How two Lake Michigan beach towns became a ‘little Midwestern gay mecca’

SAUGATUCK AND DOUGLAS, Mich. - Jeff West was looking for a change of pace. After decades of running clubs and restaurants in West Hollywood, he left California in search of peace and quiet. He had been to Laguna Beach and Palm Springs, but a new gay-friendly destination was calling to him: twin vacation towns on Lake Michigan with a population of less than 2,500 people.

“I arrived in the winter, and I was so amazed by it,” said West, 67, who grew up in Texas and spent his life in Southern California. “Seeing snow was just so beautiful. I remember feeling my shoulders relax.”

In the summers, West celebrates with friends on the lake. During winter, he’s part of a gay bowling team called the Gutter Queens. Since relocating in 2021, he’s become a real estate agent, spending his days selling other people on the joys of life here.

Saugatuck and its neighboring town, Douglas, form a rainbow bubble within Michigan’s Bible Belt. The area is off the beaten path compared with the coastal hangs that typically attract huge gay crowds, yet its reputation rivals spots such as Provincetown and Fire Island.

Drive through the lush, wooded roads in the warmer months and you’ll find a summer camp atmosphere. Hammocks hang outside a popular coffee shop. Kids spill floats purchased from the Douglas Root Beer Barrel out of their parents’ car windows.

Pride flags fly from many businesses and homes, a stark difference from the conservative towns in western Michigan. At the Dunes Resort, the pool is packed with Speedo-clad gay men all summer long, and disco balls light up the confetti-filled dance floor every weekend.

“This is a small community where we get to enjoy the finer things in life and be comfortable and free,” West said. “It’s paradise for somebody like me to be able to come to a place and just feel so welcome.”

There’s evidence of queer tourists and residents flocking here since the late 19th century, thanks to a long and colorful cast of eclectic artists, eccentric couples and LGBTQ+ entrepreneurs.

According to the Chicago Tribune, it really hit its stride in the 1960s as “a loosey-goosey mecca for pleasure-seekers, gay or straight.” During that era, the town was seen as a party destination for motorcyclists, college kids and queer people from near and far.

Gay travel guides such as Bob Damron’s Address Book began ramping up around the same time, dubbing Saugatuck “the Fire Island of the Midwest.” Although a state law prohibited bars from hosting groups of gay people, a local jazz venue called the Blue Tempo became known for serving gay patrons.

Eric Gollannek, the executive director of the Saugatuck-Douglas History Center, said the second edition of Bob Damron’s Address Book references the Blue Tempo as a mixed crowd bar and also mentions “an interesting beach” nearby: a strip of sand that stretched from the north side of Saugatuck’s popular Oval Beach to the mouth of the Kalamazoo River.

“They collected $5 to use their beach for the day,” said John Rossi, the facilities manager for Ox-Bow School of Art and Artists’ Residency, a program that’s affiliated with the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. “You could sunbathe nude, as long as you were not visible to the public.”

Rossi visited Denison’s Beach, owned by a local marine businessman named Frank Denison, for the first time in the 1970s. “It was mostly gay, but there was a mix, I could tell,” Rossi said. “Sometimes there were lesbians that frequented it, and occasionally you might see a straight couple.”

Rossi, 68, grew up about 40 miles away in Grand Rapids. He said word-of-mouth recommendations initially brought him to the area.

“There was this network — people told you, you knew what was safe and what wasn’t,” Rossi said. “I mean, there were three bars in Grand Rapids. There were two bars in Lansing you could go to. There were a lot of bars in Detroit we used to go to.”

One of the people who began frequenting the Blue Tempo was Carl Jennings, who was living near Grand Rapids with his wife and children. Though he was closeted at the time, he would spend his weekends tending bar in Saugatuck.

“Back then you had to live and lead two lives. You had to be a straight person, or at least appear to be that way,” Jennings told Michigan Public Radio in 2016. “And then, if you’re fortunate enough to find something like Saugatuck, it just felt warming and accepting.”

The Blue Tempo burned down in 1976, and the loss of that de facto gay space was felt immediately. By the early 1980s, Jennings had come out to his family and found his life partner, Larry Gammons. The couple decided to go into business together.

“We thought, ‘You know what, we should open a gay resort,’” said Gammons, who is now 77.

They originally set their sights on a hotel in Saugatuck, but the Saugatuck town council didn’t want to issue a liquor license to a gay business. After they were turned down for a third time, they found a shuttered roadside motel in Douglas and quickly made an offer on the property. At the first Douglas council meeting, they were able to secure their liquor license.

The Douglas Dunes finally opened in 1981, becoming one of the largest LGBTQ+ resorts in the country.

“May 1 was our grand opening, and we laughed about the fact that the city didn’t know what hit ‘em, because cars were lined up and down the highway,” Gammons said. “All these people, they just showed up.”

“As you well know, all you’ve got to do is tell a gay person and they spread the news. It spreads like crazy,” he added. “And everybody was so excited about a new big place opening up.”

Gammons and Jennings wanted the resort to be as safe as possible, so they hired their own security to make sure that homophobes wouldn’t get inside to harass patrons. They also made it clear to local police that they’d expect help with external issues. Over the years, the Dunes was targeted by gay bashers, received a bomb threat and even got a threatening call from the Ku Klux Klan.

Nonetheless, the resort was popular and quickly earned a reputation for throwing huge parties with fantastic entertainment.

“The music was so much better at the Dunes than in Grand Rapids,” Rossi said. “I used to talk to the DJs and I’d just tip them a couple bucks, and I’d say, ‘What was that you just played?’”

They booked performers such as Eartha Kitt, Linda Clifford and the Weather Girls (though the latter had to cancel at the last minute) and hosted tea dances every Sunday.

“We turned down Madonna,” Gammons said. “Her brother lived in the Detroit area, and he was gay, and Carl was DJing. She was just a punk rocker, and she went up to [Carl] when he took a little break and said, ‘I’m better than that girl. You know, you ought to put me onstage.’”

“We turned her down, and it was about six, eight months after that, she went to New York and got discovered,” he added.

The parties raged on for decades, with Gammons telling the Chicago Tribune in 1995 that gay tourism was bringing “an estimated $6 million annually to the area.” Gammons and Jennings sold the Douglas Dunes in 1998 to Danny Esterline, Greg Trzybinski and Mike Jones, who renamed it the Dunes Resort.

Although there is a widely cited statistic about Saugatuck-Douglas being home to more than 140 gay-owned and gay-friendly businesses, Jones said in an email that number was “made-up” for press releases and websites to “promote the area as gay-friendly.”

Jones, 58, still remembers visiting the Dunes — which he calls a “little Midwestern gay Mecca” — for the first time in 1990.

“It really stood out as like, ‘this isn’t normal.’ Even in Chicago in the late ′90s, guys weren’t holding hands walking downtown,” he said. “And you’re really right in the middle of God’s Christian reform, southwest Michigan. So it’s almost like there’s a bubble over us. You have to remember that the whole world isn’t like this.”

Although Jones had visited many of the popular gay hot spots and swore he’d never live in a small town, he felt differently at the Dunes.

“I’ve been to P-town, and we’ve been to Fire Island, and we’ve been to Key West, and Rehoboth, but they’re just a different attitude,” Jones said. “And I never thought when I was in Fire Island or P-town or Rehoboth, ‘This place is great. I want to live here.’”

With a bit of close reading, the queer history in Saugatuck and Douglas dates back more than 120 years. Gollannek, the director of the local history center, said there are examples of same-sex relationships from the late 1800s through the 1920s.

“There’s sort of oblique references to ‘women dressing in men’s clothing, and it’s a problem,’ and ‘nude bathing of men and boys at the beach’ in the 1890s,” Gollannek said.

Some gay tourism can be attributed to the rise of steamboat travel, which made it easier for visitors to make their way over from Chicago. But the most obvious influence on the area’s emerging queerness was a woman named Elizabeth Bandle.

“She and her family had land in Saugatuck on a farm,” said Shanley Poole, 27, the engagement liaison and storyteller for Ox-Bow. “She invited a few students and professors up to do plein-air painting, because the lighting there was just gorgeous, and it kind of became a tradition year after year.”

Among the people who visited Bandle Farm in the early 1900s were Frederick Fursman and Walter Marshall Clute, artists from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago who went on to found Ox-Bow in 1910. Since artists and city-dwellers were typically more accepting of queer people at the time, it created an environment that fostered gay tourism.

“In 1910, we have these groups of artists and free-thinking individuals — bohemian folk — coming to a secluded area,” Gollannek said. “Avant-garde artists coming here, painting plein-air, working with nude models, and this becomes a place where there’s some openness.”

The Saugatuck-Douglas History Center has records of LGBTQ+ people living in the area starting in 1917, with interior designer Florence “Dannie” Ely Hunn purchasing a cottage near Saugatuck-Douglas with Mabel “Jims” Warren, her partner of more than 50 years.

Many locals can also recall LGBTQ+ people and couples who they met during their first trips to Saugatuck.

“We have had members within GLBTQ community that go back to probably the ‘30s, ‘40s, like Mary Kay Bettles,’” Rossi said. “She met her lover at a place over by where the chain ferry is now. It used to be a gas station and an ice cream shop.”

Bettles and her partner, Jean Palmer, were not the kind of couple that flew under the radar.

“Jean would wear ball gowns and fur coats and sit on her really rustic cabin porch during the summertime, and Mary Kay Bettles was like, wearing jean shirts and trousers and loved her dogs,” Poole said. “And [Bettles] would wear a sheriff’s badge and kind of dubbed herself the Sheriff of Ox-Bow and would chase people off campus if they didn’t have a reason to be there.”

Some visitors and residents were closeted in their hometowns, but felt safe to live with their partners and express affection in Saugatuck-Douglas. Burr Tillstrom, the Chicago-based puppeteer, kept his private life quiet, but purchased a barn in Saugatuck during the 1960s, which allowed him to loosen up as he spent his summers teaching at Ox-Bow.

Rossi, who’s now 68, also grew up during an era that lacked the language and freedoms that many LGBTQ+ people have today.

“Among artists there was more of a tolerance for ‘less traditional lifestyles,’ as they would call it,” he said. “The definition of gay didn’t really come until maybe the ‘50s or ‘60s.”

“Saugatuck was sort of used to the fact that there was an eclectic crowd that came here. They painted, they partied, they spent money,” Rossi said. “And you know, when people spend money, and money’s to be made, money does not have sexual orientation.”

These days, Saugatuck-Douglas is a bit different. It’s more expensive than it once was, with many hotels charging upward of $500 per night, and the frisky nude beach became a thing of the past when the Land Conservancy of West Michigan purchased Denison’s old land around 2009.

“Now the city owns it,” Gammons said, “so no nudity, no hanky-panky, no liquor, no nothing.”

Julia Carmel is a Los Angeles-based writer. You can follow them on X: @julcarm.