As many of you know I grew up in Michigan and I still have a number of family and friends there. A couple months ago I get a call from my ole buddy M_____ who is firmly positioned in the once bright—but now dark and foreboding—real estate business in Michigan. He tells me the only way to make any money buying real estate these days is to snatch one for a song that is in foreclosure. He said he had found the perfect house for pennies on the dollar. To top it off, it was so big it was really a sprawling mansion more than a house.
“Do you want to hear the cool part? The place is in Hell!” M_____ told me.
“Good heavens!” I naturally responded. I had heard of this city before, yet had never visited it in my 27 years in the Great Lakes State. I did some research on the Web. The story goes that a farmer named George Reeves was living there with his large family in 1843. He was uneducated and cared little for names of places. When the county asked Farmer Reeves what he wanted to call the city, he said, ‘You can name it Hell for all I care.’”
When I asked M_____ why the mansion was being foreclosed, he was unsure. That got my attorney mind racing. I had to research the history of the place. Was it owned by wealthy politicians back in the day? Were fascinating charitable events held on the grounds? Gala banquets in the ballroom? Any grizzly murders? (The macabre side of my personality always asks this about any used house. I’ve had my suspicions about a few hotel rooms, too.)
Tomorrow I’ll post what my research found: Missing children?
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