The story of Ypsilanti begins with the intersection of the Huron River peacefully moving in between a corridor of maple, birch, beech, oak and basswood ever now and again bending to a curve or interrupting the civilization of humans. Mid-westerners are proud of their heartiness, an obligatory etiquette which embraces community from a distance. There are little frills or passions to speak of, as the magnetic pull of ancestors and their religion cuts to and makes certain an adherence to simple as good, simple as best. Decidedly pragmatic, the Midwesterner is fond of, but not tied to much of the past in detail. They are first descended from their town, next the geography and finally from the state boundaries. Symbolically almost, location has determined much, as two great lakes almost enclose the entire state where Ypsilanti lies. The seasons are definite, until the recently: Winter bringing a crop of snow and ice, the rains of Spring and early Summer, finally all is given up to the changing of dress of Autumn leaves. It is certain to the clock when the lightening bugs will illuminate and dance over the horizon and heather.
Eccentric to a point and independent as his nominal descendents, the Greek revolutionary, Demetrius Ypsilanti of a former age, unknowingly most probably was ceremoniously celebrated by a a small area of land in the state of Michigan. Others from other parts of the country may be mistaken that Yspilanti is of a Native American origin and the locals cut to the quick by just saying: “Ypsi.” It is part of Washtenaw County and that is a complicated series of jurisdictions which cut through the township and Ypsi’s neighboring big sister, Ann Arbor.
Expensively erected in the less popular style of Queen Anne in the year 1890 stands in the most historical edifice of Ypsi, the Ypsilanti Water tower. Certainly, Queen Anne would have blushed at its bravado compared to the Column of Trajan or the Washington Memorial at the rounded and tiered two sections of cylindrical mass which supplies the inhabitants with a vital need. Perhaps to rectify or embellish, a Roman bust of Demetrius Yspilanti stands on column in front of what is locally known as the “dick brick.”
Michigan of course, is famed for industry and the waves of European and Southern United States immigrants which sought out their piece of the dream last century. The springs, cogs and gears which made America mobile are manufactured in the former French coureur des bois territory, now inhabited by Germans, Slavs, Irish and every now and again the English person of background. The grand love affairs between the French and Algonquin lead to no more than a round table, which is perhaps known by some literary professor at Eastern Michigan University, or EMU as it is known. For three quarters of the year the population of Yspi swells with students who leave an indelible mark of cafes, restaurants and promise of knowledge at EMU. During break all is sized down and the blue collar inhabitant’s town is returned to them. In the 1960's the university was known for turning out teachers. EMU was the place where second generation Americans settled into a middle class life while working in the automotive industry sent their children from Grosse Pointe, Kalamazoo, Willis, Plymouth, Muskegon, Romulus to school. Their children worked just as hard as their parents being students and often with part time jobs.
The best way to tell a horror story is to say that everything is perfect: a combined psychological, social and cultural gilded lily is torn asunder by an anomaly. The truth is always more complicated. By 1967 the sister towns of Ypsilanti and Ann Arbor were the rolling mechanisms of WW II vets. The heroes brought back their military love of motorcycles. Coupled with the knowledge and ability to transform bikes from their jobs at automotive factories, an effective mode of war transportation took on its own culture. The at first innocent collaboration of shell shocked men formed clubs, later aptly called gangs, who made alliances throughout the country. Beginning with the Highwaymen in 1954, Ypsi and Ann Arbor boasted seven different motorcycle enthusiast groups, The 81's (or Hell’s Angels), Wheels of Soul, Warlocks, Outlaws, Vietnam Vets, God’s Children and Devil’s Diciples. Many were known for using and running hard drugs and guns, assault, battery and attempted murder. Some were known as rape gangs.
Ypsi was more liberal than her sister Ann Arbor, but Ann Arbor didn’t mince ideas. The counter culture had taken hold of University of Michigan as early as it had taken Berkeley. The academic response to the foot soldier’s cultural inheritance from WW II, resulted in an intellectual reassessment and upheaval. The middle class had knowledge and that knowledge was changing America. In 1959 faculty members Kenneth Boulder, Irwin Katz and Robert Angell founded the Center for Conflict Resolution, a university think tank, much like others in the 1950's such as Black Mountain College, they developed and taught anti-war and anti-establishment curriculum. Sit ins, protests dotted the Michigan campuses as early as 1965. Within five short years, Ann Arbor would boast a political left extremist concentration unseen in the rest of the United States: the SDS, the Weather Underground, the White Panther Party all fermented and based themselves out of Ann Arbor. As with much of the world, the last three pivotal years of the 1960's would redefine the idealism that marks and overshadows most of the decade.
The Behavioral Science Unit of the FBI at Quantico, Virginia was not established until 1972. Tip sheets weren’t developed until the early 1980's in Tacoma, Washington. Robert Ressler didn’t coin the term “serial killer” until 1977.
August 7,1967 two teenage boys were preparing to plow a field in the hot summer sun near Geddes and LaForge Roads in Yspilanti. They heard a car door slam. Young and curious, they went towards the direction of a popular lover’s hang out to see if they could catch a glimpse. By the time they reached their marker, all that lay behind on the ground was a fresh set of tire tracks and what appeared to be an old deer carcass. The skin was brown and leathery from decomposition; bugs and flies were covering it and the air was filled with a sweet and horrible smell. The boys looked closer and made out what seemed to be a human ear.
Crime scene evaluation, blood spatter patterns and ballistic testing had been in practice for decades. Where Mary Fleszar lay was not the murder scene. Both of her feet were missing, one hand, most of the fingers on her other hand, thirty stab wounds penetrated her chest. One side of her face was caved in. The lower leg bones were smashed. Most autopsies in Ypsi were performed on the recently deceased. The only way to identify her as Mary was through dental records. She had been dead for at least a month and her naked body placed to be noticed.
Mary was from a large tight knit German/Polish family. She was petite and popular to the fashion of the time had her ears pierced. Her dad was a WW II vet who became an engineer at a local automotive factory; her mom took care of the family. Mary was a serious student with a four year scholarship to EMU. July 9, 1967 her roommate had called the police worried that she was missing. The Ypsi police thought little of it, as students migrated back and forth through the adjoining towns. But, Mary’s brand new car was parked across the street. She hadn’t packed a bag for over night. In the next week under some debris near the dump site, officers found Mary’s orange and white polka dot dress. It was ripped down the middle. Her underwear was torn and one brassiere strap broken. One of her sandals was found nearby. Detectives determined the body had been moved at least three times. The case stayed in the back of Ypsi’s small police force’s minds.
