Beginning with the lighting of the Fort Gratiot Light in
1825, and continuing until 1983, when the last manually operated
lighthouse in Michigan was automated, lighthouse keepers kept the lights
lit each night. A keeper's life was unique. It was very different from
that experienced by most Americans in the late twentieth century. This
section of the exhibit discusses six aspects of a keeper's life. The
seventh and closing section discusses the sources used to create this
portion of the exhibit.
- The Work
- Domestic Life
- The Season's End
- Dramatic Rescues and Spirits from the Past
For most of the nineteenth century keepers were political
appointees. Generally the local collector of customs nominated an
individual to the Secretary of the Treasury, who formally appointed each
keeper. The collector of customs, also a political appointee, most
often used keeper nominations to repay political favors. Until the 1850s
this system of appointment stymied all efforts to reform the service
and establish a merit appointment system. Slowly, however, various
reforms were put in place that limited the range of political
By the 1870s the Lighthouse Board, which then was
responsible for the operation of all lighthouses in the U.S., had
established basic characteristics that keepers must possess. Newly
appointed keepers should be between the ages of eighteen and fifty. A
keeper should be able to read and write, keep simple financial accounts,
be able to pull and sail a boat, and possess sufficient skill to
maintain the equipment and perform minor repairs. Nominations from the
collectors of customs were forwarded to the Board, which arranged for
each nominee to be interviewed. A three month probationary period,
overseen by the Board, was also required before an appointment became
In 1896 light house keepers became members of the federal
civil service, removing them entirely from the process of political
appointment. In 1939, when the Lighthouse Service became a part of the
U.S. Coast Guard, keepers who were then working had a choice of either
retaining their civilian status or becoming members of the Coast Guard.
After 1939 all newly employed individuals who worked with Great Lakes
navigational aids were members of the Coast Guard.
In the early parts of the nineteenth century there was
little by way of formal regulation that defined a keeper's
responsibilities. However, as the Lighthouse Board became increasingly
involved in the work of running the lights it established an ever
growing lists of rules and regulations that defined the keeper's daily
In 1852 the first written rules for keepers were
promulgated. A keeper could be immediately dismissed if he or she were
discovered intoxicated or, if for any reason, the light was
extinguished. Without written permission a keeper could leave his or her
station for only two reasons, to draw pay or to attend Sunday religious
By 1858 the third edition of these rules had become very
extensive, running to eighty-seven printed pages. In addition to general
guidelines and rules regarding conduct, the publication included very
specific instructions regarding the operation and maintenance of the
light. The Lighthouse Board outlined 131 seperate tasks keepers were to
perform in order to use and maintain a Fresnel lens apparatus. For
example keepers were told that after lighting the "central wick, No. 1"
should be raised 3/10 of an inch.
Such detailed instructions left little to the keeper's
judgement, however, they likely represented the only way the Lighthouse
Board could effectively run its often remote system of lighthouses using
untrained personnel who were usually political appointees. The Board
constructed a system that would work reasonably well if the keeper was
conscientious, could read, and was willing to follow instructions.
Although a keeper's work was sometimes glamorized in the
press, the daily routine of a keeper typically involved performing very
routinized tasks, often in an isolated, uncomfortable setting. Maxwell
Gertz, reflecting on his years at the Manituou Island Light recalled:
"We had two big air compressors in the engine room that
was for the foghorn. ... And then there was three generators and a big
bank of batteries. ... So all those machinery had to be serviced, and
oil had to be changed constantly. ... Plus if anybody knows living
around the water, that painting and deterioration of the buildings
around the water is more so than inland. Plus the light had to be
maintained. ... Well that all had to be polished and kept right up
to--oh boy. Oh, every day there was a man up there [who] had to check it
out to make sure that the light operated properly...and that the lens
were clean and all the brass. You had a lot of work on the inside. The
tower, it seemed like it was forever in need of attention inside because
of the condensation."
James F. Sheridan, who grew up during the 1910s at the
Saugutuck Light where his father was keeper, recalls about his father's
"Things that I remember mostly about his duties were,
there seemed to always be a paintbrush in his hand. ..... The government
put great stock in painting. They painted and they repainted and they
painted, until paint usually built up so it had so many coats there was
no sharp edges at all anymore. Not such a thing as a sharp edge in any
corner of a piece of wood. It always had a curved edge."
Bringing supplies for the lighthouse was also often very
hard, tedious work. Leland L. Richards, who grew up at the Pointe Aux
Barques Light during the 1920s, recalls:
Once a year the lighthouse boat--it was the Aspen, the Amaranth, or the Marigold--stopped
out there about two miles. They didn't dare come any closer. And they
loaded everything into their small boats with the crew loading it. And
that kerosene alone was a big deal. It filled the oil house and its--the
oil house is ten or twelve feet in diameter and higher than this room
[about eight feet], so you know. It had shelves all the way around see.
It was round. And they'd put the kerosene in there. And the, of course,
when we had to take the kerosene out of there in five-gallon cans and
carry it all the way to the top of the lighthouse, that was something.
That was really hard work."
If the actual work was great, the paperwork that accompanied
it could also be very burdensome. The keeper was responsible for
accounting annually for virtually every item used on the station, both
as a record of past activity and to determine what supplies would be
needed for the next season. Maxwell Gertz remembered:
"That would be fuel, that'd be paintbrushes, paint, soap that was
needed, toilet paper. You could name it. Everything that you'd use at
home. Plus all the engines, all the necessary lubricating oils, all the
gasoline that was used for the boat. Well, you could name anything and
it had to be -- We'd have a record of that."
In addition the keeper was expected to maintain a log of
daily events. Donald L. Nelson, who between 1953 and 1955 was stationed
at the Keweenaw Waterway Lower Entry Light, recalled that,
paradoxically, one of the hardest parts of his job was working while
others enjoyed themselves.
"Well, the most difficult time, I think, was in the
beautiful weather of July and August. It may sound funny. But that, I
think, would be the hardest time because there you were on the station
and everybody is out there boating by, in their cruisers and enjoying
themselves. And here you were, watch-standing."
A typical day at a light house was passed cleaning, fixing,
and recording, as well standing watch, making sure the light burned
Despite their many duties, keepers often found themselves
with a great deal of time on their hands. To occupy themselves keepers
turned to a variety of recreational activities. Reading was a common
pastime. To facilitate this pastime in 1876 the Lighthouse Service began
to assemble and distribute to the lights portable libraries. A typical
library consisted of about fifty books, usually a mix history, fiction,
poetry, scientific works, and always a bible. Originally libraries were
left at a station for six months, however their popularity led the
Lighthouse Board to direct that the libraries be moved every three
months. Stations continued to receive portable libraries into the 1920s.
Studying was also common. Many keepers used their spare hours to take
correspondence courses and improve themselves and their skills.
Fishing was popular, both for recreational reasons and to
supplement the station's food. Maxwell Gertz recalls that at the Manitou
"The fishing was great. Some of the best. ... You could
take a skiff out front and row around for five minutes, come in with a
three to five pound nice lake trout, prepare it, put it on a cookie
sheet, and put it in an oven and broil it in there, and it would be the
Sometimes keepers developed time consuming personal hobbies.
Building models from sheets of balsa wood, particularly of ships or
airplanes, was one way to pass the hours. Others sought out the unique
resources available to them at their site. Maxwell Gertz spent time on
the beach picking agates that eventually became jewelry. A keeper at the
Rock of Ages Light, taking advantage of a regular supply of dead birds,
became an accomplished taxidermist. Ultimately a game of cards, often
solitaire, became a way to pass the time.
The Lighthouse Board early on expressed a preference to hire
married men, whom the Board considered more reliable. Until the Coast
Guard assumed control of the lights in 1939, this remained a common
practice and the majority of keepers were married. Because of this all
but the most isolated lights frequently were inhabited not only by the
keeper, but also his wife and family.
Keepers wives often proved to be extraordinarily resourceful
and resiliant. Often they stood watch in the keepers absence. James A.
Goudreau, who grew up in the 1930s and 1940s at the South Fox Island and
Poverty Island Lights, recalls:
"A lot of women used to stand watched for the men. They'd
[the men] work all day, and then still had your watched to stand. If
they happened to be working extra hard or something, needed a little
extra rest... So, the wife might get up..."
Many women played a vital role in the operation of the
lights. For example Elizabeth Whitney Van Riper Williams came to the
Beaver Island Light in 1869 when her husband was appointed to succeed
Peter McKinley. In fact McKinley had been in chronic poor health and for
almost nine years his daughters Effie and Mary had effectively run the
light. Elizabeth learned well from her husband that which was needed to
operate a light efficiently and when he died trying to rescue a ship's
crew she was appointed keeper of the light. In 1878 Elizabeth remarried,
but she continued on as a keeper. In 1884 she was appointed keeper of
the Little Traverse Lighthouse.
Frequently children were born at a light. John Malone was in
1875 appointed keeper of the newly built Menagerie Island Light on Isle
Royale. Grateful for the appointment, Malone named his first child, who
was born at the light, after the Inspector who had appointed him.
Eventually Mrs. Malone bore twelve children by John, all given birth at
the light. The Malone's continued their tradition of naming their
children in honor of the sitting district inspector, a feat that proved
difficult during the year when two inspectors held the post but which
was resolved when Mrs. Malone fortuitiously gave birth to twins.
Efforts were made to assign keepers with school age children
to lights with nearby schools. "Nearby," however, was a relative term
and many children endured considerable difficulties to attend school.
Dorotha Dodge, whose father tended various Detroit River lights in the
early years of the twentieth century recalls:
"Well it was a mile from Mamajuda [a light, now abandoned,
that once was in the Detroit River] to Wyandotte, and Daddy would row
it over there, take me too--had to go by boat. ....
But one time Daddy came and got me from school and the wind was blowing just something terrible.
So one of the fellows there where ... we used to dock the boat, he
said, 'You better not go, Jim.' 'Oh,' he says, 'I gotta go.' He says,
'Stella's over there all alone.'"
Difficult as Doretha's daily trip was, many keepers children
were unable to regularly attend public school and were, instead, home
In an era before radio and television children living at
lighthouses often struggled to amuse themselves. James Goudreau recalls
that while he was growing up at the Poverty Island Light
"The kids were a major problem. They had a couple that were like the Katzenjammer kids; they were in constant trouble."
At Poverty Island children would often get into trouble by
using the keeper's tools for their own purposes or "defacing" the
station by using the paint left over in an old bucket to ornament the
sidewalk. Goudreau recalls that children who got into serious trouble
were locked in an abandoned coal bin.
"...when they closed the door it was dark in there also.
So that you could hear somebody say, 'You're going to the coal bin' and
you knew that somebody had messed up, real bad."
Regulations were very specific that children never should be
allowed near the light itself. Virtually all the children raised at
lighthouses recall how seriously this rule was taken. Goudreau recalls,
"They wouldn't let me touch it. Oh, my god, that would be
sacriligeous to go up there and touch the lights. No, I might put
fingerprints on the lens or something. Can't do that."
Occasionally, if a station were not too isolated, relatives
might come to visit. Don Nelson recalled the mid-summer holidays as
particularly popular among family.
"Because it seemed to be that the Fourth of July was a
summer break when the relatives seemed to feel, 'Hey, wouldn't it be
nice to spend three or four days down at a lighthouse?' So we'd have
people sleeping all over."
Lake navigation ceased during the winter and therefore
during the winter there was no need for many lights. Thus the keepers of
the most isolated stations were allowed to extinguish their light at
the close of the navigation season and spend the winter in nearby towns
Leaving the lighthouse at the end of the season often proved
difficult and dangerous. Deaths were common when keepers, leaving a
lighthouse in a small, open vessel, ran into sudden storms. In 1900, for
example, five keepers died on their way home for the season. The
passage of time in some ways made the annual ritual of leaving the
lights more complex, as crews from ever more remote points needed to be
The exploits of the tender Marigold at the end of the
1911 season exemplify the problems experienced at the close of the
season. On December 2 the Marigold removed the keepers from Stannard
Rock Light. A week later, having weathered a severe storm and running
low of both food and fuel, the Marigold plucked the crew from Raspberry Light in Wisconsin's Apostle Islands.
Despite the ship's dwindling stocks, the crew of the Marigold pressed on, realizing that the situation of the keepers at other lights was becoming desperate. The Marigold reached Sand Island and Outer Island lights on December 11. On December 16 the Marigold
came near the Rock of Ages light, where the keepers had left to eat
only one remaining can of food. Ice presented a serious threat at the
Rock of Ages Light and two of the keepers suffered frostbite when
transferring from the light to the Marigold.
Returning to Duluth with virtually no coal left in its bunkers, the Marigold had to ram its way through two miles of solid ice to finally reach port. Despite this harrowing voyage, the crew of the Marigold
entered port prepared for a speedy resupplying of their vessel and a
hasty departure to rescue keepers stranded on the Passage Island and
Devil's Island lights. Fortunately for the crew of the Marigold,
they learned in Duluth that a Canadian icebreaker had already rescued
the keepers at Passage Island, while the crew of Devil's Island Light
had walked over the lake's frozen surface to safety.
The popular press's fascination with lighthouse keepers was
often fueled by keeper's dramatic rescues of individuals from sinking
vessels. Typical of these rescue accounts are two stories from 1906; one
of Klass Hamringa, stationed on Isle Royale and the other of Martin
Knudsen, stationed at the Pilot Island Light off Green Bay, Wisconsin.
The sharp-eyed Hamringa noticed in December smoke coming from a distant
portion of the island. Rowing seven miles he discovered forty-three
survivors of the passenger ship Monarch, which had been driven
aground several days earlier in a violent storm. Although high seas kept
Hamringa from reaching shore, he was able to contact the tug Whalen, the crew of which rescued the passsengers.
Martin Knudsen, observing from his light the wreck of the A.P. Nichols
walked out to the doomed ship in the night by way of several shoals.
Despite violent seas often reaching to his neck, he nevertheless reached
the ship and eventually guided six survivors back to the shore.
Not all the heroes of the lights were men, or necessarily
even keepers. For example, on May 11, 1890, Maebelle L. Mason, the
fourteen year old daughter of a light house keeper along the Detroit
River, saw a rowboat with a man in it capsize. Her father away, Maebelle
launched the family boat, rowed for more than a mile, hauled the
drowning man into her boat, and rowed back to the station.
Stories of dramatic rescues by keepers and their families
were many and frequently became a staple of newspaper accounts of the
Perhaps because of the isolation experienced at many lights
and the occasional tragedies that occured within or near them, it is not
surprising that several stations eventually were rumored to be haunted.
One of the best known ghosts is said to live at the now abandoned
John Herman was first stationed at Waugoshance in 1885.
Herman was well known both for his practical jokes and his heavy
drinking while on shore leave, the latter a condition that occasionally
persisted after his return to the light. One evening in August 1894 a
well lit Herman in jest locked his assistant in the lamp room, then
walked out on the light's pier, perhaps for a breathe of air. The
temporarily imprisoned assistant watched Herman stagger along the pier
and then suddenly disappear.
Tradition has it that after Herman's death strange
occurances, practical jokes similar to those played by Herman but for
which no one now claimed responsibility, began to occur at Waugoshance.
Chairs were mysteriously kicked out from under keepers. Doors would open
or lock without explanation. On occasion an unseen being reportedly
shoveled coal into the boiler. Although officially the Waugoshance Light
was abandoned when it was replaced by the White Shoal Light, rumors
persist that Waugoshance was really abandoned because no one wanted to
contend with the ghost of Johnnie Herman.
In writing this brief account of a keeper's life information was taken primarily from Charles K. Hyde, The Northern Lights: Lighthouses of The Upper Great Lakes (Lansing: Two Peninsula Press, 1986). Quotations were taken from LuAnne Gaykowski Kozma, editor, Living at a Lighthouse: Oral Histories from the Great Lakes (Detroit: Great Lakes Lighthouse Keepers Association, 1987).