Rainbow Inn

May 20, 2016

William T. West was a black man from Columbus, Ohio, who worked as a chef and porter for the Pennsylvania Railroad back when its Northern Arrow train kept a regular route north to Mackinaw City, bringing up vacationers from Chicago, Detroit, and St. Louis, and making a stop in Petoskey along the way. West’s job was typical for black men during the ’40s and ’50s, who were suffering from job discrimination in America; unskilled labor positions were the only jobs that most black people could get then. “Other than whites, the whole of northern Michigan during that era was made up of black maids, cooks, and chauffeurs,” said Richard Wiles, retired Petoskey High School teacher and local historian Richard Wiles.

While larger cities like Detroit mostly welcomed black travelers, Wiles said that much of northern Michigan followed the South’s prevalent Jim Crow laws, which had started as far back as the 1870s and mandated the segregation of public places for blacks and whites, including restaurants, hotels, transportation, barber shops, theaters, gas stations, restrooms, and drinking fountains. Some national parks even posted signs designating separate “negro areas.” If black people objected to being refused service at, for instance, a coffeeshop, they either would be informed that they could dine in the kitchen or leave.

This kind of active discrimination also was happening throughout Petoskey, Boyne City, Charlevoix — all of northern Michigan. The Bay View area of Petoskey was one of the few places that would book black musicians to perform. But even there, they weren’t allowed to stay in any of the hotels. “They had to stay with people who were willing to have them in their homes,” Wiles said.

“It’s been one of those well-kept secrets that this kind of thing existed in northern Michigan,” Wiles said. “It was not by law but de facto — it was absolutely true.” The racism Up North might not have been quite as bad as it was in the southern states, where it would often escalate into intimidation or violence, but it existed nonetheless. Driving a car, often considered a “white prerogative,” made the simple act of taking a car Up North on vacation a potentially dangerous or, at minimum, stressful venture for a black family. To avoid trouble on the road and circumvent the restaurants, gas stations, and rest stops who would refuse them, black travelers often would pack their cars with their own food, portable toilets, and canisters of gasoline. Without access to hotels or even campgrounds, they would camp by the roadside. Taking this kind of “vacation” probably felt like it just wasn’t worth the effort.

While West was doing well at his job — he’d been with the railroad for 25 years — he dreamt of more. He could clearly see what was happening around him, and he wanted to both acquire something of his own and make a difference for others. “West kept seeing this old rundown mansion house alongside the tracks every time he’d travel Up North,” Wiles explained. “He had a dream about owning his own place here. He thought it would be good for black people, both locals and visitors, to have a place to go and feel welcome to eat, drink, dance, and stay without having anxiety about it.” A similar place had existed near Traverse City since 1812: Idlewild, which was nicknamed the Black Eden of the Midwest and which welcomed such famous black entertainers as Louis Armstrong, Aretha Franklin, B.B. King, and Sarah Vaughn.

“Westy,” as his friends called him, was 55 years old in 1949 and had decided it was time to retire and make his dream a reality. When the neglected mansion went up for sale, he left the railroad and bought the building. After a year of repairs and fix-up work, West opened The in early summer, 1950. He selected the name to signify that everyone, of every color, was welcome.

The Rainbow Inn was located on Clarion Avenue in an area that Wiles said was then known as Hungry Hollow. This Petoskey neighborhood was where the Native Americans, similarly prejudiced against, were reportedly relegated to live. “They lived in tar paper shacks and weren’t allowed to live elsewhere in town,” Wiles said. “You wouldn’t believe the conditions they lived in. They didn’t even have running water, and this was the 1950s.”

Both locals and travelers were drawn to The Rainbow Inn — West’s Native American neighbors included. In addition to the hotel and boarding house components, he installed a jukebox in the lounge for listening and dancing, and the Inn occasionally would host live music. West, an accomplished chef, would prepare food for the Inn’s restaurant; many summer evenings would be spent with guests outdoors in lawn chairs, with West and his wife, Gail, as hosts, everyone sharing cool beverages and conversation.

Thursdays, Wiles noted, were the days that all of the wealthy white resorters would allow their maids to take the day off, and the chauffeurs would drive the maids into Petoskey to do their shopping. “It must have been such a sight to see all of these ladies in their bright blue uniforms, and the chauffeurs standing by their cars waiting for them,” Wiles said. “Here’s the twist, though: It was fine for them to all shop downtown — the stores would certainly take their money. But if they wanted to stop somewhere for lunch, well, they weren’t allowed to.” Instead, the chauffeurs and maids would stop by The Rainbow Inn before heading back to work.

This prejudice would continue, even Up North, until the mid-1960s, and The Rainbow Inn continued to be a place of refuge, rest, and recreation for blacks, Native Americans, and anyone else who wished to go there.

The Inn was included in editions of The Negro Motorist Green Book, a guide published by a black postal worker from New York City that listed the establishments in every state that were welcoming to black travelers. Other than Idlewild, The Rainbow Inn was the only place listed in northern Michigan. “I’ve never been able to find many advertisements about The Rainbow Inn,” Wiles said. “Most white people ignored The Rainbow Inn, and they surely never talked about it. They just acted like it didn’t exist.”

That attitude held true even as The Rainbow Inn met its demise. West started his kitchen stove up one day in March of 1965, and then left the Inn to run errands. By the time he returned, the three-story wooden building was engulfed in flames. Newspaper coverage of the Inn’s burning focused far more on a fireman who had had a heart attack while driving a firetruck to the incident than it did on the destruction of the Inn itself; in one story covering the fire, the Inn was simply called “the William T. West home.”

The Rainbow Inn never recovered. “If you go there today, there’s nothing to see,” Wiles said. “I actually saw it in person right before they demolished what was left of the property. It had been condemned and had just sat there since that day in 1965. Only the foundation, a deteriorated carriage house, and one chair remained.”

This era of widespread racism ostensibly ended with the signing into law of the national Civil Rights Act of 1964, which outlawed Jim Crow practices and ended segregation in public places. West passed away a little over a decade later, in 1978; he is buried in Petoskey, his adopted home and the place where he did make a difference for so many people. His daughter, also named Gail, is still living but has moved out West. “The first time someone told me about The Rainbow Inn, I thought they were pulling my leg,” Wiles said. “Sometimes these stories are nothing but rumors, but this was a true story. I think it’s pretty cool that in the middle of this bastion of white wealth and prejudice, he built The Rainbow Inn,” Wiles said. “This is actually a positive story in the end, because of what Mr. West accomplished.”