How a 'Ring of Keys' and a Ferry Across Lake Michigan Opened Up My Whole World

Revisiting the SS Badger ferry — and myself

Kelli Dunham

Published: August 30, 2024 | Last Updated: September 4, 2024

Back in the days when folks were significantly more (ahem) flexible in their understanding of the supervision needs of children, my mom deposited my cell-phone-less 12-year-old self and my 13-year-old sister on the Manitowoc side of the SS Badger car ferry. She handed us some snacks, told us to pretend we had an adult with us and snuck off the boat. She had arranged for our oldest (and adult) brother to pick us up on the opposite side in Ludington after the four-hour trip.

The trip could have been just another potentially reportable to the authorities but ultimately harmless activity that so defined Gen X childhood, but it became notable for me for another reason. The SS Badger was where I experienced my first Ring of Keys moment.

If you're unfamiliar, "Ring of Keys" is a reference to a song in the musical adaptation of Alison Bechdel's book “Fun Home,” where the main character, as a tween, has a moment of self-recognition when she sees a butch woman making a delivery to a local café. One of the physical indicators was her "ring of keys."

I can’t recall whether the SS Badger staff member carried a large keyring (it does seem likely), but she caught my attention because she balanced a cup of coffee in one hand and, as she went to sit down, deftly kicked her toe up to reverse the chair so she could sit on it backward. I had never once seen an adult woman sit on a chair backward. I had seen Fonzi do it on "Happy Days." But whenever I approached seating this way, an adult would very quickly admonish me with, "That's not ladylike." Ladylikeness (ladylikehood?) was never a goal for me, but another feature of Gen X childhood is you didn't argue with adults unless you felt like getting popped.

In that moment, other people might have seen a ferryboat employee taking a break. I saw physical poetry, something akin to ballet. And I saw myself.

I spent the rest of the journey peeking around corners and down the stairways of the SS Badger, attempting to emulate my favorite mystery book sleuths (always the Hardy Boys, never Nancy Drew), secretly spying on her as she completed her duties.

"Secretly" might be overstating it a bit. I don’t know how discreet I could have been in my tomboy uniform (orange football shirt, older brother’s hand-me-down baseball cap always worn backward, never forward, and vividly patched bell-bottom jeans), scurrying from deck to deck. I probably looked like the slightly unhinged, bright-with-discovery, completely unaccompanied baby queer I was.

Defying all odds and perhaps usual expectations of nautical safety (note: This is a joke. The Badger is inspected before every voyage and is made of iron. The Badger will be here when we are all gone.), the SS Badger still runs back and forth across Lake Michigan. So this summer, when I visited the Midwest, I jumped at the chance to make the Badger again a part of my physical (and not just metaphorical) journey.

Boarding in Ludington, I found, to my surprise, that The Badger remains essentially unchanged. I was marveling at the unaltered signage when a red-shirted member of the Friendliest Boat Crew in the World explained that this was, in fact, intentional. The SS Badger isn’t just the site of my world-rocking childhood adventure; it’s also a National Historic Landmark. In fact, it’s the only mobile Landmark in the country except for the San Francisco streetcars. This means that, as a middle-aged queer who has returned time and again to what was once the City of Our People, I've now ridden both moving National Landmarks, thank you very much — multiple times.

Of course, there have been some changes. I don’t recall a smoking deck in my earlier journeys, probably because, in the 1970s, every deck was potentially a smoking deck. But the new smoking area is located on the highest level and provides the very best view — highly recommended if you’re into, you know, scenic views — or cigar smoke.

On this latest trip, I looked carefully for any obvious queer couples. On the front deck, I spied two men sitting close together, one reading a book with his legs crossed while the other looked over his shoulder. I guessed that even if they weren't actually together, they wouldn't be the type to be offended if a friendly nonbinary writer mistook them for gayfolk.

"How are you all doing?" I asked, hoping to start a conversation.

"We'll have to see," one of them replied, "how much this sucks.”

To be quite honest, they did not appear to be having a sucky time. All the same, I did not start a conversation.

Lake Michigan sure is a show-off sometimes. Photo: Kelli Dunham

There’s certainly more to do these days on the four-hour trip across Lake Michigan than call my sister a booger face and play a one-sided game of I Spy. They’ve added a small movie theater, an arcade room with a flat-top Ms. Pac-Man, and even group activities. They had an emcee of sorts, a (again) very friendly kind of guy my dad would have called "a helluva good sport." Nonironically. He called out Bingo numbers. He made a very G-rated joke about Lady Gaga being a vegetarian. He dealt expertly with the widely ranging levels of interest in his activities.

I bought some popcorn to snack on while I played bingo. As the crew member started to ring up the sale, she reminded me, "You know what goes great with popcorn? A drink."

"It's um, 9 a.m." Even as the words emerged from my mouth, I knew I sounded like a Midwestern queer who has lost touch with their roots.

"Maybe something breakfast-y, like a Bloody Mary," she said with absolutely no hesitation and then added, "or a beer."

In her defense, she was working at the ship’s bar. And she did inquire with only the biggest and friendliest of Midwestern smiles.

As I sat in the Badger's main lounge, enjoying the 9 a.m bingo game and my extremely fairly priced popcorn and decidedly non-alcoholic drink, I could almost feel 12-year-old me. I remembered myself scurrying, ducking behind the soda machine and peeking around corners.

I felt an urge to comfort my past self (not every part of my childhood was um, stellar, but I've had some amazing therapy), but then I realized that memory was imbued with hope, not desperation.

All my family called me a tomboy and said I'd outgrow my love of my brother's football shirts. But post Badger, I knew that wasn't necessarily true because I had seen a real-live adult tomboy in the wild.

Since my recent trip, I've been inquiring of any Midwestern queer I encounter, "Have you been on the SS Badger? Back in the day? Or lately?" I am often met with nostalgic smiles.

One older lesbian laughed. "Yeah, I love it! It's like a time machine!"

And then I smiled. She was speaking more truth than she knew.

If you're a middle-aged masculine-identifying queer person trying to look serious when taking a photo with a lifeboat? Look again at your hair. And do something about it. Photo: Kelli Dunham

Some things never change — the SS Badger is still crossing Lake Michigan, still filled with friendly faces, and still a place where you can see yourself, even if that self is now more likely to be found enjoying a quiet game of bingo rather than a thrilling game of spy.

And maybe that’s the magic of the SS Badger. It’s not just a boat. And if you’re lucky, you might even find yourself again — right there, somewhere between Ludington and Manitowoc.

In the full season, the SS Badger runs two daily trips between Ludington, Michigan, and Manitowoc, Wisconsin. From June 6 - Sept. 1, there are two additional overnight trips on the weekends. Book ahead at ssbadger.com. The ferry gets very busy during the peak weeks, especially in August.