Ypsilanti used horses for work, transportation, and recreation for about half of her history. Here are some highlights from that long partnership.

Rampant animals posed a public safety problem in 19th-century Ypsilanti, and the 1880 city charter made no bones about it:

“No horse, mare, colt, mule, jackass, cow, calf, bull, ox, heifer, steer, swine, or geese, shall run or be permitted to run, at large anywhere within the limits of the city of Ypsilanti, or be tethered, herded, or in anywise pastured in any street or alley in said city, nor shall chickens or fowls of any kind be permitted, from April 15 to November 1 of each and every year, to run at large anywhere within the limits of the city of Ypsilanti.”

Even properly contained, animals around town could still pose a threat. One chomped on the assistant city surveyor in 1907. “Stanton Ferguson of Ellis Street, while walking on Congress Street yesterday was bitten on the arm by a vicious horse,” reported the May 22, 1907 Ypsilanti Daily Press. “A nasty-looking wound was inflicted. The horse is owned by William Jarvis . . . [Mr. Ferguson] suffered considerable last night but is reported better today.”

One animal caused controversy in town, but not due to disobedience. When trucks replaced Ypsilanti’s horse-drawn fire wagons around 1920, the fire house’s faithful horse Pat was demoted to pulling a city maintenance wagon. His fate turned worse in 1925, as noted by the March 23 Daily Ypsilantian-Press:

“Pat is dead.

“Pat? You know Pat. He was the aged fire horse that for several years past has been dragging a street clean-up wagon about the streets of Ypsilanti. Pat’s death sentence was passed by city aldermen when they were advised by a veterinary that a cancer had developed in one of his eyes and that it was probably painful.

“For several years Pat has been the center of more or less controversy. Aldermen have argued that he was an unnecessary expense to the city and should be shot. Counter arguments, having much to do with sentiment, have placed a restraining hand on economical inclinations and Pat has lived on, unaware of the fate that threatened him, and serving as well as any horse could serve.

“There has been considerable hesitation about issuing the final warrant for Pat and even after his execution there was an attempt to keep the affair quiet. “Yes Pat is dead, but don’t say anything about it,” was the answer to several inquiries.

“Pat has a history of service. He was raised by George Corkins on his farm near Belleville. He was a fine specimen and full of life. Fire commissioners at that time were on the alert for strong, fast horses and Pat was chosen. For eight years he was faithfully at his post at the fire barn. Then trucks replaced the wagons and Pat became an out cast. A place was found for him in the city maintenance department and during the latter years of his life he had light duties. He was nineteen years old and his best friends will probably be glad to know that Pat is resting.”

On a lighter note, horses also provided entertainment. When Robinson’s Circus came to town in the summer of 1866, its ad described a spectacular show of “120 Men, 200 Horses, and a Grand, Comprehensive Menagerie, consisting of specimens of rare WILD ANIMALS Collected from the Four Quarters of the Globe.” The ad also promised “50 Performers, 6 Original Clowns & 20 Educated Ponies!”

Entertainment of a different kind occurred in 1896, when two spooked horses barged into an Ypsilanti hardware store. “The biggest rush on the street last Saturday was in front of F. I. Carpenter’s hardware store,” reported the May 7, 1896 Ypsilantian. “Thales L. Buck, of Ann Arbor, drove up in front of the store and jumped out of the buggy to tie his horses, when they became frightened at something on the street and made a grand rush for the cashier’s desk in the store. They executed a war dance on a pile of garden rakes and lawn mowers, but fortunately neither horses nor buggy were hurt. The small glass of the west window was broken.

“Mr. Carpenter declares that the low prices were what attracted the animals—a good example of plain horse sense.”

Low prices of another sort were part of a scheme to get on Mayor Watson Snyder’s good side in 1873. “Several of our saloonists conceived the brilliant idea of stopping liquor prosecutions by means of bribing the Mayor,” noted the Dec. 20, 1873 Ypsilanti Commercial. “Acting upon this suggestion, they raised a purse, purchased a horse (at auction for one dollar and a quarter—their purses being low lately) and dispatched a messenger to hand over their gift to his Honor, with a complimentary note, which we publish partly as news and partly as a literary curiosity:”

“Ypsilanti Dec. 16th 73 Mr. Snider Mare of the Citty of Ypsilanti we the undersign present you with a fine thourbred for a Christmas Present Pleas receive our Complaments also A. W. H. & J. Z.

“The Mayor was not at home, but his little boy, with true Trojan wit and caution, ‘smelt something’ about that horse,” noted the paper. “[He] ordered the messenger to ‘git,’ and he got, horse and all. So this remarkable conspiracy was defeated, and everybody rejoices except those who have a ‘thourbred’ on hand, with a dull market for fancy stock.”

Images: 1. Photo of horses on Ypsilanti's Huron Street looking north, courtesy Ypsilanti Archives 2. Ad for Robbins Cultivator from May 9, 1874 Ypsilanti Commercial 3. Ad for circus from July 21, 1866 Ypsilanti Commercial 4. Ad for sleighs from May 9, 1874 Ypsilanti Commercial

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