Do Ghosts Live on the Queen of the Great Lakes?

Muskegon — The S.S. Milwaukee Clipper rests permanently in Muskegon Lake. The ship’s sedate present hides an extraordinary past—and perhaps even a few ghosts. 

That was the premise, anyway, for a special run of nighttime “haunted tours” on the venerable old ship this October. Early in the month, being a fan of all things maritime, I took not just one but two tours they offer onboard the S.S. Milwaukee Clipper: the daytime historical tour with a curator, which is run monthly throughout the summer and fall. Followed by the one with, you know, ghosts. October only. 

I can’t say I saw anything supernatural, perhaps something closer to a miracle, actually. Though, at least one room definitely might have been haunted. More on that later.

If you haven’t heard previously of the S.S. Milwaukee Clipper, you almost certainly wouldn’t know that she began life as the S.S. Juniata in the shipyards of Cleveland in 1904. Born and bred on the Great Lakes, the Juniata never left, ferrying millions of passengers along the “Anchor Line” from New York to Minnesota. Juniata’s career was abruptly cut short, however, following an arsonist’s catastrophic attack on a similar ship in 1934 (death toll: 137). The U.S. Coast Guard banned the use of Juniata and all other wooden ships like her. 

But this was not to be the end. Resurrected in 1940 by the McKee brothers of Michigan, they sent her to Manitowoc to be modernized as a minor Art Deco masterpiece. The Juniata received a soda fountain, dance floor, bar, movie theater, air-conditioned staterooms, newly-constructed higher decks, and a plethora of aluminum furniture pieces created by the celebrated designer Warren McArthur, special for the reborn ship. Down below in the boiler room, the quadruple-expansion steam engine was converted from burning coal to burning oil. Rechristened the S.S. Milwaukee Clipper, almost all that remained of the Juniata were her steel hull, the original bell, two wooden benches, and memories.

For nearly 30 years, the S.S. Milwaukee Clipper made the trip between Muskegon and Milwaukee twice a day, with 900 passengers, 100-odd-member crew, and a large cargo of automobiles. For a time, I was told, the ship relied on college students, men and women, for crew during summer breaks. Finding the local students unreliable due to seasickness and homesickness, the ship’s management began importing labor from Iowa, and other such far-flung regions, to reduce turnover.

Personally, if given the same choice—seasickness or Iowa—I’m not sure what I would do. 

The ship was retired as a passenger liner in 1970. The first nearly 30 years of its retirement are too complicated to relate in detail, replete with failed plans, lawsuits, a seizure by the U.S. Marshal, and a few stints as a museum ship in other ports. Finally, in 1997, the S.S. Milwaukee Clipper came home to serve as a museum ship in Muskegon, where it has been ever since. 

Today, the ship’s former glamor has been restored, complete with the original Warren McArthur furniture, metal ashtrays, and 45s in the jukebox. They’re even bringing the old dance floor back to life, with ice-cream socials at the soda bowl during the summer. During the in-depth daytime tour this fall, I was guided through Clipper’s history by the ship’s curator, Dr. Ray Hilt, whose genuine passion for the old ship was obvious within seconds of meeting him aboard. He provided a steady stream of colorful historical details, including the alleged dumping of the ship’s illegal gambling machines during its inaugural 1941 season. I guess FanDuel wasn’t around quite yet.

The nighttime tour was a different scene altogether. It was a more produced show, fun and eerie; what I would call “historical horror.” Walking onto the dock at night provides enough ambiance to set and enjoy the scene, but it’s no scream-inducing haunt. I arrived with two giggling middle-aged sisters and instantly wished I had brought my own family. The tour was lovingly run by the volunteers who work on restoring the vessel and is family-friendly. The volunteers have placed decorations along the boat, such as crime-scene tape, chairs set askew, chilling music, and low lights, as they guide you through rooms with a haunted tale of the ship’s return to port. 

An older gentleman in my group struggled to finish the haunted tour, though he was adamant that it was due to the frightening ghosts. He took a break by the front entrance to catch his breath. As he reached for the bench in front of him to sit, he lost his balance and fell headfirst towards the metal floor. I was one foot too far away and watched in what felt like slow motion as I reached forward. His water bottle fell from his hand and rolled on the hard steel and under his head, right before his head reached the ground, cushioning the impact. It felt like an act from God, really. He steadied himself, as a volunteer helped him to the bench. 

We sat together and chatted on that bench while he rested, the waves lapping just a stone’s throw away. An old sailor himself, we discussed boats, sailing, and different ports of call. He was encouraging with my maritime aspirations and seemed at peace with his. We laughed out loud and pretended to be ghosts for the incoming groups of tour takers. I came for horror, but I had found quite the opposite. A friend. 

Between the two tours, the most frightening tale I heard actually came during the daylight. 

A member of my daytime tour group said his grandfather had worked on the ship. When we came to his grandfather’s old room, he told us all a short story. His grandfather had worked as a cook’s assistant—and the cook molested him. He told a family member about what had happened, and, well… the cook was never seen again. 

How’s that for a ghost story?

Devinn Dakohta is a contributing writer for Michigan Enjoyer. Follow her on Instagram @Devinn.Dakohta and X @DevinnDakohta.