The Forgotten Tribute atop Sugarloaf
Just north of Marquette, high above Lake Superior’s Partridge Bay, stands a silent sentinel few visitors even know exists. While most come to Sugarloaf Mountain for the sweeping views, not everyone notices the twelve-foot stone obelisk nestled quietly among the rugged summit rocks. Built with care, sweat, and youthful determination, it’s a monument to a boy named Bart. Alanson Bartlett King—a local scout who became a soldier, a leader, and, ultimately, a casualty of the First World War.
The Boy Before the War
Born in 1894, Bart King grew up in Marquette with three sisters and a knack for art, adventure, and leadership. By the time he was 15, he was already part of a pioneering youth group formed by banker Perry Hatch—one that would become America’s first Boy Scout troop. These boys hiked, camped, read maps, and carved out trails through the wilds of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. This was long before the Boy Scouts of America was formally recognized.
Bart was smart, charismatic, and driven. He graduated from Northern State Normal School (now NMU) and took a teaching post in Thompson, a gritty logging town few young graduates would brave. His students loved him, and it seemed he was destined for a life of quiet purpose.
From Scout to Soldier
But the world had other plans. In 1917, America entered World War I. Bart, like every other member of Marquette’s Troop One, enlisted without hesitation. He joined the 107th Engineers and quickly promoted to Master Sergeant. Bart would decline officer ranks to stay with his men. He trained in Texas, fell in love, and shipped off to France—where he led dangerous missions, dodged enemy fire, and earned the admiration of those around him.
In the Argonne Forest, as the war neared its end, Bart succumbed to pneumonia. He died on October 7, 1918, just five weeks before the armistice. He was 24.
A Monument Built on Brotherhood
Three years later, Bart came home. His funeral was one of solemn honor, complete with scout salutes, a draped caisson, and the croix de guerre pinned to his casket. His scouting brothers weren’t finished honoring him.
That same summer, they set out to build something lasting—a monument on Sugarloaf Mountain, Bart’s favorite place. Week after week, they hauled water, sand, and over 3,000 pounds of rock up the steep 470-foot climb. With guidance from a local stone mason, the boys of Troop One built a granite obelisk. The obelisk could be seen from the King family home.
From her bedroom window, Bart’s mother would look out across Marquette to that small stone spire. “When she saw the cairn for the first time,” his sister later wrote, “she clasped her hands and softly wept.”
A Legacy Etched in Stone
The copper plaque is long gone, stolen by vandals. The obelisk itself has endured lightning, storms, and time. Souvenir hunters chipped stones away. But the story remains—carried on the wind and whispered through the trees to those who make the climb and pause long enough to wonder.
So next time you hike Sugarloaf Mountain, look for the stone obelisk off to the side. Take a moment to remember a boy from Marquette who lived with purpose. He led with courage, and was mourned with love. Bart’s story, like the view from the summit, is worth the climb.
