Comment on this article A Slice of Life in Yale, Michigan
For a recent alumnus who loves his alma mater and his lunch meat, the Yale Bologna Festival was too good to pass up.
April 2003
by Ryan E. Smith ’98 Ryan E. Smith is a reporter for the Toledo Blade. My bologna has a first name. It’s E-L-I-H-U. Well, almost. Yale’s founder may not have dreamed up the secret recipe for the thousands of pounds of bologna that were served last summer when I visited the Yale Bologna Festival in Michigan, but clearly Elihu Yale is owed some debt of gratitude. Yale, you see, is more than a university to people in Michigan. It is the name of a town about 50 miles north of Detroit where everyone knows everyone and bologna is king.
It’s the kind of place that has images of dancing bologna—copyrighted, of course—on pennants hanging from street lamps. Six-year-olds feature the meat treat as hors d’oeuvres at their birthday parties, and some festive adults wear the stuff around their necks. Everyone gets into the spirit, even the First Presbyterian Church, where a sign has been known to read, “Smile! God Loves You. That’s No Bologna.” All this because several merchants in the early 20th century set up shop in Yale making bologna and other meats. Where once there were three factories, there is now only one, C. Roy Inc., but it’s still the source of Yale’s claim to fame and the inspiration for the festival that is entering its 15th year. More about all that in a moment, but first the Ivy League connection.
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Yale is just up the road from—where else?—New Haven, Michigan.
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The town was incorporated in 1885 as Brockway Centre, but it wasn’t long before a movement grew up to find a more suitable name. There is no record of why the name Yale was suggested, but local historians feel sure that the University was the inspiration. According to a pamphlet describing the town’s history, the renaming was “bitterly contested, but the battle was won by the forces who favored changing to the dignified name of Yale. Earlier suggestions for the village name had included Chicago, Linwood, Syracuse, Myrtle, and Carlyle. They had each been discarded as being unworthy to designate such greatness.” So thank you, Elihu. The change to name the city after the University took effect in 1889. Located just up the road from—where else?—New Haven, Michigan, Yale boasts 2,060 inhabitants, making it the largest town in the U.S. to bear the Yale name. Sibling cities can be found in Illinois, Iowa, Oklahoma, South Dakota, and Virginia. Michigan’s Yale is a place that is serious about its meat. “I don’t think there’s anything better,” says Dianne Kettlewell, who organized last summer’s festival for the Yale Area Chamber of Commerce. “We’re full of bologna and proud of it.” There’s something almost addictive about Yale bologna, which has a coarser texture and stronger seasoning than what you’ll find at the supermarket. Nearly 20,000 people from across the globe—including some from as far away as Hawaii and Europe—make the pilgrimage to Yale every July with the sole purpose of complying with the 2002 festival theme: “Put your bologna where your mouth is.”
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“I’m a Yalie, and I pack a bologna sandwich in my lunch.”
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Last summer, I was among them. I wanted more than just to visit Yale; I dreamed of becoming part of it. To that end, I seriously considered running for King of Bolognaville. I figured I had a strong case. I’m a Yalie, and I pack a bologna sandwich in my lunch just about every day of the week. A festival organizer assured me that I would have been a viable candidate if only I lived or worked in the Yale area. The election of bologna royalty is an integral part of the festival, both because bologna is power and because the voting, conducted with dollars rather than ballots, is a major source of revenue. Candidates hold scavenger hunts, auctions, and other fund-raisers to try and rack up the most money for the festival. Catchy campaign slogans such as “Vote for Johnna because you wanna” don’t hurt. For those who are victorious, the title brings with it more than just a crown and scepter. “It’s an honor here in town,” explained 2002 Bologna Queen Angie Lodge. The 33-year-old co-owner of the Yale Flower Shop—slogan: “Don’t be a pansy. Vote for Angie!”—has taken part in numerous parades and community dinners. Some of her subjects even ask if they should bow down before her. I arrived in Yale on a warm, overcast day in late July. Everything was familiar and yet not quite. Leading the parade were Yale police cruisers. A book sale was under way at the Yale library. For the first time since my college graduation, I was surrounded by Yalies. Nearly everyone around me could say that they were Yale-educated, though none of them at the University. Yale Public Schools is the largest employer in the town, and it maintains some eerie similarities with its namesake. Its official colors are blue and white. Its mascot is a bulldog, though he isn’t called Handsome Dan. The current dog strutting the sidelines dressed in a sweater is named Admiral and his predecessor was known as The General. The district also has a proud football tradition dating back to 1902, even if the result of that first game was a forgettable 57–0 drubbing. It’s not uncommon for outsiders to mistake the schools for the University, but that’s okay with Superintendent Ralph Darin, who admits, “I think it’s kind of fun. We’ve got a few guys who play it for all it’s worth.” Highlights of the festival include the bologna cardboard boat race, the “World Famous Big Bologna Parade,” and the Big Bologna outhouse races, in which teams build old-school port-a-potties on wheels and race them through town. The rules are clear: Each outhouse must come equipped with a Sears catalog and someone sitting inside. But people don’t come to Yale for the outhouses. The real stars of the festival are the fried bologna sandwiches, bologna hot dogs, and ring bologna. Last year, organizers sold two tons of the stuff. Mayor Richard Busch set a personal record by consuming 11 bologna sandwiches over the course of the weekend. “I grew up on Yale bologna,” he told me. “Rumor has it that people live to be 120 if they eat Yale bologna.” All the more reason to keep coming back for more, I thought. And to suggest a possible motto for the town: For God, For Country, For Yale … and For Bologna.  |
