Club Manitou, the Detroit Mob’s Up North Speakeasy

A labyrinth of tunnels and rooms underneath a normal Harbor Springs home once hosted gambling, parties, and even live music
Outside of Club Manitou
All photos courtesy of O.W Root.

Harbor Springs — Just outside town and across from the bay, there is an unremarkable, classic American home. Almost 100 years ago, it was home to an infamous speakeasy run by the mob. Standing in the still living room, you wouldn’t imagine that down in the basement they used to drink, gamble, and dance to live music. You wouldn’t believe that there is a complex labyrinth of old tunnels. This was the site of Club Manitou.

Club Manitou was owned by Abe Bernstein, an infamous mobster who was the leader of the Purple Gang, a prohibition-era gang based in Detroit. It was built in 1928 and open for business by 1929. Club Manitou operated underground—both literally and figuratively—through prohibition and the years beyond. 

fireplace in living room

Locals were never allowed in the Club. The owners didn’t want to soak the local population. The dancing, drinking, and gambling were reserved for the wealthy summer residents with cottages along the bay. They had money to burn and lose. There’s a story that two brothers lost the equivalent of $2 million in one night at Club Manitou.

While you can easily walk into the house, getting into the basement of Club Manitou was more of an ordeal. Behind the house, there is a flimsy screen door that closes over a heavier door. Behind this door is a damp concrete staircase that leads to another old steel door, which opens to a cavernous basement. 

old tunnel with lights

There’s a fireplace. A small stage. Old retro tiles that once made up a dance floor. There are all these nooks and crannies. A small concrete room for a kitchen. A huge old incinerator that looks like it belongs in a sunken ship on the bottom of the sea. An old rusty safe, tucked in the corner with a few prohibition-era bottles on top. “Federal Law Forbids Sale or Reuse of This Bottle” is molded into the glass on each brown bottle. 

brown liquor bottles

There is a small hole cut into the wood paneling outside the bathrooms. Crouching down and stepping through the little square hole, I’m in a damp, dark room the size of a closet. To my right is a sealed up tunnel. Nobody knows where it goes. Going deeper into the basement, the rooms get smaller and smaller. The tiles and concrete floor turn to rocky soil. There are heavy steel doors with elaborate locking systems, all rusty and broken. Many of the tunnels have been sealed off with cinder blocks and concrete. The current owners are investigating and have drilled holes to determine whether a wall opens up to tunnels leading to only God knows where. 

old rusted safe door

There are rumors of countless other tunnels running all over the property. There is allegedly a tunnel that leads from the Manitou all the way to the building that is now city hall. According to local legend, there’s another that ran from the airport (also opened in 1929, the same year as the Manitou) into a second basement that sits below the first. 

The second basement isn’t accessible today. No one knows for sure if it exists. It’s not on any building plans. The working theory is that it’s accessed through the floor outside the bathrooms. I’ve stood on the floor. It feels hollow.

Apparently, the tunnel that ran from the airport to the Manitou was big enough for cars to drive through. There are rumors of limousines. An elderly resident, who has since passed, claimed that she remembered seeing trucks through a manhole as a girl. That sounds crazy, but it’s not. There are manholes to be found. Air vents too. That’s how you can identify a tunnel around the property. It almost feels like some kind of military compound. Surreal. 

stone fireplace under renovation

It’s wild to imagine what this place was like in its heyday—full of music, dancing, money, and booze. Wealthy summer residents with huge cottages on the water shuffling through these underground tunnels a century ago. Hiding from the cops, far away in Northern Michigan, in a small little town on the lake, blowing money and partying like there’s no tomorrow. No cell phones, no internet. It was another world.

The cops were never able to prove that gambling went on at the club. They couldn’t get them on that. Eventually they just took the liquor license, and Club Manitou was shut down in 1953. In 1962 it reopened as a teen club called The Ponytail. The speakeasy years were over. From mobsters to high schoolers. Finally, in 1969, part of the Ponytail burned down. The house was sold, and that was the end of the party.

Recently, a new owner bought the property, and a group of local historians are investigating all the history of the Manitou. They are working on locating all the tunnels, excavating and documenting all the stories wrapped up here, talking to as many people as they can and trying to put it all together. 

sticky notes of dates and incidents

There are hundreds of fascinating stories. Some are written down, most are not. The visitors, the performers, strange mob connections beyond Detroit, murky details about sports gambling and rigged World Series games. There are more questions than answers. They’ve got a board full of sticky notes covered in dates and details set up in the living room. It feels like the investigation of a crime scene. It kind of is. 

People love old stories about the mob. The drama, the era, the clothes, the intrigue. After spending an evening learning about countless odd “coincidences,” seedy details, and the world of yesterday, while roaming the tunnels, I get it. There’s a whole other world beneath the surface.

O.W. Root is a writer based in Northern Michigan, with a focus on nature, food, style, and culture. Follow him on X @NecktieSalvage.

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