Red Cedar Alchemy

Suzanne Levy (MSU ‘80) has been making music her whole life. Whether it was giving neighborhood kids $1 guitar lessons at age 12, playing in University of Detroit coffee shop open mics, or jamming in the back room of the MSU Library’s Special Collections, Levy has always found a way to play and sing.

AFTER DECADES MAKING MUSIC, SUZANNE LEVY FOUND HER PEOPLE NEXT DOOR

Suzanne Levy (MSU ‘80) has been making music her whole life. Whether it was giving neighborhood kids $1 guitar lessons at age 12, playing in University of Detroit coffee shop open mics, or jamming in the back room of the MSU Library’s Special Collections, Levy has always found a way to play and sing.

Four or so years ago, Levy decided it was time to get a band together. She posted on the Nextdoor app to see if anyone in her neighborhood would be interested in joining her. Her neighbor Rebecca Hoogstraten (MSU ‘90, ‘07) was on Nextdoor wondering the same thing. A partnership was born.

Alongside Joyce Hagerman (a third neighbor), they formed The Instigators, a group specializing in protest songs. After scheduling conflicts caused Hagerman to leave the band, Allison Ellsworth joined and they rebranded as Red Cedar Alchemy, a nod to both their MSU roots and to Ellsworth’s membership in the Red Cedar Friends Quaker community.

“I just thought ‘Red Cedar’ sounded folksy,” said Levy. 

Along the way, others have sat in with the trio. They are often joined by bassist David Winkelstern (MSU ‘74, ‘81), at whose house they meet for biweekly practices. Percussionist Diane Pfost and guitarist Ron McKeever have also joined them for performances.

“Ron is one of the best flat-pickers around,” said Levy.

Winkelstern and Pfost joined Red Cedar Alchemy on July 14 for a fun night of folk and blues at Eagle Monk Pub & Brewery in Lansing. Guests filling the beer garden on the warm, humid evening were helping celebrate the group’s first public performance in 17 months.

“It’s our first show since COVID,” said Levy. The group has been gathering regularly for practices since their vaccinations, and was eager to get back onstage. At Eagle Monk, they performed many originals written by Levy, as well as some blues covers and originals from Winkelstern and Ellsworth.

The three core members of Red Cedar Alchemy are a diverse group. Levy, in her 60s, is retired from MSU. Hoogstraten, in her 50s, is a veterinarian at Williamston Animal Clinic. Ellsworth, in her 30s, is a Spiritual Care Provider for Sparrow Health System. 

“We came together over a love of music,” said Levy. 

 

At ten years old, Levy heard the Beatles and knew she wanted to play. When she asked her dad for a guitar, he wasn’t so sure about making that investment.

“He said ‘you’re a jack of all trades and a master of none,’” Levy recalled. “I said ‘give me a chance!’”

She began taking lessons using her neighbor’s “crappy guitar.” When it was evident she wasn’t going to give it up, she got “a decent guitar” and began teaching kids in the neighborhood, for $1 a lesson.

“Sometimes I’d show kids I babysat the guitar, and we’d sing and play,” said Levy.

She started out on the classical guitar, and that was her instrument until she was a grad student at MSU. She walked into Elderly Instruments (then located in the basement of East Lansing’s Campus Mall) to have her 12-string restrung, and walked out with a steel string guitar.

“That’s when I switched from classical guitar to playing more folk inspired music and got my first true acoustic guitar…a six string used Yamaha, with the Y scratched out,” said Levy. “A true impulse buy. I loved it.”

That steel guitar got plenty of use while Levy was an MSU student.

“Every time there was a basement kegger, they’d tell me to bring the guitar,” she said.

In the early ‘80s, Moriarty’s Pub was just getting started, and Levy jumped on their open mic nights. They liked her, and asked her back.

“They paid me a couple of times,” she said. “Real money, not just pizza and beer!”

In 1984, Levy began her career at MSU. As Authority Control Coordinator, she worked from an electronics-filled office in the MSU Library. Even there, an opportunity to make music appeared.

“Down in a room in Special Collections, they had a piano and an upright bass,” Levy explained. “Fridays from 12-1, we’d have an open jam.”

The Friday lunchtime jam sessions were organized by the Comics Librarian, an “old hippie.”

“He organized us into coming down and playing,” Levy said. “We’d play Fridays, as well as staff functions.”

Throughout her career, Levy always found places to make music. But it wasn’t until four years ago that she became the founding member of a legit band. On July 14, that group got to play for a packed beer garden on a warm summer night, their first time onstage since February 2020. For Levy, it was a long time coming.

“It felt like an out of body experience, like I was channeling my inner self,” she said.

Hocking Hills Bridge

In Hocking Hills, Ohio there is an incredible bridge that seems completely out of place. I did some digging and found the story behind this unusual structure.

An Open Letter To Taylor Swift

Part acknowledgment of the fleeting time I have to spend with my daughter, part ‘Folklore’ album review.

AN OPEN LETTER TO TAYLOR SWIFT

Hi, Taylor:
Last week my daughter and I spent hours and hours driving the winding roads of Eastern Tennessee, exploring and hiking. One of those days, I asked my daughter if she’d heard your new album (NPR had told me it was really good). The last time I’d tuned in to what you were up to was prep for your ‘1989’ tour stop at Soldier Field (where HAIM, who I’d never heard of, left me gobsmacked). Of course she’d been listening to it, and she put it on for me in the car.

I just want to take a moment to thank you for ‘folklore.’ First, thank you for making everyone who wanted to accomplish something creatively during quarantine feel like massive failures. I, too, told myself I’d write daily during quarantine. You wrote what may be a career-defining work of art. Meanwhile, I have a half-finished haiku. I’m not familiar enough with your oeuvre to say this is Peak T-Swift (am I doing that right? Is it a hyphen? Or is it T. Swift?), but I’m familiar enough with Words And Music to say this is some Grade A songwriting. As we listened together, climbing and descending mountain ranges, more than a couple times I would just say “oh, wow.” And my daughter would just say “yeah.” On the second and third time through, certain lines were becoming clearer; I was asking questions and having her Google things (“who’s Rebekah?” “Oh, she’s James in this.”). By the fourth and fifth time through, I started saying crazy things like this may be your “Late For The Sky,” your “Tapestry,” your “Rumours,” your “Blue.” And I reiterate how infuriating it is that in five months I’ve managed to write 10 of 17 syllables.

Second, thank you for the heartbreakingly beautiful poetry in ‘folklore.’ It is a reminder that relentlessly paring away at a sentence, an idea, or a phrase is worth it. I don’t know if that’s what you did. Maybe rhyming “cardigan” and “car again” just happens first try with no effort. Maybe lines like “in my defense, I have none” and “would it be enough if I could never give you peace” just leap wholly formed from dreams. If that’s true, don’t ever tell me. Lie and say you spend hours sweating over legal pads, honing just the right words.

Finally, thanks for giving me a beautiful piece of art to share with my college-age daughter. There are fewer and fewer things to share these days. Soon, weeklong trips together will be a distant memory. The amazing thing about music is how it cements you to a place in time. When any song from ‘folklore’ comes up in a playlist or on the radio, it will now immediately take me to those winding, foggy Tennessee highways with my daughter, the last track finishing and the first track starting again. Me dissecting lyrics and overanalyzing phrases, her politely listening and not rolling her eyes at the oldhead trying too hard by half.

Thank you, Taylor. Your beautiful work turned a few long car rides into a beautiful memory. I wish you all the best; this album may just be the thing that really gets your name out there. And, it’s inspired me to finish that haiku. Seven syllables by Christmas, that’s my goal. I’ll let you know how it turns out.

(album art for ‘folklore,’ photo by Beth Garrabrant)

Profile: Louis Johnson

I met Louis Emil Johnson on gameday of the MSU-Arizona State game. I was sitting in the air conditioned MSU Union, killing time between the trombone section tailgate and the trombone section warmups. He and his friend (Son? I didn’t ask. I should’ve asked) were looking closely at two large, round tabletops.
“Are there dates on there?” he asked. “Dates would make this a lot easier.”
In 1949, when Johnson started at MSU, the Union was hopping. It was the only real space to gather on campus outside of a sporting event. He was amazed at how empty the Union feels today, compared to when he attended. He remembers dancing to the Glen Miller Orchestra in the space where he was currently searching the tabletops (“It wasn’t the original band, but Tex Beneke was leading, and they played all the songs. It was packed in here.”).
In 1949, campus looked very different, he said. The only permanent buildings south of the banks of the Red Cedar were Spartan Stadium, Jenison Fieldhouse and a cattle barn. The Union was 25 years old. Snyder-Phillips was the newest dorm on campus, and male students lived in Quonset Village, a collection of over 100 quonset huts erected as temporary housing.
Postwar, the campus population had doubled almost overnight and MSU couldn’t build fast enough. Hence, the huts. There weren’t enough academic buildings, either. Johnson attended many classes in buildings he described as long, one-story structures covered in tar paper (think the mess hall on M*A*S*H).
When Johnson was a senior in 1953, he was given access to the Senior Lounge at the Union. One of the traditions of the lounge was that seniors carved their initials into the lounge’s tabletops. At least two of those tabletops still exist, under glass, in the lounge area at the MSU Union. And today, Johnson was on a hunt to see if one of those two tabletops bore his initials.
“Oh. There I am!” he said, and pointed. After a few minutes and a couple trips around the table, he’d found it. In a bold, serif type, he had carved “LEJ.”
In case you’re wondering, I couldn’t find any other carvers that took the time to include serifs on their letters.
The fact that Johnson’s carving has a precision and flair isn’t surprising, when you learn that Johnson went to school to be an industrial arts teacher. Specifically, woodworking.
At some point, he decided to return to his alma mater as a season ticket holder. He said it ended up being a money-saver. “I gave up smoking and spent that money on tickets. What cigarettes cost these days, season tickets are cheaper!”
At 88 (“I always said I wanted to make it to my Oldsmobile birthday”), Johnson is loving his life. Six years ago, his wife’s declining health meant moving into a retirement home. Some of his friends felt sorry for him. After a few weeks there, he couldn’t understand why everyone didn’t join him.
“They have entertainment at least twice a week there,” he explained. “Out of 150 or so old-timers, it’s easy to find a dozen or so you can get along with.”
Things came full circle recently when the current version of the Glen Miller Orchestra visited the retirement home and played for them. Johnson’s new goal is to make is to the other Oldsmobile birthday, the 98. After a few minutes with him, I’d say that seems very likely.
After he carved his initials into that table in the Union, Johnson enjoyed a career in teaching and administration in Grand Rapids Public Schools. He retired to a life of teaching Community Ed woodworking classes and building all of the oak cabinets for his new house from scratch.
He is very proud of those cabinets. I didn’t follow a lot of the lingo he used explaining their creation, but I understood that they were quite beautiful, with ornate carvings that he’d obsessed over.
As I reflect on our conversation, I wonder if as he was carving those doors, he was tempted to throw a little “LEJ” into one of them, for old time’s sake.
SMB4Kids

Video: SMB For Kids

Every year, Tim Staudt hosts a fundraiser starring the Spartan Marching Band. Proceeds are split between the band and Children’s Miracle Network. The band puts on quite a show, and I was happy to be able to cover the event.

Travelogue: The Porkies

During a week of camping and hiking around Porcupine Mountains State Park, I kept a travelogue of my adventure. In this post, I am seriously hurting after doing a strenuous 19 miles the day before.

At World’s End:
A Week In The Porkies
DAY THREE: in which our invalid hero gets super-high.
 
-If anyone reading this has trouble sleeping, I have the cure. Walk 19 miles. I slept like a baby. I mean, like the kind of baby that sleeps nine hours straight without needing to eat or pee. On reflection, that is a very weak simile. I slept like a dead person who after being dead awhile gets up. I slept like Jesus.
I resolved to take it easy today, and do some driving. After convincing my knees that staying in bed all day wasn’t going to make things better, we headed out.
The trip to Ironwood took me right by the Summit Peak overlook. It would be dumb not to stop on the way, the overlook is a 20 minute drive from my site. I parked and walked out to the tower with all the steps. “You son of a bitch!” my knees yelled at me when they realized what was happening. I apologize for the language here. But I am just quoting; they were really upset that I knew how badly they were hurting, and yet I had just taken them UP A BIG HILL AND NOW WE HAD TO CLIMB A TOWER. So, they had a point is all I’m saying.
The view was stupendous. You can see what seems like forever, including the tip of Government Peak, which from this vantage point you can see is way up in the air by itself and why in God’s Green Earth would anyone think climbing all the way up there was a good idea? We took it easy coming down from the tower. Coming down from things was especially tough today.
-Next, it was off to Copper Peak, the world’s largest ski jump. They call it “ski flying,” coming off the thing and soaring 600 or more feet — about twice as far as Olympic ski jumpers. It’s the only one of its kind in the Western Hemisphere. It was built in 1970, but closed in ‘94, reopening later as a tourist attraction.
First, you take a ski lift 800 feet up the side of a hill. Then you walk to the jump, which sits atop the hill like the Jesus The Redeemer statue, visible for miles. You ride the elevator up 18 stories, and you’re still not to the top. You can stop there and enjoy the swell view, or you can walk up another 8 flights of stairs to the tippity top. If this wasn’t the most nerve-wracking thing I’ve ever done, I can’t think of what would beat it. This time, I wasn’t just forcing my legs to play through the pain, I had to convince my brain that if I fell there was no way I could plunge to my death through the metal cage. My brain wasn’t having it. My brain looked through the metal grating floor and saw the treetops 1,000 feet below. Then, it imagined being impaled by those treetops as we rocketed earthward. I made it to the top, took a couple shaky photos and quickly found my way back down. It was an incredibly unique experience, and I’m glad I did it. I don’t need to do it again.
-Next, I needed to find the Stormy Kromer factory in Ironwood. Since my phone doesn’t work north of the Mackinac Bridge, I’ve spent a good portion of this vacation pretending it’s the 20th century, and stopping at gas stations to ask for directions. I got in line at the Holiday, and asked the man in front of me if he knew the way to Stormy Kromer. It was as if he’d been waiting all week for someone to ask him this. He was pumped. “Oh, wow. Are you doing the tour? It’s great, I love it! I’ve done it four times.” He proceeded to give me directions that, no lie, included the phrase “turn where the driving range used to be.” There was a little hiccup, though, because he wasn’t sure if construction would block either way there. I chose one of his options, thanked him and left. As I was getting into my van, he pulled up behind me and got out. “Hey! I’m kind of heading that way! Want to follow me, I can take you there!” Did I mention he was really pumped? So, I followed him around construction, right to Stormy Kromer. He honked and waved out his window as he sped away. In a life before pocket computers that take you wherever you want to go, people were forced to interact. And they did things like lead a stranger to a hat factory. So, thanks Ironwood Allen (which I have named you). You’re a real analog superhero.
-The Stormy Kromer tour is very interesting and free.
-Since I didn’t have access to Maps or Yelp, I just drove around Ironwood. I found an old mine marker, which isn’t hard. They’re every 100 feet or so up here. I also found Hiawatha, the largest Indian statue in the world. So, that’s something. I don’t know what the competition is like, but he’s pretty big. This whole area loves Indians, they’re everywhere. No Native Americans, though. They kick it old school. Out of respect, I’m assuming.
-If it’s not named after an Indian, it’s named after a miner. Multiple towns have football teams called the Miners, and there’s a local paper called the Bessemer Pick and Axe. How cool is that?
One school, though, confused me. In Ewen, there’s a Trout Creek Elementary. Their sign has a big drawing of a trout leaping out of the water. But under the name and the trout, it said “Home of the Panthers!” I love this so much.
-I decided it was time to head out, so I got on the road and accidentally drove into Wisconsin. It wasn’t much of a drive, Ironwood and Herley, Wisconsin share a border. But here’s what’s wild. One second over the border there’s a nudie bar. Then another. And another. One advertises “cage dancers.” Storefront after storefront, it’s bar after bar for two blocks. What was happening?! Had I traveled through a Stargate into the sexth dimension? (should it just be “the sex dimension”? I don’t know. I’ll workshop it) For real, though, what was Wisconsin’s deal? I decided to find out. I’m a journalist, after all.
Before I left I told my family I was going to Wisconsin and buying cheese. I didn’t really plan to, but now that I was in Wisconsin I decided to find me some cheese. It didn’t take long. After deciding on Cajun Curds, I asked the cheesemonger about all the nudie bars. Was it a mining town thing, where rules were different in Wisconsin and Michigan miners crossed the border for some action? The rest of Herley was pretty normal, why just those first two blocks into the state? She admitted it was strange, and said she didn’t really know. Well, I tried. I didn’t say I was a good journalist.
-My waterfall guide told me that the Black River has some killer waterfalls, and I was right there so once again my knees were outvoted. Each waterfall was only a mile or so hike from the road, and 10-15 flights of stairs. I won’t repeat what my knees had to say to me this time. Let’s just say it was very HBO.
Dinner: Bacon double cheeseburger and fries, courtesy Bessemer Dairy Queen. Pairs nicely with Blue Powerade. 6/10