The Ann Arbor Model Railroad Club’s headquarters, contrary to its name, is located in Dexter. Next to the tracks that now carry Amtrak trains from Ann Arbor to Jackson, and on to Chicago, stands the old grain mill, now nicely appointed as the Dexter city offices. Across the tracks is the small, unassuming Dexter Depot. The state historic marker sign outside describes its history: completed in 1887, offering railroad service to Dexter until 1953. What it doesn’t mention is that if you enter the depot up the somewhat rickety ramp, you’ll find something magical inside.
Photo: Emily Landau
Within is a massive, meticulously designed model of the old Michigan Central Railroad. A lovingly maintained network of trains choo-choos around a huge wooden framework, going over bridges, through tunnels, through crossings lined with stopped miniature cars, through hidden passages under the display. The display runs in a loop between small-scale replicas of Jackson, Dexter, Ann Arbor, Chelsea, Grass Lake, and Detroit. Ypsilanti’s Depot Town is there as well, under construction.
Every element, from the trains to the buildings and natural landscapes, exhibits a level of specificity and artistry that showcases club members’ unwavering commitment to their hobby. The trains themselves are lovingly maintained, some decorated with miniature graffiti tags. The environmental features, sourced from model catalogs that, according to one member, include over fifteen thousand tiny people, cars, plants, houses, factories, animals, and more, are meticulously decorated. Buildings that can’t be replicated with a model are there too: the beautiful recreation of the Gandy Dancer restaurant, in its previous life as the Michigan Central depot, was built from scratch.
Even if railroads aren’t your thing, visiting the club offers a scavenger hunt of sorts to find off-kilter little vignettes in the little environment: figures of Sarah Palin and John McCain, the “Bates Motel,” a robed man with a signboard reading, “the end of the world is near.” Miley Cyrus can be found, a tiny figure swinging from a wrecking ball, while a group of minute construction workers looks on, in awe or perhaps annoyance. A crowd of men poses in front of the Dexter Pub, The Music Man–style, around a female figure, a tribute to the club members’ favorite waitress there. A tiny corpse pops out of its casket, startling the mourners gathered around it at a funeral, while a car full of train hoppers trundles by on the neighboring tracks. In the translucent plastic water under a tall railway bridge, nuclear waste barrels bubble ominously. A group of shoppers checks out the near-microscopic produce at a farmers’ market. The list goes on; seemingly every inch of the display contains a new joke or tiny story.
The club members, a fairly diverse group, are present as well, and are more than thrilled to chat with you about trains, model trains, building model trains, the history of railroads (both real and model), the construction of this specific set, and the provenance of each piece. They carefully roam the space, each member assigned to a specific set of cars, carefully managing their crossings to avert any derailments, collisions, or miniature environmental disasters. Most of the set is protected by plastic panels to deter the curiosity of the many wide-eyed kids who were present, and might have been tempted to play Godzilla.
Even as an unaccompanied adult with no special interest in trains, I was enraptured by the display. If you find yourself in Dexter on the first Wednesday evening of the month, consider an amble down Broad St. to the tracks. A minuscule world awaits.
