Avenue G, the street where I grew up, was also known as “neighbor street.” It got this moniker from the Wuebben family, who lived one street over. They were a large Apostolic Lutheran family with 13 kids who lived across the alley from me. Their street did not have sidewalks, so they spent a lot of time riding their bikes on neighbor street. Picture tiny kids riding bikes three sizes too big for them, and you’ll be picturing any number of young Wuebben kids along Avenue G. The street is now known as Granite Avenue. When the area finally got a 911 system put in place, many of the small towns had their streets renamed due to confusion from similar sounding addresses. Most streets in Dollar Bay were renamed after trees — Dogwood, Cedar, Elm, Fir — but apparently they couldn’t come up with a tree that starts with the letter G. Incidentally, Avenue H, where the Wuebben family lived, is now Hellman Avenue, named after a state legislator who was one of Dollar Bay’s more famous residents.
I park my car by First Lutheran Church on the corner of Third Street before starting my walking tour. My block is bookended by two large white churches — First Lutheran and Bethany Baptist. As a kid I would complain a lot about the fact that we attended neither church and instead belonged to the Catholic church a few blocks away. However, I enjoyed spying on the cute Baptist boys from my bedroom window using binoculars. What can I say . . . it was a small town and most of the Baptist congregation came from neighboring towns, which made them exotic.
I park my car by First Lutheran Church on the corner of Third Street before starting my walking tour. My block is bookended by two large white churches — First Lutheran and Bethany Baptist. As a kid I would complain a lot about the fact that we attended neither church and instead belonged to the Catholic church a few blocks away. However, I enjoyed spying on the cute Baptist boys from my bedroom window using binoculars. What can I say . . . it was a small town and most of the Baptist congregation came from neighboring towns, which made them exotic.
I first saw the new mobile home sitting on the corner of Granite Avenue and Third Street, across from First Lutheran Church, when I was in Dollar Bay for the Fourth of July parade. It’s located smack dab on the edge of old Jack Champion’s prized vegetable garden. I knew Jack’s been dead for years and the garden was long gone, but it still strikes me as an odd place for a mobile home. Between my memories of his glorious garden, all the attempts we made as kids to raid it , and the landscape itself, it just seems an odd location.
When a friend of my mother’s mentions the murder that took place there, I’m shocked. I knew all about the terrible domestic assault that resulted in the murder of a brilliant 27-year-old Iranian woman back in December, but had no idea it happened just down the street from my old house. Sanaz Nezami had recently moved to Dollar Bay and was about to begin a doctorate program in environmental engineering at Michigan Technological University in Houghton when she was brutally beaten by her husband Nima Nassiri and died a few days later. The couple had only been married a few months and the murder received quite a bit of media attention due to the compassionate response by the medical community, the use of technology to connect with Nezami’s family in Iran and the donation of her organs used to help save seven lives. You can read about the case here —
When I first learned of the of the story, I was saddened that such a thing occurred in the small town where I grew up. But even more shocking is finding out it happened right down the street from my house. I know I haven’t lived there in 20 years, but I’ll always think of it as my house, my street, my town, and something about the proximity of such a terrible crime to MY house feels personal. Upon looking and photographing the mobile home, it is difficult to not tear up a bit knowing what happened there. Such an act of violence in a place that holds memories of my youth and innocence is difficult to fathom. I can still make out the faint outline of the dirt bike path that once cut through the front yard of the mobile home. I rode my bike down that path countless times on the way to my friend Shannon’s house.
I make my way up the street from the corner toward the house in the middle of the block with the white vinyl siding, then hear a voice call out in a questioning tone, “Chrissy?”
I’m surprised to find our old nextdoor neighbors, the Hebners, sitting out on their front porch.
After realizing they think I’m my older sister Chris, I reply, “No, it’s Michele, the youngest,” making sure to capitalize on my incredible youthfulness.
“Oh, we knew it was a Jokinen for sure,” said Audrey.
It’s nice to see familiar faces, to stop and chat for awhile and share some old memories of the neighborhood. I mention something to them about the murder and we share our shock and disgust.
“Old Jack must be rolling around in his grave,” said Skeeboo. His real name is David, but he has gone by the nickname Skeeboo for ages. I have no idea why.
“That’s exactly what I said when I heard the news,” I reply. We go on to recount Jack’s amazing garden, and how he chased the kids out of it whenever we attempted to get a midday snack. I wish I could remember that little corner of Dollar Bay for the innocent childhood crime of garden raiding instead of the heinous crime that took place so many years later. RIP Sanaz. I’m sorry your short time in Dollar Bay met with such a terrible conclusion.
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