouse late one morning in the mid-1950s. He was a young, inexperienced attorney, hoping to win the ho-hum case he had started that morning in the upstairs courtroom.

Bahls glanced at his watch. An hour for lunch. Later, when he trudged back up the winding stairway with his belly full, he realized the courtroom was crammed with townspeople and angry farmers, milling about before the judge arrived. He managed to squeeze through the doorway but had no hope of reaching the table in front of the bench. Surprised by the number of people in the room, Bahls felt a surge of pride.

“My goodness,” he told himself. “They all want to hear my case.”

Bahls soon noticed deputies and police in the room, tense hands close to gun holsters. No, this was not his case. Then a path opened as a large, heavyset man in handcuffs was escorted to the front of the court. Clayton C. Gilliland, a flashy “investigative” lawyer from Detroit, was up on charges of obstructing justice in the recent Fort Ziegenhardt drama that put Lapeer County on the map.

A fight goes on as farmers flatten a deputy next to a homemade sign in front of Elizabeth Stevens’ home.

The Ziegenhardts were three elderly brothers and a middle-age sister who lived in an old farmhouse along M-53 in Burnside Township, close to Marlette. None had ever married. The 480-acre farm, considered one of the best in the county, was owned by the two older brothers, Chris and Paul. Their folks had purchased it in 1913.

Like some 400 other farmers across this region of the state, the Ziegenhardts were insured by the Lapeer County Farmers Mutual Fire Insurance Association. The agency was poorly managed and the record-keeping was a mess. It went under in 1935, burdened by $90,000 in debts. Assessments were levied against the policy-holders and a court-appointed receiver was told to collect.

Meanwhile, there was a deep sense of mistrust among the farmers. A few of the bolder men accused the association directors of embezzlement and fraud. The financial records were challenged in court. Lawsuits and countersuits were filed. More than a decade passed before it was all sorted out by the state, and members were given the chance to settle for 50 cents on the dollar. Several farmers were quick to pay and thanked their lucky stars. But others, including the Ziegenhardts, still thought something fishy was going on.

They thought that, because Gilliland planted the idea in their heads. The Detroit man was slick. He smelled a lucrative opportunity to capitalize on their suspicions and represent the dissenters in court. As far as the assessments went, he advised them not to pay. When the receiver showed up at the Ziegenhardt farm, one of the brothers grabbed a pitchfork and chased him off. Meanwhile, Gilliland kept the farmers riled up and laid low when the law went after him.

Another person who refused to pay was Elizabeth Stevens, a middle-age widow and mother of nine children who owned a 140-acre farm in Clifford. Like the Ziegenhardts, she dug in her heels and balked to the bitter end. Her assessment was $172. The Ziegenhardts owed $280. Court proceedings led to the sale of both farms at public auction.

In 1949, Lapeer attorney Grace White went to a sheriff’s sale and paid $15,000 total, plus costs, for the Stevens and Ziegenhardt farms. The Ziegenhardt property alone was valued at $30,000. In a panic, the brothers hired a local attorney and got a court injunction to remain in their home while the sale was appealed. Stevens was in on it, too.

On Oct. 13, 1950, the Michigan Supreme Court refused to hear the case. Bahls said the judges were actually angry because 11 others caught up in the public auctions had already appealed. The judges said the Ziegenhardts had 10 to 15 years to sue the insurance association directors, if they thought they did something wrong, and probably knew more about it than anyone else. But, according to the judges, they just sat on their rights, and now they could sit on whatever property they had left.

Grace White, now the owner of two farms, claimed she gave Stevens the chance to buy back her property for $500 and was told no. White told the Ziegenhardts they could stay on as tenants and that offer was rejected too. In December 1950, the court ruled the new owner had every right to evict both families. Sheriff Leslie Mathews was asked to serve the notices.

As the eviction date loomed closer, the Ziegenhardt brothers and their friends battened down the hatches by turning the Burnside farmhouse into a fort. Using old boards and barn doors, they built a three-sided enclosure behind the chained and padlocked gate. One of the men erected a large, rough wooden sign with this message printed on it by hand: “1913 to forever. Fort Ziegenhardt. Sorry, Grace.”

Tension grew and public sympathy was aroused. Farmers from across the county vowed to be there when the sheriff arrived and join the Ziegenhardts’ fight to save the farm. Newspapers were having a field day. Reporter Bob Myers kept the Lapeer County Press readers informed with his colorful front-page news articles. His father owned the paper. Bill Noble covered it for the Flint Journal, and then the reporters from Detroit’s big dailies started driving up here.

The Ziegenhardts bragged they’d have 1,000 men at their fort to back them up on the day the sheriff arrived. The reporters wrote down every word and ran the quotes. They weren’t told about the loaded shotguns propped just inside the farmhouse door, or the coffee can filled with buckshot on the kitchen window sill. The brothers kept quiet, too, about the ice picks in the barn.

The remainder of this story will appear in the Nov. 15 issue of The County Press. Read about the long line of state police cars creeping up on Fort Ziegenhardt during an early morning raid, the brawl between angry farmers and sheriff’s deputies, and Grace White going ballistic with an axe.