The Evening Loon was originally published in the early 1900's, crafted and edited below decks in the aft most cabin of a legendary ship (nay barge) that sailed about Lake Charlevoix. The Keuka (Indian for Keuka) was not storied due to its beauty for it had none or it's sleek lines as those it did not possess. The fame in reference was because of the goods and services it offered. All illegal in most eyes at the time. A gentleman from Chicago or nearer could enjoy the teachings of a local pleasure docent while partaking in a game of chance (I guess that makes two so far) and a jigger of maple brandy.

It was down the worn mahogany passageway, thru the perfume wafting from Mae Watanabe's cabin, and beyond the engine room where Albert Swinton toiled over the keys of his hand-me-down typewriter. When one stood contemplating the merits of entry (as most did) you were treated to a most glorious symphony of sounds echoing warmly off the soundboard of the hull. The downbeat and bass of the pistons and the upbeat of steam releasing from the engine provided the foundation of the score whilst Albert solo'd on the Underwood with rapid vowel and consonant arpeggios and a delightful "ding/swish" of the carriage at the end of every bar.

Upon entrance you were either received by the warm, magnanimous, welcoming Albert or the distracted, curt and sharp Albert. The former was more likely but the latter could leave a lingering mark. Deadlines, reproaches, reviews or Rye had been known to contribute.

The Loon had a past as colorful as it's offices. You see Albert was forced offshore after his brainchild had been unceremoniously branded subversive by those that are oft referred to as "They". Before leaving the seminary and after departing Michigan Normal College he dreamt of starting his own publication featuring elevated works of prose, some that would be quite fictional...fanciful if you will. This in no way ran against the grain of his convictions or beliefs and was certainly not the cause of his departure from the hallowed institution. The cause, was of course, a girl. Now an accredited teacher, Lillian, whom he had met in school, had recieved word that there was a position to be had in northern Michigan...a town called Charlevoix...and the seeing her off at the train left a inoperable hole in Albert's heart. So on a rather unremarkable Tuesday Albert did a remarkable thing. He tossed his frock, veered far right from his best laid plans, hitched a ride on a breakfast cereal truck, and headed for marriage and life in the north.

The Evening Loon was an absolute delight until it wasn't. The monthly periodical was filled with pictures and stories that lifted the readers from the doldrums of a gray day and transported them to destinations of joy. The tales (loosely based on actual events and people) were not so much commentary but a happy rewriting making them more mirthful...even causing ladies with a two doily caution to smile unabashedly and giggle without control. But "They" didn't want it at the newsstand, or at the diner on the counter, or in the homes glowing down Dixon Ave at night. "They"already had a dignified proprietor of actual news and information that they owned and operated...this was viewed as a danger to them and those close to them. So they began a campaign; pressuring advertisers to pull their monies, urging a school board visit upon Lillian to offer "guidance in these matters",and finally "They" donated a much needed wood stove to Wulfman's newsstand and within only a few weeks the Loon's wings were clipped.

So Albert went underground or under decks as it were. The Loon rose like a phoenix from the ashes with the backing of a more open minded clientele from the cities and was available in the upper salons of the Keuka as well as on the many steamers arriving from destinations around Lake Michigan. It became the first and most sought after on board publication (a precursor to today's in flight offerings) and most likely would have continued its growth and popularity if proper consideration had been given to the weight of the 2nd printing press.

On a moonlit night in Oyster Bay, the forged iron press exited the Keuka, splintering thru the hull taking the June edition of the Evening Loon and it's editor down for a second time.

Lillian Swinton never remarried and Albert didn't get to share in the birth of my grandfather George Donald Swinton and I am the new editor of The Evening Loon.