Thoughts of Charlevoix and the Belvedere Club   - Back to Book 3
By Jim Peters 
 
My first recollection is of the Belvedere Beach, when I was about five (1953).  There was a temporary waterski dock with steel uprights and white planks to walk on, at the north end of the beach.  It was closer to the Casino, and away from the normal swimming area.  While my brother, Dick, was out skiing with friends, I was left there alone, so I swam under water, under the ski dock, as I knew there were no scary fish there at the time.  I can’t imagine any adults on the beach allowing a young kid to do that by himself these days.  
 
Our family cottage was #212, owned by my grandfather; Robert R. Ware, Sr.  #212 was a wonderful place with its own distinct smell, which we all remember and loved.  Uncle Bob (Robert, Jr.) later put up a sign on the side porch naming it “The Ware-House” and Gram and Mom always bought fresh cut flowers in town from Mrs. Rowe, which were put in every room.  Years and years later, my youngest uncle Ralph (Mike) Ware, learned that distinct smell was caused by a plumbing leak under the cottage, which created a mold situation there.  I guess the smell is gone now.   
 
My brother Dick and I always got to sleep on the back porch above the garage. We each had queen size beds to sleep in.  The large porch has windows on three sides so we could listen to the leaves rustle in the trees and enjoy the fresh air breezes that were always present.  When it rained, sleeping was even better as there were endless sights, smells of fresh air and sounds of the falling rain to lull us to sleep.  Our older sister Jan, sometimes had the front room which my dad called the “Bridal Suite” as it had two twin beds.  I’m sure she enjoyed the fresh air too but she had a lot fewer windows to enjoy than we did. 
 
One time late one night, I was wakened by the sounds of what I thought was rain on the garage roof, only to look up and see Dick hanging out one of the porch windows throwing up on the garage roof.  He had been to Mt. McSauba “partying” with friends that night.  I’m sure (young) Bob Million was involved as those two always seemed to be together. 
 
I usually hung around with Chris Payne, John Fox, Richard (Dick) Mueller and Hilton Fraser as we were near in age and went to “GANG” together.  We also spent many evenings with the Mueller‘s playing board games in the Allen cottage, which backed up to the tennis courts.  (For those who don’t know GANG is like an organized kids’ daycare where we were taught by older local girls; horseback riding, canoeing, swimming, sailing, tennis and games like Capture the Flag, which I always enjoyed!  We often went on field trips to go horseback riding or canoeing down the Jordan River, but usually had morning beach activities then tennis in the afternoon, after the adults were finished playing tennis and then went on to play golf in the afternoon – they did this every day except Sunday I might add.)  Because of playing tennis on the Belvedere, I fell in love with the clay courts there and never liked playing tennis on concrete back home. 
At any rate, Dick and I remember as a young child, when Hilton was asked his name, he would stand up straight, puff out his chest and say, “My name is Hilton Brown Fraser the Third!”  Dick asked Hilton that question a lot for some reason. 
 
While in GANG, we all had an afternoon brake for lunch, so we would get on ‘our’ bikes and rush back to the cottage, ‘cause if we were late, we didn’t eat.  We used the cottage bikes every year while there.  They had those big old balloon tires, which never seemed to hold air for long, so Dick was intent on keeping the tires inflated, even though we didn’t have a tire gauge.  Well, we always parked our bikes at the side porch sidewalk (in the sun), which was right at the dining room door so we would be assured to not be late.  Within about fifteen minutes of eating lunch, we heard a loud BOOM and looked up to see Dick’s bike falling down and knocking the others over.  He had over-inflated the tires and with the heat of the sun, the air expanded and a tire exploded.  Fearing heart attacks all around, Gram was not pleased with that episode. 
 
Speaking of heart attacks, I was about nine years old maybe when Gramp (Robert R. Ware, Sr.) had his FIRST heart attack while we were in a Belvedere Club sailboat race with Judge Allen and me.  I don't remember him giving instructions as to how to sail back, but he was the only ‘sailor' on board.  I do remember he was in terrible pain and he couldn't breathe while lying down on the wooden cockpit bench.  I also remember that Judge Allen did know what was happening and tellingly tried not to worry me.  But he was not a good sailor and I was young enough that I didn't know much about sailing either, so we were having trouble getting back.  
  
The club's harbormaster somehow knew we had problems (no cell phones in those days), probably because we managed to leave the racing group, and came to us in the middle of Lake Charlevoix in the club's aluminum outboard powerboat.  He towed us all the way back in to the club's dock.  Someone called the hospital as soon as an emergency situation was known on shore.  I remember the harbor master and Judge Allen helped roll Gramp from the sailboat up onto the dock where he was only able to lie there on his back and try to breath through his lack of oxygen and intense pain.  An ambulance (finally) arrived and the two EMT's had difficulty carrying Gramp, on a stretcher, all the way up those steps to the ambulance. 
  
A day or two later, I remember going to the hospital with Mom to visit Gramp, but I was too young and not allowed to go in, so I walked around the side of the building where I saw Gramp through the lounge picture window, standing there eating grapes.  He smiled at me and offered grapes to me, through plate-glass the window.  That's when I knew he was OK and had his sense of humor back. 
  
Hilton Fraser had the first Jet Ski I ever saw.  It was narrow and you had to stand up on it to ride.  There were no seats so it was a little tricky to get on at first, but once I did, I remember I was able to jet ski across Lake Charlevoix to “Shade’s Point” and back on my first attempt.  My ‘little’ cousin, now Lt. Col. John C.H. Ware USAF retired, went next and did a great job skiing.  That was fun for all.   
 
I also remember sailing one time with Hilton and his first wife.  Hilton had a Sunfish then so the three of us were quite close in the cockpit, and I had a hard time keeping my ‘eyes on the wind’ as his very attractive and shapely wife was wearing just a loosely woven yellow fishnet bikini.  It’s a wonder we didn’t capsize. 
 
Of course when in Charlevoix, we had to go fishing.  My dad, Wallace G. Peters, was an avid fisherman and that rubbed off on Dick and me.  When dad was alive, we always had a small run-about boat we took out to fish for Yellow Perch and Smallmouth Bass.  If fishing got slow, we go for pan fish in the shallow harbor at the north end of the lake.  When we didn’t have a boat though, Dick and I would fish from the train bridge or the club’s boat docks, usually at Gramp’s boat slip where he tied up the Frolic.   
Dick and I both caught a Northern Pike right next to the Frolic one year and we decided to mount the two heads to hang on a wall in the cottage, like shark jaws.  Of course the heads had to be dried first, so we propped the mouths open and put them on the cottage roof of 212 over the front porch to ‘cure’. They kind of looked like small sharks.  However, with the resulting smell and all the flies though, that didn’t last long.  Gram was a little upset and not pleased with that episode either.  Our trophy mounts were history. 
Not to be deterred, I found a very long aluminum fishing pole down below in the Frolic.  It had a casting reel on it with that old black braded fishing line and that had a large shiny silver spoon already attached.  The rig obviously was ready to be used for trolling during a sail.  Perfect, I thought!  With that rig I could cast all the way across to the boathouses on the other side, while avoiding the snag Dick and I had become so familiar with in a particular spot close to the club’s sail boats.   
Man this is great I thought during my backswing!  Whizzzz…..boing!!  That darn shiny silver spoon made it to the top of its ark and immediately snapped back heading right for me, landing in the water at my feet off the end of the dock.  The casting reel had gotten a tangled backlash so big it filled up my hand.  Oh brother I thought.  This is going to a year to untangle!  It didn’t take a year, but it did take a very long time to straighten out and when all was cleared and I started reeling up the spent line, I had a snag.  Oh brother, what else could happen?  I thought.  But snags don’t move.  I soon realized I had a fish-on!  I knew it wasn’t a bass as it was just moving slowly with a strong steady pull, and it was big! 
Pretty soon folks started gathering, as this fish didn’t want to come up.  That aluminum pole was bent in half for a long time, which got a lot of attention.  I was starting to tire.  Eventually the fish came up close enough to the surface that we could see it and then someone yelled, “It’s a huge Northern!”  By that time, the empty boat slip next to the Frolic had folks lined up on both sides watching me try to pull the fish to shallow water where I could land it by myself.  Someone jumped in the knee-deep water at the end and offered to land ‘my fish’.  But proud as I was, I foolishly said, “No, I need to land it myself”, so I reached down to grab the leader and pull the fish up, just as it spooked and flicked its tail resulting in me grabbing the black line itself, which snapped.  Quite casually, that huge Northern turned and slowly swam toward deep water with that big silver spoon dangling from its jaw.  Then they both disappeared to the depths.   
 
As with life itself, all things must come to an end and our beloved cottage is no longer in the family.  We miss it and we miss all the wonderful friends we made over the years while there.  Be good, stay healthy, have fun and enjoy life while you can.