Sanitary Dairy History

Sanitary Dairy History

An old photo album rekindles memories of the dairy days

By Jim Frisinger
Muskegon Chronicle April 17, 1983

It sounds kind of funny to say it, but there used to be a dairy industry in Muskegon.

No More.

Not since McDonald’s Dairy Co. closed its Fruitport processing plant in 1979 has there been a milk plant in this area.

But there are dozens of Muskegon dairymen who still can relive those days with vivid memories of how it once was. Those were days when the horse was king, and when a daily visitor to city neighborhoods was the milkman, from one of several dairies, who for many years guided a colorful horse-drawn wagon down his route.

Four of these men, veterans of one of Muskegon’s biggest dairies, gathered this week to pore over an old photo album of the Sanitary Dairy Co. that belonged to the late Russell Vance of 1645 Division.

Lester Peterman of Twin Lake put in 35 years in the business starting in 1938. Many were rides behind “Vell” his horse. Peterman has the distinction of driving one of the last work horses in Muskegon from his perch atop a sharp-looking buggy with tires.

Peterman says a major reason the horses were finally bid adieu was the increasing auto traffic. His own experience gives convincing evidence of the problem.

It was New Year’s Day in the 1940’s. He stopped on Apple Avenue near where Heethuis Hardware is located. A car slammed into the rear of the truck, pushing the horse ahead and down on the ground bloodying her knees – and knocking Peterman unconscious.

He was helped out of his daze by some people from WKBZ Radio, then located next door. He says he can still see the horse, which eventually found safety standing on the terrace, trembling from the experience.

John Johnson of 1077 Jefferson started his dairy career in the 1930’s hauling 10-gallon milk cans aboard his Reo flatbed truck from the outlying farms to the dairy’s Terrace Street plant. The cans weighed in at 84 pounds apiece, a healthy lift.

The horses were an integral part of the dairy delivery business. A driver could stock up with milk for three houses, and call to the horse to meet him up the street – avoiding backtracking to pick up the parked wagon.

“They knew the route better than I did,” Peterman recalls.

It was almost like having a chauffer-driven vehicle. Sleepy drivers got started as early as 2 am. But drivers could catch a few extra winks after the loaded wagon left the dairy, counting on the horse to know his way, until being jarred awake by the faithful steed halting abruptly at the first stop.

Charles Scheppman of 1072 Fleming, who started delivering milk in 1940, always drove a truck on his route. For many years the dairy used both horses and trucks for door-to-door deliveries: trucks for long distances and horses closer to the dairy.

Charles Crawford of 2432 Philo remembers the driver’s life, too, having put 31 years in the saddle.

“Dusty was the meanest one (horse), “ Crawford says, with some of the other old-timers nodding in agreement. “The drivers couldn’t walk in front of him otherwise he’d take a nip out of them.” Hats always were a favorite target.

In the wee hours – “You could leave a New Year’s Party and go right to work,” one said – harnessing the horse was the first order of business. Each driver was assigned a loading time to be ready to get milk on schedule and get out the door.

With 45 routes, and 30 horses, it had to be an orderly process.

Individual customers were the first run, as drivers went door to door seven days a week bringing milk, cottage cheese and cream to their doorsteps. In the early years for these veteran drivers, each home on the route could be visited each day of the week. As World War II encroached, drivers went to an alternate day schedule and Sunday deliveries were halted, Crawford recalls. Later Saturdays would go, too, as the business changed.

The horses and trucks returned to the dairy by 7 am. Horses were fed and rested. Then the drivers were back on the road a second time for retail and wholesale customers, such as grocery stores and restaurants.

“I always felt it was a 10-to-12 hour day,” Crawford says. Drivers were also responsible for billing.

After the two rounds of deliveries were done in the morning, there would still be time to get back to the customers again to collect payments. Drivers had to be careful their charges were tied up at noon when the E.H. Sheldon factory whistle blew, Peterman said. The horse knew that was lunchtime at the stables, so that’s where they wanted to be – driver or no driver.

“When they heard the whistle, there was no stopping them.”

Runaway horses were not as rare as one might think – nor did horse-smarts seem to have an end.

Johnson, after seven years of hauling milk, became a serviceman for Sanitary Dairy’s fleet of gasoline-powered trucks. He still recalls the day he was at the Ford garage picking up parts.

The Ford man wanted to know if Johnson had heard the day’s amazing runaway story. It seems one Old Dobbin, hitched to a dairy wagon, had run off from the driver. The horse galloped down Sherman, stopped at a red light, then continued his flight when the light turned green.

“I never saw anything like it.”

Crawford remembers Saturdays sometimes were especially long. Those customers belonging to the Christian Reformed Church often did not believe milk should be delivered on Sunday, so drivers had to drop it off Saturday afternoon instead.

In 1965, Sanitary Dairy said goodbye. Many of the drivers and workers left to work at Farr View Dairy in Fruitport, which had purchased the business. Farr View was later taken over by McDonald Dairy Co., the last custodian of a once-proud time.

The old Sanitary building, at Terrace near Laketon, still survives, today housing Ryke’s Bakery. Behind the building, and no longer standing, was a mammoth three-story barn, the dairymen recall, the heart of the animal-powered transportation system.

Horses were stabled on the main floor, the wagons on the second, and hay on the third floor where it could be tossed down.

Sanitary Dairy can trace its roots as far back as 1870 when Peter Hoffman, with his home and stables near Third and First, was the principal milk merchant in Muskegon. In those days many individuals and merchants kept their own cows. It wasn’t until the 1890’s that the modern dairy emerged. That was when delivery companies started to bridge the gap between outlying farmers and a city population thirsty for milk.

The death of the business came when supermarkets started selling milk cheaper than the dairies could deliver it, ending an era that at one time featured 300 home delivery routes in the Muskegon area.

The memories, though, live on.

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