First day of college. A tour of campus, then a tour of the three-block radius separating us from the wilds of inner-city Detroit. Instructor tells students NOT to leave three-block “safety zone”—and if we DO, always “look people in the eye.” Don’t look like a “victim.” Walk tall and confident, and if someone demands money or a wallet, just give it to ’em.
I had no idea every other city wasn’t like this one. I had never seen a city before. I loved it—tall buildings, libraries, black people, freedom. On April 1, Mom calls to check in on me. My dorm roommate has a new Macintosh II, and we play gunshot sound effects as I tell her that my car has been stolen. It works too well. Then: “April Fool’s!!!” Mom doesn’t laugh. Next morning, my Plymouth Horizon is still where I left it, but every tire except one is flat and the passenger-side window is busted. The replacement window costs $200. Weirdly, nothing is stolen.
I get lost driving in Southwest Detroit, trying to find food. Factories, abandoned houses, dirt roads. Finally see a Farmer Jack, and while exiting the freeway, a big-ass hooptie—a great big green Lincoln Continental—hits the back of my Horizon so hard I fly into a 180-degree spin and lose my back bumper. I get out and ask the guy if I can get his insurance number. He pulls a 9 mm from his crotch and asks me why I hit him. I say sorry, get back in my car, and wait for him to drive away. Then I get out and throw my bumper in the trunk. When I finally pull into Farmer Jack, it’s closed. A guy with a shopping cart rolls up and asks me if I “want some rocks.” I say no. Farmer Jack—the biggest grocery-store chain in downtown Detroit in the 1990s—from that day forward becomes Farmer Crack.
Being a ‘billy from Up North, growing up as a little kid on a farm in Northern Michigan, I’d never seen a prostitute. One sunny summer day, while riding my ten-speed through the Cass Corridor trying to find something called “falafel”, I ride past a bunch of hookers. “Whatchoo doin’ cracka-biiiiiiiiiitch?” asks a funny and awesome curvy lady wearing nothing but a silk camisole and high heels, laughing. Getting catcalled, getting things thrown at you by the Cass Avenue hookers, becomes an official sport that summer. We keep a tally sheet on the fridge. Being called “bitch” gets 5 points. “Cracker” gets you 10.
I’m going to school for graphic art—”commercial” art. When a group of way cooler FINE ART students asks me to participate in a gallery show, I’m honored. The show has the loose theme of “time.” We’re each given only the motor of a clock and asked to build the rest. There is an abandoned two-story house over on Willis Street that I’ve always wanted to go in. The doors and windows are long gone, and grass and flowers are growing on the windowsills. My boyfriend and I go in to scavenge for clock materials. Being inside a house that’s still partially furnished and still has an old framed painting hanging over the fireplace is beyond creepy. Even in broad daylight, you can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching you. I go straight for a downstairs bedroom and find an old box spring. I pull at it and get a hunk of rotted wood covered in a perfect mess of rusty springs. My clock is gonna rock. Boyfriend wants to go upstairs. “No,” I say. “Let’s just go—I got what I need.” He calls me a wuss. We go home. The next day on the local news, we see the house with the windowsill flowers. They found a long-dead body in the upstairs bedroom. A woman. They think she was a prostitute. We don’t ride our bikes down Cass so much after that.
Can’t get any homework done in the dorm. Mom comes with a truck full of apartment stuff, and I tell her to follow me to my new place. I drive her all over the worst neighborhoods I know, then pull into the driveway of a boarded-up three-story house covered with graffiti. “Kill Whitey” is spray-painted on the front of it. I get out of the car just to see the terror on her face. Then: “Just kidding!” She yells back: “You BITCH!”
Move into a gorgeous brick brownstone called Phillips Manor—hardwood floors, fireplace, four bedrooms. My two roommates and I pay $110 apiece. The three of us are sitting and watching the huge Star Trek–looking TV I scored for $15 at the thrift store. All the remote controls are sitting in plain view on the coffee table. We’re watching VH1. The channel changes itself to The New Dance Show—the local, low-budget version of Soul Train. This is the first of many times that the TV switches itself to another station. The radio randomly switches itself, too. And always to a black TV show or song. Seems to be a friendly ghost. Most definitely an African-American ghost. The only other thing living in that house, aside from the three of us, is my roommate’s spooky black Persian cat. Always hiding somewhere. Can never pet it. Once, we can’t find it for almost a week. My roommate leaves to make a “Lost Cat” flyer at Kinko’s, thinking it somehow got outside. Boyfriend is sitting in the living room, and I’m at one end of the long hallway near the bathroom. The cat comes stumbling out of one of the bedrooms and just sits in the middle of the hallway, not moving, staring intently at me. I say, all sweet, “Kiiiii-teee, there you are!” The cat just stares. Then its mouth opens slightly and a very deep man’s voice says, “Hello.” With that, the cat walks back into the bedroom. Boyfriend says, “Who just said ‘Hello’?” Not making this up. I scream and lock myself in the bathroom. For hours.
Detroit’s freeways were built for TRAFFIC. Except there are no people left, just embankments, grass, cement. Pretty easy to turn around, because every exit has an overpass. I’m driving 89 miles an hour, late for class. Teacher says if I’m late again—expelled. WHAM! My hood flies up and hits the windshield. I’m going so fast and can’t see anything. Then the wind catches and it slams back down, but now the latch is broken, so it flies up again. HOLY FUCK. It slams down again and I start pulling to the right. WHAM! Hits the windshield again. Oh my fucking God, why is this happening? The next time it flies up, it doesn’t hit the windshield—it just flies right off the car. I watch it in the rearview mirror go end over end, airborne. I pull off at an exit, thinking my hood just caused a HUGE accident. Maybe killed someone? I travel south, then back north, looking for carnage. NOTHING. I go farther and do the loop again. And again. Nothing. Where the hell is the hood to my car? Somebody steal it? That fast? Never ever find it, and drive around the D with my engine exposed for over a week.
Some kids at school ask if we wanna go to a party. Sure! Okay, they tell us to go to Zoots Coffee to get directions. We go to Zoots. Barista looks us up and down, then tells us to go to Alvin’s and ask the bartender for the directions. Weird, but all right. After Alvin’s, we get sent to Cass Cafe, and someone at Cass Cafe says to go to Showtime Clothing, then finally someone there tells us the party is at the long-closed Packard Plant—a huge auto factory built in 1903, now a maze of 40-plus abandoned buildings on 35 acres. We go. Holy shitballs, it’s scary at night. A couple kids are outside directing people. We follow a tunnel made of black garbage bags that empties out into this gigantic open room. There are crazy lights everywhere, some guy named Plastikman is DJing, and over a thousand people are dancing, partying, screwing each other in the dark corners. Some guy asks me if I want some “E.” I say, “What’s that?” He says, “Oh, child, is this your first rave?”
One day, my friend calls. She lives in the same apartment building, but on the fifth floor. “Come quick! Come up here!” We go to the window and look down at the street. There’s a view of the Majestic Cafe parking lot, Detroit Medical Center, more brick apartments, and Woodward Avenue, the main drag. Three men in brightly colored ski masks are pouring gasoline all over our landlord Judith’s Buick Riviera. One of the men throws a book of matches on it, and then they walk away. We clap and laugh and LAUGH as Judith’s boyfriend tries to put the fire out with buckets then a garden hose. We didn’t like Judith very much. Apparently, the drug dealers down the street didn’t like her either. Especially after she called the cops on them. Another time at that window, we watch a drunk guy with a cinder block smash out the windshields of five cars in a row. The cops actually show up that time.
One night, I get kinda shitty on OE. We thought it’d be fun to drink Olde English 800 malt liquor from the “party store,” just like everyone else did in the D. All fun until I have to drive home. I mean, walking was ALWAYS out of the question, unless you wanted to maybe die, and cabs were rarely around. It’d be good to take all the side streets, I think to myself, kinda creep my way home. “Creeping” was all I’d done anyway since I lost my driver’s license. If you lose your license, and you’re a 22-year-old girl living in downtown Detroit, you have no choice but to keep driving. I’d been driving very carefully for almost a year, with no trouble. When the cops pull me over, my neck immediately breaks out in hives. This is it—I’m going to jail, oh sweet Mary mother of God, I’m going to jail. Two football-player-sized black policemen come up to my car. Instead of asking for my license, they ask if I know I’m driving the wrong way down a one-way street. I try to explain. Oh fuck. My speech is slurry. “What’s that?” policeman one says, pointing to the red gas can in the back of my car. “I ran outta gas two days ago,” I say. “Don’t you know it’s Devil’s Night?” says policeman two. (Devil’s Night, the night before Halloween, is the Detroit phenomenon where residents set fire to empty buildings. One year, over 800 houses burned to the ground in less than 72 hours.) “You know, you can go to jail for even having that in your possession.” “I wasn’t gonna burn anything, I swear to God, please believe me,” I say. “Okay, okay,” one says, “but I gotta take that can.” “What are you doing down here anyway, blondie? This is a bad neighborhood,” says the other. “Where are you trying to go?” “Home. I live on Willis Street.” “Okay, then, follow us. We’ll give you an escort. You really shouldn’t be here.”
Walking home from the Detroit Institute of Arts—my first museum, with so many real Van Gogh paintings that I get overwhelmed and physically nauseated—I see the infamous, majestic “yellow dogs” running down the street. Unlike Mexico, which has a sunshine-y warm climate and loads of feral dogs, Detroit’s wild dogs are so furry and dirty they almost look like they have dreads, or like smallish grizzly bears—maybe once domesticated, maybe once someone’s pet, now alien creatures worthy of scientific study. You can tell the lead dog—he is always leading the pack—used to be a yellow Lab. The rest are a mix of breeds, but for some reason, everyone calls them “the yellow dogs.” They are always silently running somewhere—never barking. The rumor is that you have good luck for a week if they cross your path.
I’m working at the college and at the Majestic Cafe on Woodward Avenue. I lied my way into a waitress job there: When they asked if they could call my former employer, I gave them my mom’s number and told her to answer the phone for a few days as “Torsch’s Bar and Grill.” She did. And it worked. The Nub Man is a homeless, toothless, one-armed vet who spare-changes in front of the Majestic. I see him almost every day. He used to scare me a little, but I try to give him change or bills when I can. One night, after a super-long, hard shift, someone steals my apron with all my money in it. I’m livid. So tired and angry. I start to walk home. The Nub comes running after me. “No, you know what?” I say. “I DON’T HAVE ANY FUCKING MONEY! Someone stole it, and now I can’t fucking eat! I don’t have any food!” Then I start crying. “Oh it’s okay,” he says, and hands me five bucks. “You’re gonna eat. Just take it.” I pay him $10 back the next day, and after that, the Nub and I are friends. One sunny day, we even play Frisbee in the parking lot. Last time I ever see him: He comes running up to me for his typical high five—he’d hold up what was left of his arm and say, “Give the nub some love!”—then says, “Girl, whatchoo think?!” I say, “‘Bout what?” “What’s different?” he says with a huge, cheesy grin. “You got teeth!” “Ah, haaaa! I did! They tried to give me an arm, too, but I didn’t want no fake arm.”
One day, I’m in so much pain I can’t walk. Feels like a knife in my girly parts. I’m crawling on our dirty hardwood floors in Hamtramck, the little Polish hood north of downtown. Since I live with a sculptor, there’s clay dust on everything. The Midol my boyfriend brings me doesn’t work, so he throws me in his Ford Festiva—the tiniest car in the world—and takes me to Henry Ford. “What’s wrong with you, girl?” the ER nurse asks. I’m pouring sweat. I’m dying. I feel like I’m going to start hallucinating. They roll me into the maternity ward. A group of gigantic and gorgeous super-pregnant black women surround me. I’m in the fetal position, weeping. Only white person for miles. (My stepdad would have died before coming in here. “I don’t even like driving past Detroit,” he used to say. In the five years I lived there, he never visited once.) One of the women pets my head. I can’t stop crying. “This is a blood gas,” a nurse says, plunging a needle into an artery in my wrist. It basically feels like she’s cutting my hand off. Next thing, someone’s saying, “It didn’t work, gotta do it again.” And then I’m alone in the room. And then, suddenly, all the pain just stops. Instant gone. I can hear them coming back for my second blood gas. No more “blood gases.” No way. SORRY. I find my street clothes, carefully pull the IV line out of the vein in my other arm, and walk out of the hospital. According to the $2,000 bill I get later, I passed a kidney stone.
One night, my friend calls. “Come up here!” “Is someone torching Judith’s new car?!” “No, just come up, CLOWNS!” We go to the window and look down. “I think they’re called ‘Juggalos’—some band called ICP is playing at the Magic Stick across the street.” We start throwing paper airplanes at them. Then various other crap, including some potatoes we have on the kitchen counter. This angers the clowns. They start yelling at the building. Then throwing bottles of Faygo at the building, except they don’t know which apartment the potatoes are coming from. Judith goes outside to see what’s going on. We clap and laugh and laugh some more.
The best part of living in Detroit is the ruins. The whole place is one giant urban-ruins park. Though it’s sad and broken and abandoned, there is art everywhere. It’s beautiful. From the graffiti and street art to all the overgrown empty places, where nature is slowly but surely reclaiming its place. When school ends, it’s time to leave and find a job. The last summer we’re living there, we break into 50-plus buildings. Not to destroy things, but to pay our respects to all those grand old dinosaurs. We spend so many nights sitting on top of the old train station, Michigan Central Station. We climb 18 stories—it takes almost 45 minutes—with food and beer and blankets on our backs, and then just sit on the roof and watch the sunset over our pretty city. I think I miss that place the most, out of everything. I spend my last day thinking I should go over to the train station one last time to say good-bye to her. Gonna miss this Detroit. I’ve been robbed, mugged on the light rail (thanks, People Mover, I mean People Mugger, I mean MUGGER MOVER), and almost carjacked once, but I’m still really gonna miss it. I step outside my apartment and take a huge breath. Suddenly, a big gust of wind picks up a plastic Farmer Crack grocery bag filled with nasty trash—some old Kleenex, some cigarette butts. The bag hits me in the face. Nope. No train station today. Gotta go. 
holy shit, these are great stories. Did you run into Viggo Mortenson and his kid out there?
I used to live in Detroit, off Willis street back in the 1990’s. I always tell people that the “D” is a different place than any other place i’ve seen in America.
My clearest childhood memory is looking out the front window of my house to a car across the street with a cynder block precisely in the middle of the windsheild. Oh, Detroit.
I agree, these stories are great; by great I mean depressing but real.
You a tough-ass cracker.
I enjoyed this article a great deal. It makes me nostalgic Detroit and its savage beauty.
It’s pathetic that all you got from Detroit was some played out stories about your interactions with inner-city black folk. Obviously you’re not a native to the GM-Rust Belt i.e. Detroit, Flint, and Saginaw. Only Pacific Northwesterners would admire your “bravery” for living among, what you repeatedly seemed tempted to say, crazy n**gers and “big black policemen.” Your story highlights how diversity in Seattle is illusory and how it lacks the urban legacy so many other great cities possess.
Kudo’s for also being the first author failing to touch on Detroit’s integral past and present role in American music; Neglecting to indulge in it during your stay, save one warehouse party; And failing to underscore how attitudes like your stepfather’s led to the depopulation of Detroit.
See you in the Central District. Or maybe not because you’ll probably cross the street.
To Stevie:
Grow up. You don’t live there, you haven’t lived there. It’s the murder capital for a fucking reason. Detroit is a zombie that no one has told it’s dead. It lumbers on, never trying in the least to fix any of its self inflicted woes. Detroit has NO ONE to blame for its problems save itself. You do not know this because you are not there. Her article is honest and no one in Detroit will fault her for that. Yes color matters there and yes she did very well managing those bondaries.. she survived.
Please pull your race card elsewhere.
So cool to read long-form Kelly O. Unteachable writing style, lovely stories.
Detroit is like your little sister, right.. You can make fun of her but if anyone else does, you want to kick their ass. Detroit is just a good place to be from… and meet any true Detroiter and one of the first things you will notice… they have heart.
I miss home sometimes so much. It’s changing, it’s rebuilding… sure, it is going to take years before we see any large significant change… but I know it will happen in time.
It’s so funny because when I’m home, even when I am walking on the empty streets downtown, or climbing abandoned buildings in order to get a better view of the skyline… it feels comfortable, safe, even though I know it’s just perception.
I visit in three weeks, cannot wait.
Honkey:
There is no mention of blaming Kelly O for Detroit’s problems in my comment. It’s merely a reaction to the boilerplate white-female-survives-black-people/neighborhood scenarios recounted in her stories. It implies there is something extraordinary and pioneering about attending college in urban blight and in your words having “survived”. The author is also the one who plays the race card, creating a tone in her stories that at any moment she was going to be attacked, assaulted, or even worse killed by someone who would most likely be African-American.
And contrary to your belief Detroit is not a zombie. It’s a music, art, and urban cultural mecca. Home to everyone from the MC5s to the late J-Dilla. It’s the “Rock City.”
To Elise81:
Want to get coffee? : )
AWESOME!! more Kelly O stories plzz
Things I would like to forget about Detroit: Bulletproof glass at the register in all the corner grocery stores. Entire neighborhoods that look like Beirut after Israel got through with it. A friend getting his throat slashed for no reason. Having to shield my girlfriend from 2 cars that were driving down the street side by side shooting at each other (one block away from the hall of justice no less.) Tumbleweeds or some wind blown weeds that looked like tumbleweeds in the downtown streets. Billboards that say 1-800-LAWSUIT, and billboards advertising paternity tests. Once, a crackhead broke into Rosa Parks’ house and beat her up (its true, look it up.) I grew up there, its like hell. Like a third world country but worse, a senselessly violent third world country. I try to forget about it. There is a website called Detroit is crap, pretty much sums it up.
I was born in Detroit and moved to Seattle 2 years ago. I feel like the best part of the city was left out. I felt way safer in Detroit then I do here. People look out for each other and have each others backs there. The neighborhoods are protected and people wont bullshit you.
It has a bad rap, but shit is dog eat dog, fucking deal with it.
Kelly,
Read your piece. Humorous and sad. Detroit is the great American city in great decline. There’s a coffee table picture book recently published that has a montage of it’s decline. Check this out:
http://tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/…
Today, it was announced that Kwane Kilpatrick, Detroit’s former disgraced mayor was sentenced to up to 5 years in prison. The city has more problems than it can reckon with. Motown was once glorious. How unfortunate.
So when Kelly O sees me will she also describe me as a gigantic black lady? Is that all you saw was the “black” on people but not the humanity of those people including Nub? Post racial society my ass. Every other paragraph seemed to mention black this, or black that. I can not stand folks like that. Moving to the city to be surrounded by black folks is part of the cool factor? Are we fauna? It seems like you lived amongst Black folks, but not with them. Sad.
Plus, you don’t seem like a very nice person laughing when your landlady’s car was torched. Breaking into abandoned buildings? Not nice either.
so goood!! Kelly O! please, please write more, I loved this!
Sounds more like you were a naive Yooper than that Detroit was uniformly weird/bad. You were probably walking around with a giant sign on your head that said “I’m a hilljack.” I’ve lived in Detroit for years, and like any city, it has its good and rough bits. Sorry you were such an idiot, but don’t use that as an excuse to cash in on Detroit’s current hard times. Cheap.
I love Detroit, Kelly! Did you ever run into Sneak and the Detroit Techno Militia over in Greektown? Best. Parties. Evurrrrrrr. No wait, the best party ever was Dorkwave in Corktown. Best. Party. Evurrrrrrrr. I danced on speakers wearing lobster claws.
My grandmother and mother are total 12th Street Detroiters, it’s fun to see them butt heads with folks, they don’t take shit. Neither do I, of course, so we argue. A lot.
Now I’m all nostalgic.
Having lived in both places I can confidently say that Seattle is not half the city that Detroit is, let alone the city it was. And yeah, Detroit has a fucked economy, rampant blight, crime, crack, blah blah blah. But it also has history, culture, a real music scene, a real sense of cummunity, and some of the most amazing architecture to be found in America. Seattle is a beautiful city, but it’s new, mostly soulless, and full of fragile people who usually won’t even look you in the eye if you pass them on the street, let alone actually exchange a few friendly words with strangers. People in Detroit might be flawed, even tragically so on occasion, but they are definitely REAL people. I’m white as the driven snow and I never once had a race-based problem with anyone there. The thugs and criminals in the D are looking for people who present themselves as scared victims, regardless of skin color. If you live in Detroit and embrace what that means, you will in turn be embraced by Detroit, and that will come to mean alot to you. I’ve lived in other places with such a tight-knit sense of community, but none of them were in the states. Kelly O, whose writing style I generally enjoy, misses the mark with the substance of this story. She should go back there and try to spend some time viewing it and interacting with it without her “scared rural white girl” filters in place. It will be a rewarding experience.
Detroit used to be the richest city on the planet. It has so many beautiful old neighborhoods like Boston-Edison, Indian Village, and Palmer Woods. My man and I used to play a game when we drove across the US…”how many gay men does this town need?” Sioux Falls, 1000, St. Joseph 500, when we got to Detroit we decided on 50,000. Later we read there were 46,000 abandoned homes in Detroit, so we were pretty accurate.
“Your story highlights how diversity in Seattle is illusory and how it lacks the urban legacy so many other great cities possess.”
It also explains why Detroit is one of America’s murder and crime capitals and Seattle so safe; there’s a reason they don’t film America’s funniest black comedy show, “The First 48” in Seattle you know.
the only good thing abort Detroit is escaping to Grosse Pointe.
detroit in better light =
http://www.visitdesign99.com/
http://www.heidelberg.org/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/scotthockin…
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/25/opinio…
http://www.detroitblog.org/
http://journey.eyemaze.net/search/label/…
Wah! Kelly described her own experiences and not mine! It’s so unfairrrrrrrrr!
Also… One was only a victim if one Looked like a victim? Isn’t that how rapists decide who they’ll rape next? So… Detroit is a bunch of rapists?
Puhlease. If you are from Detroit (or any other ‘real’ place) and think that makes you all tough and special, get fucked. Seriously, “hurr-durr, my city can beat your city up” is a shitty argument made by weak people.
Dicktation, bitches.
I love how Kelly O’s story tells her truth of living there and what she loved about a city that has an amazing story and everyone sees what they want to see in the story.
Everyone is so quick on defensive when anyone says anything at all about Detroit. Truth is these stories are amazing because for most northwesterners a city like Detroit is beyond our imagination. It is so much different than any US city and words and pictures don’t articulate what has happened there. I don’t understand the immediate hate for someone speaking their perspective, especially when that perspective comes from a place of love. People need to know how fucked Detroit is and things obviously need to happen there so how can anything putting light on that situation be a bad thing?
@7 You have a perspective on Detroit’s contribution to the past, present and future of American music? Point me to your writing. What positive have you done? If you love it so much why are you in Seattle? Get off your pity pot.
she moved from detroit to the whitest place in the country…
What a shithole. I would love to visit. The descritions make me think of Rome after the Lombard Wars. Majestic once, now crumbling.
Hey angry black/white Detroit old schoolers: The author is retelling her experience. Stop projecting all of your personal experiences onto her. It aint about you. Dawg.
What a shithole. I would love to visit. It makes me think of Rome after the Lombard Wars. Majestic once, now crumbling.
Hey angry black/white Detroit old schoolers: The author is retelling her experience. Stop projecting all of your experiences onto her. It aint about you. Dawg.
Ah. The dreaded double post. I blame the ongoing Skynet Bot attack. Suck it Skynet.
BTW – for all the Detroiter’s posting on here… Del Rey in Belltown has Detroit night every Monday night. The fly in Coney Dogs from Koegel’s & use the same sauce as Leo’s & National. Plus they have Vernor’s cocktails…
And… steviewondersgoodeye… um, I’m super easy to find.
Kelly, a cat spoke English to me once also. It freaked me the fuck out. Your story made me feel better about the entire experience.
Love all the ghetto defenders coming to the D’s rescue, from safely behind their nice monitors that they’re able to not have stolen, now that they live in a nicer place than the burned out husk that they so love and miss.
let the haters hate, that’s all they know how to do. This was beautifully written, one of the most enjoyable pieces I’ve read in a long time.
These are the reasons why Detroit is such a rad city, because when you take away all of that grimy bull-shit; you’re left with one of the most real places in this country with one of the best communities, art and music scenes that any one of you can experience.
Most Detroiters look back at the things mentioned in this article with a fondness and love and weird admiration. Kelly O’s experience was different. She obviously didn’t see the beauty that arose out the ashes. Which is totally fine. Give the lady a break. It’s her story not yours.
#35, sure, I romanticize Detroit and I’m quitter for moving on to greener pastures. But this article focuses on a time and place that I’m familiar with and enjoyed, it obviously doesn’t have the same resonance with you. Fine. But I’m not sure why you need to be so nasty.
@35…
Here is something that surprises me.. I was never assaulted/mugged/monitor stolen, etc during my time in Detroit. I mean, it definitely does happen (like any other city,) and I’ve had my car broken into for bottle returns (10 cents each goes a long way, I suppose.)
The cops in the D are pretty rigid though, especially in the downtown/tourist areas. And I stupidly used to walk home from St. Andrews, Bookies, Town Pump or the Detroiter (etc.) alone… Sure Seattle is safer by numbers, but Detroit, the downtown area, is actually very safe. I think their crime record is 12 per 100,000 which is safer than many downtown areas, including NYC & Chicago (not sure of Seattle’s.)
I say this, because I’ve lived here two years.. and in Seattle, 2 blocks from the ferry terminal, spit on & hit by a crackhead… was with a group of friends, not alone, and the cops did not even arrest the guy even though he was on probation for assault and four witnesses told police exactly what happened (they later did charge him, after I pushed and pushed to have it done.)
I thought this was a great piece of subjective journalism a la Hunter S. Thompson style. The author told a story from a strictly internal viewpoint. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s the heart of memoir. I am sure 100 different people would have painted 100 different pictures of the same city.
I am much more interested in perspective pieces than bland, top-level “objective” journalism. That’s WHY I read The Stranger, not USA Today.
I would just loooove to hear what she has to say about her crazy times in Seattle when she goes back to the UP. I would bet she says just about the same things about all the homeless and/or crazy people here.
I am willing to believe all of her stories too (even the talking cat), except for the part about Henry Ford Hospital. It is a really great hospital and just because it is in the D, doesn’t mean it is ghetto or low in quality at all. My guess: a) she was hopped up on meds, or b) she wasn’t actually at Henry Ford or c) needed another cool story to tell so made this up.
Anyone who has lived in Detroit has a handful of stories just like this. It is not un common to laugh off things that are fucked up and scary. Sometimes thats the only way to deal with it.
I think the only issues with sketchy people I ever had were at Warren & Cass and Warren by the Lodge. As a little kid, my grandparents walked us around Greektown after dark and showed us 12th and Grand (even though that was in daytime).
“black/white Detroit old schooler”
Black people read Slog?
..yes, the incredible blight and crime are there…and only the most naive/ignorant person would put themselves in the places or situations that KELLY O did. But Detroit also has Indian Village, Boston-Edison, Palmer Park/ Woods, the lobbies of the Fisher and Guardian Buildings, the Art Institute, the largest collection of Mies van der Rohe buildings anywhere, Saarinen’s Cranbrook, Detroit Electronic Music Festival, etc.
Having come of age in a similiar post-industrial environment (Emeryville CA [E-ville]), I found myself laughing out loud at Ms. O’s very accurate observations.
There’s nothing like packs of feral dogs, dead bodies, and denizens in various states of mental unravelling to make one think one has indeed exited Planet Earth.
Favorite find: climbing to the top floor of an abandoned warehouse to find a mint 1969 crimson-red Shelby Mustang under a tarp. Unfortunately the freight elevator was out of service.
@ 7, 17, and 19: before you get away with calling Kelly O naive, can I ask how much do you know about Northern Michigan? Delineate culture from racism.
I suspect that calling any modern US city a ghetto does a major disfavor for families and survivors of the Holocaust. However, Detroit has won the murder capitol title more years than any other city. Heck, the tiny town of Flint, MI, chimed-in once to steal the annual title.
Comparing Detroit to Seattle is unrealistic, Tacoma, maybe.
Also 7, 17, and 19, I do understand your frustration. Kelly O could have focused more on the unity in the Detroit community. Many commenters seem to reflect the unity, although she did reflect *some* unity with the ‘nub man’ story and the police story.
I loved this feature!
It is funny when you realize that Devil’s Night is a not a national arson holiday or that rowdy kids dressed up like clowns aren’t going to douse you with red Faygo (locally manufactured soda).
I understand folks being sensitive to the negative tales. But it’s from her perspective and whether or not you see it, it’s told with love. Yes it’s white girl upper (you-per) michigander love, but it’s love nonetheless. And if you can’t understand that, you don’t know what it’s like to be her in shoes. So give yourself a voice, write from your own perspective, get it out there, and tell the other tale.
I agree with #47, comparing Seattle to Detroit is absurd. You can’t. Even with the music birthplace parallel. Seattle is good but Detroit is a legend. It’s like comparing a spoiled toddler eating his fluffed organic carrot puree to his grandfather who lived through the depression and is nursing an Evan Williams and a Black N’ Mild.
Bored, middle class white girl falls in love with crack ho’s and gangbangers.Pictures at 11.
Bored, middle class white girl falls in love with crack ho’s and gangbangers.Pictures at 11.
“Indian Village, Boston-Edison, Palmer Park/ Woods, the lobbies of the Fisher and Guardian Buildings, the Art Institute, the largest collection of Mies van der Rohe buildings anywhere, Saarinen’s Cranbrook, Detroit Electronic Music Festival,”
AKA Stuff WHite People Like in Detroit….you know, guys from Grosse Pointe with tattoos and chic heroin addictions. THink Spawn Range playing at St Andrews in 1991.
Sorry, ‘think Spahn Ranch at ST ANdrews in 1989’
Or was hat Majesty Crush at St ANdrews in 1991? Who the fuck knows.
Detroit is and has always been packed with more trustafarians from Grosse Point, Birmingham and Bloomfield Hills than you can shake a stick at. Easy to spot them in the 80s and 90s by their tattoos, UM college degrees, heroin habits and parents in mansions. Bored white kids trying to piss off their parents by their only vaguely dangerous alt lifestyles in Indian Village.
Most now do PR work; it’s what happens after 20 years in a failed band.
You must’ve lived in the gray building on Willis, about a half-block from Woodward? I used to live in the Rinaldo, next door and saw some crazy shit. I know the nub guy, and lived there when ICP came to the Majestic. Stupid shit. No Faygo at the party store across the street. Detroit is a unique place.
Everybody who feels insulted by this article should calm down. Yes it’s a little annoying. White people commenting on their experience with being a minority is always annoying. But, remember if this was a story about any other race being the minority in a community where they are not immediately welcome, you would be praising their courage. It’s all the same. Just harder to hear coming from a white blondie. Being different builds character. and don’t judge her based on what her step dad thinks, she obviously wrote it in to make a point.
Seeing Sham 69 at Blondie’s on 8 Mile ave. was one of the most surreal experiences in my life..Bastion of punk rock in the heart of the 80’s crack epidemic. One of the scariest nights of my life.
surreal, scary and REAL.
Kelly O, tell us more!
The sheer amount of blind privilege in this article is almost impressive. Kelly O, do you honestly not realize how entitled you sound in these stories? You moved to Detroit of your own volition for a college education, knowing you’d be able to leave when you were done. That last bit is key – you *knew you could leave,* and that (hugely privileged) knowledge colors all of these stories, whether you realize it or not. The tone of your article assumes a level of familiarity with Detroit you don’t actually have. The deeper Detroit experience isn’t a transient one; it’s entrenched, stuck, struggling, and in it communities come together because they have to, people watch out for each other because they have to.
You, on the other hand – it sounds like you came into the big bad city prepared to treat it as a joke, with a pre-set (and fairly racist) view of it you never bothered to challenge by actually engaging with the community and the culture. Detroit can in fact be a dangerous, hostile place to live, but it sounds like that’s *all* you saw – or at least, all that stuck with you – and there’s so much more to it than that.
(For the record, I spent most of my life in the neighborhoods described here. I should also point out that I’ve been treated many times at Henry Ford, which is one of the best hospitals in the country.)
Count Cyril Petrovich Tolstoi
I don’t think it was racist. I think it was written by a white female from the position of being a minority, with appreciation of other cultures, wisdom, and a sense of humor. just because someone mentions that someone else is black in a story, for story-like purposes, that doesn’t make them a racist. In fact, the only two black people that she describes in the story other than the helpful policemen she describes as “beautiful” and “awesome.”
Fun read, Kelly. I always associated your kind of tough beauty with women I’ve met from Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming. I’ll add Detroit to the list.
@ 60: you took the words right out of my mouth. Well put.
Perhaps “racist” is not the best term, however, there is a huge spectrum of racial bias, misconception and preconcieved notion in this country regarding minorities*. Kelly O just proved with this stupid article that she’s on that spectrum.
*I mean actual ethinc minorities. Going to Detroit for college does not make a middle class white girl a minority any more than me going to Qwest Field for a football game makes me a Seahawk.
Hey Kelly, do you rememeber what “G T” sprayed on all the train trestles and overpasses really meant? I do!!! Great article.
Whoa, you’ve really shed new light on Detroit here. I’ve never heard or read any of these sentiments about the city before. This is ground-breaking, shit, indeed. “The best part of living in Detroit is the ruins.” I say that everyday when I wake up!
Get the hell out of here. Was this published as supposed fact or fiction? The liberties you take come with consequence. Also, no matter how many exclamation points, put things in all-caps or drop F-bombs, you are moderately funny at best.
Seriously,though, you should be ashamed for this publishing this dribble. You know nothing of Detroit, and this article is not representative of Detroit or Detroiters. You should at least have more respect for your readers.
— Travis R. Wright, Metro Times (Detroit)
Detroit WAS great. It is now a National embarrassment, no matter how many chest puffers say it’s REAL because it’s hard. The list of really hard places to live that are flailing is long and a sad comment on the values of our institutions. Anybody want to go to bat for Juarez?
wow, it sounds like Baltimore but with more abandonment and decay. i’d love to visit and check out all the abandoned places.
Wow . . .what a smarmy little article wreaking with white privilege.
Congratulations on having to put up with black people and poor people while you received a college education and mommy furnished your apartment. I really don’t know how you managed.
I’m glad so many of you enjoyed this . . .aren’t people who are trapped in heart-breaking cycles of poverty HI-larious?
#17 Deemeana wrote:
“So when Kelly O sees me will she also describe me as a gigantic black lady? Is that all you saw was the “black” on people but not the humanity of those people including Nub? Post racial society my ass. Every other paragraph seemed to mention black this, or black that. I can not stand folks like that. Moving to the city to be surrounded by black folks is part of the cool factor? Are we fauna? It seems like you lived amongst Black folks, but not with them. Sad.”
yeah, Deemeana, I’m sure “Kill Whitey,” “Bitch” and “Cracker” made Kelly O. feel right at home amongst ‘Black folks.’ Typical hypocritical reverse racism bullshit. Sad.
Decided to read some Travis R. Wright to get a feel for Real Detroit Detroiters since Kelly-O’s experiences don’t count. And weather it’s punk rock culinary shows or reviews for fuck machines, Wright provides an insight into the D that truly respects its readers. I guess that’s why there are so few comments on Wrights articles –he nails the topic every time!
I love this ongoing debate of what real cities and real people actually are. I thought for sure I would never here it again after McCain and Palin were defeated.
And if two big black (or white, or hispanic) cops approach you and the details of the experience don’t invoke a sense of subjectivity, then go hang out with fucking Tom Cruise.
Also, this isn’t a travel brochure, it’s someone’s personal experience. And I know, it infuriates me too when other people don’t have exactly the same experiences as me!
Allow me to add my own article on Detroit so that everyone can enjoy this piece equally.
Ahem…Last summer I went to Detroit and it was great! I saw men and women and buildings, ate meal and walked dog! Uh oh! Time for bed! Good night dog. Good night moon. Good night D.
#69 – It’s too bad you assume so much. A lot of you in this thread, are assuming so much, wrongly, about race. I LOVED living in Detroit. And I loved *finally* having black friends – there weren’t any black people where I grew up in Northern Michigan. I think there was ONE girl in my high school, and I didn’t even get to meet her until 11th grade.
Is it my fault I was born somewhere where there was zero racial diversity? Could I control that?
When I finally made it out – went to college – it changed everything. For the better. These are a few stories of human experience. Not race. I wouldn’t change any of it. If I could go back in time, and choose anywhere to go to school, I’d still choose Detroit.
You can also stick all the white-privilege assumptions somewhere where the sun doesn’t shine. I grew up on a small farm, in the middle of nowhere – Lachine Michigan. I shared a tiny bedroom, in a tiny house, with my younger brother until high school. We heated our entire house with wood, and one year, when we were too poor to buy enough food, my parents illegally poached deer so we’d have something to make Hamburger Helper with.
You shouldn’t assume, that if someone’s white, that they have money, and/or are a member of suburbian middle class.
That truck wasn’t full of Mommy-provided nice-new apartment furniture – it was filled with thrift and garage sale crap I’d collected, for my dreams of making it the hell out of Northern Michigan. I bought most of it myself doing in-home nursing jobs. I changed many an adult diaper to buy that beat-up dresser. And the college education? I’ll be paying those loans back until I’m old and gray.
Maybe I should have written about my memories of being poor white trash.
That story, however, has already been told.
http://amzn.to/ak5Tmf
Decided to read some Travis R. Wright to get a feel for Real Detroit Detroiters since Kelly-O’s experiences don’t count. And weather it’s punk rock culinary shows or reviews for fuck machines, Wright provides an insight into the D that truly respects its readers. I guess that’s why there are so few comments on Wrights articles –he nails the topic every time!
I love this ongoing debate of what real cities and real people actually are. I thought for sure I would never here it again after McCain and Palin were defeated.
And if two big black (or white, or hispanic) cops approach you and the details of the experience don’t invoke a sense of subjectivity, then go hang out with fucking Tom Cruise.
Also, this isn’t a travel brochure, it’s someone’s personal experience. And I know, it infuriates me too when other people don’t have exactly the same experiences as me!
Allow me to add my own article on Detroit so that everyone can enjoy this piece equally.
Ahem…Last summer I went to Detroit and it was great! I saw men and women and buildings, ate meal and walked dog! Uh oh! Time for bed! Good night dog. Good night moon. Good night D.
I’m weirdly proud about being from Detroit (or, you know, the suburbs thereof). I think it has something to do with the tv commercials from when I was a kid, “Stand up and tell ’em you’re from…Detroit!”
Kelly O. is fucking shit up punk style by telling it like she lived it.
If you’re offended, you probably think you have a corner on reality. So fuck you.
More Kelly O!
Born and raised in Detroit. I don’t believe these stories. How can someone like me, who has lived there her whole life, ride public transportation to public school for 7 years – never experience anything remotely like this?
Hmmm.
sounds similar to philly!
The New Dance Show is amazing: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bS6Vb63Zc…
For all you boobs that think Detroit is the best thing since sliced bread, I’ve got news for you. I just returned from the Murder, oops, Motor City. Got myself a nice new t-shirt with a picture of a fist holding a smokin’ gun with the caption of “Come back to Detroit, we missed you the first time”. Also, the lovely city made it to #1, again, as the most dangerous city in the US. Nice……I wanna live there!!!
Detroit has always had a sense of lawlessness. Much of the city is like the wild west. Make it up as you go along. All traffic laws/signs are mere suggestions. You can drive 80 mph on the freeways and get you doors blown off. No one stops at red lights for fear of carjackings. I grew up in the suburbs but have had some of the best times of my life in Detroit. There is always something to do.
I lived in Baltimore and when I told my stories about my life there, people ALWAYS said, that sounds like Detroit! So true.
I would’ve liked to heard more about the individual human beings that actually live in these areas and their stories. This article treats these neighborhoods as if they are some kind of decrepit amusement park.
Thanks for the great piece. As a long ago refugee who sometimes returns I thought you told the truth. The abandoned properties do make it like an archeological site and the culture of poverty and crime do evoke comparisons to the third world. In the old days they used to call us poor white trash instead of crackers. As you and other commenters mentioned there are also good things there.
Hopefully present Mayor Dave Bing and others will succeed in reshaping the city. At present the consensus seems to be that there aren’t enough people or funds to support all the present neighborhoods. Unfortunately politics and economics prevent reuse of much of what would otherwise be reserviceable old infrastructure. It seems likely that much of it will be demolished and converted back to agriculture or other open space and that people will be encouraged to live in areas that match what the tax base can support.
Lifting people out of poverty and reducing crime there may be more challenging and complex than changing land use.
Beware that given a few decades Seattle infrastructure could go the same way. There are many similarities between the conversion of open space to suburbs around Seattle and what happened around Detroit in the 1950’s. As with Detroit lack of maintenance fails to match what is needed to maintain Seattle infrastructure. Given a few decades some of the present Seattle area mega-mansions may be abandoned or converted to rooming houses, group homes like many of the once magnificent mansions on Grand Avenue in Detroit.
=Made in Detroit=
I’m from Detroit, and when I say that, I mean De-troit Detroit. Known for being the hub of Polacks and Catholic Churches that in retrospect look like Liberace shit faberge eggs while on acid. On Devil’s Night there would be 800 fires burning throughout the city, and on two occasions the abandoned houses next door on each side and the one in back were torched. I was going through my formative years when the crack epidemic struck and Detroit was the murder capital of the nation. I never complained about any of this.
Here’s what I did complain about… You came into my hometown, kicked your feet up, and smiled in my face while telling me that you’re slumming it. I was supposed to be honored by your presence, and you were too self-centered to realize how condescending you were being.
I get to college, and you’re there. However, my classmates are predominately stuck up, trust fund, pampered Kaitlyns and Jacobs like yourself who patronize my world by making it their ‘urban experience’. I don’t think it’s cute that you got offered crack today by a guy with more genuine character than you will ever possess. I don’t think it’s quaint that you are willing to patronize us working slob natives by having a $4 pitcher of PBR with us at Third Street Saloon. Oh My God! You stayed up all night at Detroit Contemporary standing in a corner making fun of people? Hey! That makes you an artist! You and your Abercrombie & Fitch crowd from Sterling Wheights look like complete tourists when you show up the Magick Stick trying to act like you own the place. I don’t care that you’re in a band, your band sucks. College is not your second chance at being cool in high school. Yes, I know where you can get some marijuana. No, I won’t tell you. I don’t think its ghetto fabulous that you’re drinking St. Ides and Olde English.
Do you think it makes you tough that you braved the Cultural Center area bubble that is the two block radius surrounding CCS and WSU? That area is a pristine adolescent playground where you and your ilk wasted your parents’ money. I know who you are. Your work is shit. You do not possess a working understanding/definition of Post Modernism. Peter W. laughs at you. Mel R. chided you on because he thought he would one day fuck you, proving once again that he has no taste. You’re beyond adulthood now and have succeeded in accomplishing nothing other than looking to like-minded failures for passive affirmation about how the world scares and amazes you. Read that last sentence again and again until you get it. Seriously, grow the fuck up.
Years have past, and now we’re both in Seattle. Have you accomplished anything? Did you at least clean up the mess you made in Detroit before you left?
In the voyage that is life you will always be a tourist, and the postcards you write are not worth reading.
I’ve decide that the comment that I posted earlier is just the kind of in-your-face Detroit attitude that you’re so enamored with. You’re welcome.
DANG – this makes me miss the good old days when DC was Murder Capitol!
All of you Detroit defenders are completely full of crap. Its a blighted out, bombed out shithole. A sense of community? What community, a community of crackheads? If its so great then why don’t you move back? Have fun living next door to a crack house, not being able to take a walk anywhere, having your car stolen or broken into, putting up with the constant racism (from blacks and whites). I grew up there and I would sooner kill myself than live in that city again.
Kelly O, I really enjoyed your autobiographical writing style…it’s the tough but exciting times in life imbued with humor. Do you have any other writing I could read? I could see this as a memoir. It’s funny how nostalgia makes us look back on the times when we were growing up with fondness no matter what we had to deal with at the time.
A vivid piece of writing, KellyO. I grew up in the Detroit area about a million years ago. My family lived first in Lincoln Park, a shabby little downriver factory suburb, then later in Southfield, just north of 8 Mile Road. I never, ever say I’m from Detroit. It would be like saying you were a Vietnam veteran when in fact you were a Vietnam-Era veteran and you weren’t ever in-country. It just seems important to be accurate.
In the summer of 1967, a few girlfriends and I took the bus to a friend’s house near Dayton, Ohio. We got stranded there when the riots exploded. Some college friends of my parents, both teachers who’d returned to work in the Detroit school system, spent long hours huddled on the floor hoping they wouldn’t get hit by stray gunfire.
I don’t expect that’s what broke Detroit, but the collapse of the auto industry ensured that it was never going to recover. I left Michigan in 1970, before the Renaissance Center was built. My grandparents, who lived in a nice little house in Redford Township, on Bentler Avenue, had long since decamped to Florida. My best memories of Detroit are about Bentler Avenue, and my grandma walking us to the park, or to the dime store on Grand River Avenue. There were so many trees.
Thank you Kelly O for sharing your experience with us and evoking the continuum of emotions in many readers. I was “Made In Detroit” and grew up surrounded by the white, racist privilege of Dearborn, MI, although our family has never had money.
I went to Wayne State, although I dropped out to move to another amazing and unique place, Olympia, Wa, where I still reside. I really loved this piece. I really love all of the memories that came flooding back, of old friends, and incredible circumstances, and YES- the human condition. I loved going to school there. I loved all of the people I connected with… like the Nub Man!
My x worked at the Traffic Jam, and we used to go to The Majestic after they closed most Saturday nights. I swear I looked at a house (to live in) on the GP/D border that was across the street from a boarded up house that said “KILL WHITEY”.
Yes, I had many other parallel experiences, and I feel the need to explain the synchronicity involved in this. I rarely read The Stranger, but I feel like the only reason I went to our food co-op tonight was to look down and see “Those Days In Detroit”…. as I am still living with just enough to get by, but now I have a family, 2 kids and husband. Like that. We find ourselves about to embark upon a month of fund raising, Oly style (secret cafes, puppet shows, raffles…), so we can take our children to meet our beloved relatives who are all still there. Thank you. Yes, this piece is your experience, AND it speaks of the place where I grew up and came of age, and dreamed about living the life I’m now living somewhere else. Really, I got it. And now I have it. Thanks.
“Is it my fault I was born somewhere where there was zero racial diversity? Could I control that?”
Is this supposed to be an excuse? Pathetic.
I live in a Detroit suburb and I’d say half of this story is made up.
The author should teach herself “subject object predicate” before making fun of other people’s English too.
I live in a Detroit suburb and I’d say half of this story is made up. Apparently the thing the author remembers best is her own racism.
“Is it my fault I was born somewhere where there was zero racial diversity? Could I control that?”
Is this supposed to be an excuse? Pathetic.
The author should teach herself “subject object predicate” before making fun of other people’s English too.
I understand people’s need to be defensive about their home town, but fuuuuck. You couldn’t PAY me to go to Detroit. It’s a fascinating study on a modern faded city, but I feel bad for anyone, black or white, who has to endure there. And a word on racism: If black people get so pissed at stereotypes, perhaps more of them should do more to END the stereotypes.
@84 I wouldn’t be accusing others of being self-centered, friend. Your head’s so far up your own ass you can see light at the end of the tunnel.
Seriously, if that’s Detroit “heart”, I’m perfectly fine with letting you mean shitheads eat each other.
i’m not too sure how i feel about this article. But props to raggin on the juggalo kids. someone had to say it, and i’m glad it was someone as sick as K.O. i wish i was there throwin sh*t at them wit you!
Hey, Magic Lemur, I took my head out of my ass long enough to read your response to my post. Thank you for giving me permission for us mean assholes to eat each other. People say rimming is taboo, but I’ve always found it to be a great ice breaker.
Mean shitheads, my bad.
#84 definately needs some intensive psychological help. You sound like a real joy to be around. Wake up – Detroit really is the shit hole of the world!!! Maybe you should move to Miami (it came in at # 2 for the most dangerous place to live).
Hey Momma,
I may very well need that intensive psychological assistance you mentioned. But that’s another topic for another discussion. I never argued that Detroit wasn’t the shit hole of the world, my beef is with Kelly O.
I have a sneaking fucking suspicion that the only positive reviews of her article were written by her and the people that she owes money to, who want her to keep this job long enough to pay them back. I speak of course of her parents.
love you, pop lock
i can’t believe that you guys think this pedantic bullshit “white college kid bravely living in detroit” story is worthy of literary praise. get rid of it and give me a fucking break. as someone who worked in detroit factories for 10 years and spent 5 of those living in the city, i can honestly say that kelly o’s “recollections” come across as nothing more than some snobby kid who thinks it’s cool to scare the shit of out mom and dad by living in Detroit. Get the fuck out! detroit isn’t cool–detroit is real. it is fucking poor and people have to work for what they have there–shit isn’t just handed to them. you wanted to drink Olde English like “all the homies in the D”? Get the fuck outta here. All you seem to want to do is impress people with the fact that your racist ass lived in a city that’s 90% black so you could eventually write some bullshit article for some worthless weekly rag that usually isn’t worth wiping my ass on so some stupid coked-out Seattle hipsters plant a seed in their head that Detroit will be their next destination of choice ’cause “it’s so REAL, man…” BRAVO, girl, YOU DID IT! you are so BRAVE! KUDOS! fuck you.
@99 pop lock “I have a sneaking fucking suspicion that the only positive reviews of her article were written by her and the people that she owes money to, who want her to keep this job long enough to pay them back. I speak of course of her parents.”
True dat. Some of these gushing, super supportive comments are so out of the blue that it seriously makes me wonder.
As a former Detroiter, the kindness of strangers surprised me at times. I liked Kelly O’s story when the guy named “Nub” gave her some $. It reminded me of the time my car window got smashed on a freezing winter night, and a fellow named “One Eye” helped me out. He was a homeless dude and was really kind to me. He cleaned out the glass for me and helped tape a garbage bag to the window. The owners of a nearby bar were also really kind. I gave “One-Eye” some fries and five bucks. He was just genuinely nice. I do love Detroiters. 9 times out of 10 they will be good to you, if you’re cool. Sounds like Kelly was in culture shock (totally understandable as she was from a completely different environment), felt like an outsider and never got over it. I really enjoyed the article as a snapshot of one person’s view of Detroit. Incidentally, I love the old train station and have some beautiful photos of it.
Pop lock and stop it is right. But I don’t think Kelly O or her fans are really prepared to grasp how entitled and superficial the tone and content of this article is.
t 84: I was right there with you until you used the phrase “post-modernism”. Now, for most people, I’d offer a polite reminder that postmodern is a buzzword that applies to anything you want it to. But, you’re a BAD DETROIT MOTHERFUCKER. So: Listen up, jackass. When you use the word “postmodern”, and you are NOT talking about ARCHITECTURE, then you are a PRETENTIOUS TWAT. You’ve just destroyed whatever credibility you may have had as a hardcase survivor of urban decay. While I’m at it, did you ever stop to question why Detroit is worth yelling into your keyboard? You’re just jealous that she got to experience what little good Detroit has to offer WITHOUT having to experience the same crack-addled bullshit upbringing you (no doubt) had to survive. Congratulations are in order — you’ve missed the point entirely, latching onto and offering a voracious defense of only the very worst things in life.
@105…I am confused. I think poplock accurately nails the tone of Kelly O’s article, and most likely has pegged her “type”. Why can’t the writer be a BAD DETROIT MOTHERFUCKER who also knows that a term like “post-modernism” is exactly what priveleged 20-somethings like to use, especially in their first year(s) of college in the “City”. Did it occur to you that he is using the term “post-modernism” sarcastically? As in, it is an over-used term that assholes like Kelly-O have probably muttered thousands of times? That is how I read it….
I am indeed a pretentious twat, no doubt about it. However, that doesn’t change the fact that Kelly O. needed to be called out on her tourist status. Keep in mind that I’m not offering a voracious defense of the very worst things in life either. I made a point of saying that it wasn’t Detroit that I was complaining about, let alone defending. I lived there, then I left, end of story.
I would like to thank The Stranger for giving me the opportunity to briefly mention post-modernism and rimming in the same thread, which was long over due.
That being said, I took a break from reading ‘Gravity’s Rainbow’ and downloading big butt porn long enough torture myself by reading Kelly O’s article again, and I think we all missed the point. A cat spoke, and that is pretty fucking amazing.
One weekend, I was staying at my father’s house. It was always a strange house and he had two cats. One was friendly and would crawl all over you the moment you stopped moving, the other was always hidden.
One morning upon waking I decided to walk out of my room and get some water. The elusive cat was sitting at the base of the stairs just staring at me. I stopped and looked back at him, as he said “morning” in a very human-like voice, licked his paw and walked away. I went straight back to my room and waited until everyone else got up to leave again.
Talking cats are traumatizing :/
I am from Windsor, the over the river, canadian cousin of Detroit. Every morning I would pass by downtown Detroit, seeing it on the other side of the bridge, on the bus to school on riverside drive. Sometimes, if you were far enough up Downtown Windsor, you could swear that there was no river between us when you look out between the buildings. It’s something that stays with you. Everyone is wrong and right about Detroit, its an anamoly. Your perspective of it, like any other place in the world, changes depending on the kind of character you have.
Lawl at all the real old-skool dyed-in-motor oil and corpseblood Detroiters out there.
Look fuckwits, it doesn’t matter how “real” people are in Detroit, whether or not it has a cool music scene, whether Kelly O is white or “entitled” (she isn’t, read her post half-way up the page) nor whether she was just a “tourist” or not. The things she wrote about are real, they happened to her (well, OK, except that thing about the possessed cat, I don’t believe that shit) and they are common enough in this wonderful mecca of urban “authenticity” that they resonate with everyone and touch a nerve on even the defenders of the cities.
It doesn’t matter how you play your identity politics cards, call Kelly names and cast aspersions on the people who stand up for her in these comments, or front about how “real” you are and how “abercrombie” she is. Detroit is a burned out, blighted, economically ruined shithole full of crime and fail, the murder capitol of the US and a massive sinkhole draining the wallets of economically disadvantaged people in other parts of Michigan and more recently the rest of our country as a whole.
All of your liberal- and white-guilting is smoke and mirrors bullshit that cannot hide the hideous fact that is Detroit.
Kelly… maybe Grosse Isle or Wyandotte is your kind of town.
Put your hands up for Detroit!
Kelly, I was there on the same streets as you ten years earlier (that’s a long walk from Willis to CCS). I was ready to give you shit, but I think you got it pretty much right in spirit. So Travis writes for the Metro Times? They are worse than the Weekly! Nothing but ads for clubs WAY north of 8 mile. Nobody back home gives a shit what they think. Detroit is beautiful and sad and dangerous and has some of the best greek, deli, and Middle Eastern food in the US. Go see it before they plow it all under.
Fuck all you “Detroit is REAL” mouthbreathers. I have a friend from Philly who’s always carrying on with the same load of horseshit: “Philly’s REAL, yo.”
Balls. Death to that. I’m originally from Seattle but spent time in LA and Chicago, both times in super gang-y neighborhoods where gunshots were heard on a nearly daily basis. While at the time I may have appreciated the “realness” of the streets, it was a tremendous ballache to have to look over my shoulder when I walked at night, to have to at times be racist. If it was two AM and six hard looking Puerto Rican dudes in sideways caps and baggies were coming my way, my ass was crossing the street. End of. Call me the Grand Wizard of the Klan, but sometimes this shit is just practicality.
For the record, I was never mugged or fucked with in the least and almost never had to resort to such tactics of avoidance. But getting mugged or fucked with was always on my mind.
I live abroad now in an Asian country with pretty much zero street crime, and I CAN’T IMAGINE moving back to a place where predatory violence is so rife that walking at night is out of the question.
America is insane. Have fun being “real,” you silly silly people.
I lived in Northern Michigan also, for nineteen years. Every weekend I drove to Deroit and partied. One time, one time, I got mugged at 3am in front of Motor. The man had a gun and he decided to let me live. I drove home got some sleep and made it back to see Ritchie close the DEMF. I drove a grand cherokee and it never got broken into, on the west side south of seven mile or anywhere else in the city, Mt. Eliot or Archer Cony Island, Greek town, nowhere. And my vheicle was left for hours with no damage. Detroit is no scarier than anywhere else in America. I think that you should go and live in Fresno, Ca. The central valley is for real. At least in the D you have to do something to get shot. In California you just have to be the frist target they see, Try going to high school with gangsters calling you mark, and its not your name and they mean it. Wayne State isn’t so bad. Did you see the hookers working the johns in public, fuckin? Well thats not very hood of you if you haven’t. How many shootings on your block a week? In your neighborhood? The best hotel in Detroit is on the campus of Wayne State. Wayne Stae is also one of the leaders of Tech Town. Turns out Cracky has something to offer the world in tecnolgical innovation. I think a semester at Fresno State or UCLA maybe would open up your eyes. Detroit is not so bad. As a matter of fact I feel safer in downtown Detroit than I do on University Ave in Seattle most of the time. True story: I told a cop that a man was choking a woman on The Ave., he seemed to be her pimp. And he told me that I would be arrested if I interfeared with him writing a ticket to a street vendor without a licence. That is a little imtimadating. In Detroit the cop wouldn’t have been so dismissive. In my humble opinion,Seattle is a bubble full of the santorum deposited by the asses of the folks like you who hated their home and came to kvetch in the pacific northwest. I do believe thats how the progressives got here in the first place, am I wrong? Detroit What! Enjoy Detroit. By the way Lachine has hunting accidents and Detroit has murders. There are more fatal hunting accidents than murders in Michigan, there usually is. And those deer ambushing mutherfuckers are wearing orange and have blinds that are in the same place all year, on their land, and they feed the deer to attract them to the kill zone. You don’t go into the woods in November because there are crasy drunk fuckers fireing at shadows in Northern Michigan. In Novembver I can go to Detroit. Fuck your assesment of Detroit, it is infintesimal at best. Your anticdotes are as racist as they are pointless. And your writing needs work, you just aren’t Oscar Wild. Thats what you were going for right, the drunkin rambalings of an asshole?
This article was great, and furthers my desire to visit.
@7 you’re a douchebag
@10 Of course YOU had to comment here. Invite me over to drink all of your alcohol and say stupid shit.
I’m sure that you can find good things to write about Detroit, but I’ve been there and the grittier side is more interesting. Since I have moved to Michigan, I’ve met a lot of people from all corners of the state and I can say that Kelly O’s perspective is interesting as someone who apparently grew up in the Northern parts of the state coming to the city. Since being here I have made a few friends from those parts and I can say one thing , they are the kind of people you invite over if you want an interesting evening. From my friend who drinks only fine liquor and eats porterhouse 3x a week, but literally lives in a closet, to a woman who in the course of one evening, taught me how to hotwire a bulldozer and thwarted a would be car stereo thief by beating him with a hockey stick (strikingly gorgeous too, I should have married that girl). I don’t know if it’s the lack of anything interesting other than beautiful scenery that makes these people create their own ridiculousness, but no matter what you say about this author of this article’s perspective of Detroit, its that of someone who grew up in an white-solated area of the state coming to a crime ridden, deteriorating city. I could sit here and knock this article for its underlying racist tones, but I think that it seems that the author is embracing the difference of culture. In all the places I have lived, but especially in comparison to the NW, you won’t find many places other than Michigan that have such a vast difference in cultures throughout the state.
Dear Kelly,
Please stick to writing unfunny captions on pictures of drunk people.
Thanks,
Kelly, your drunk-driving ass was probably more dangerous than any of the other elements you encountered in Detroit. I don’t even want to know why your license was already suspended when you decided to get smashed and drive. The hookers, gangsters and Nub are lucky you didn’t run them down.
Trespassing on private property and tearing stuff up for an art project?
Losing car parts off your piece o’crap mobile while you’re speeding at 90mph down the freeway? It’s called car maintenance, and there is a reason for it.
Throwing potatoes from the upper stories of a building at the people below simply to mock their chosen lifestyle? Potatoes are hard! Damn.
You didn’t survive Detroit… Detroit survived you!
this story gives me the warm fuzzies for detroit. was there about 5 years ago going to CCS and was also a tenant of judith, the prude, on e. willis. never saw any cars get burned but watched one get broken into once.
I am detroit at heart. I grew up in southwest detroit until i was 25. It is nice to read a true article about someone who apperciates the city for what it is. I now live on capitol hill ,and am still pround to call detroit my REAL home. It shaped me to be the person that i am today. It always bothers me when people have such bad things to say about it when they have never even been. Thanks kelly for a good true insight.
I will openly admit that I am white and I guess sort of privileged. I mean, I’m from Lynnwood, if that helps you put me into a box.
I’ve lived in six cities over the past eight years and I’m tired of moving around. I’ve been looking for somewhere to spend the next few years and I’ve been toying with the idea of Detroit because it seems to me like it would be a city full of opportunity. It seems like a place where I could maybe afford to do some shit, and where there might be some space for some shit to be done. I realize that this may make me seem like one of those assholes who moves to third world countries to “educate” people and bring in their culture or something, but know that I don’t so much want to move to Detroit to try and “save it” as I want to move there for selfish reasons.
I think it’d be cool to live in a city where there might be some space for me to get shit done that I’d like to get done for myself: make radio docs, plant an urban garden, maybe start a new dance night at a club, and, long term, maybe open a used clothing store kinda like Buffalo Exchange/Redlight (yes, I am this generic).
To “research” the city, I started reading some of the Weekly Detroit papers, one of which is one that fellow commenter Travis R. Wright writes for. Reading these papers I started to think that Detroit was full of white hipsters, painting murals while riding tall bikes. And to give you some major perspective on myself, I didn’t necessarily find that completely unappealing. At the same time, I wasn’t so naïve to think that this was actually what I’d find in Detroit. Part of the allure of Detroit for me, is that it’s got a grimey, big city culture that probably none of the other cities I’ve lived in could hold a flame too (except maybe Glasgow, which, btw was once the murder city capitol of Western Europe).
I started telling friends and family that I’m thinking of moving to Detroit. When I tell them this, they usually say, “Why?!” And then they say, “Well I guess I’m not that surprised.” I can’t entirely explain to you why they say this. I think it’s because they know that I am one of those people who is attracted to what may seem unappealing to most people. Maybe in part because I idealize flaws, but in part because I usually genuinely do like these types of places. I loved living in Charleston, WV—even though my drunk neighbor (who I had never met) climbed up my balcony and into my apartment while I was home alone. Apparently he was locked out. Also, apparently it is not a good idea to live alone as a young woman in sketchy parts of town. Lesson learned. Except for the risk of stray bullets, I feel like I’m mostly only a target for getting mugged, and I think I can deal with that. Most people just want your cash and then they leave you alone.
Reading Kelly’s story I am equally more attracted to the idea of moving to Detroit, and equally second-guessing myself. As someone not from Detroit, if I moved there then I’m sure some of the stuff that I would witness probably would scare the shit out of me and maybe even prompt me to write some stories that would get some of you to call me a racist as I’d tell the stories from my “raised-in-Lynnwood” perspective.
I’m going to Detroit at the end of the month, for two conferences that are being held there. The Allied Media Conference, which is apparently an annual Detroit Conference, and the US Social Forum. I’m going to these conferences, in part, as an excuse to scope out Detroit, meet people who live there, and see if it’s really where I want to move.
The reason I’m writing this post is because you guys seem to have a lot more perspective on Detroit than I do. So, of course, as just mentioned, I’m gonna see for myself, but I was wondering if any of you opinionated ass mother fuckers had thoughts on whether or not I should move there. I know you don’t know me, but that’s why I spent a lot of time in this comment trying to give you some kind of a vague idea of what I’m about. I welcome your opinions. Thanks for reading this long-ass post. And Kelly, thanks for writing your article. It’s nice to read someone else’s thoughts on a place that I’ve been thinking so much about lately.
#121 – a great read from The New York Times:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/10/us/10s…
I’m happy this particular article didn’t turn you off to Detroit as a possibility. These are just my memories of living there, in college, back in the early 90’s.
It seems to me, Detroit is still forever-full of creativity. And opportunity. *IF* you’re creative. For instance, my brother and cousin live there – they’re school teachers. It’s trickier to find those jobs.
The Times article says it best…
and @ 119 – Judith is still there???? No way. I lived there almost 14 years ago. That poor lady. As much as we battled with her, my heart goes out to her too.
Mainly because of this story: My family called, a week after I moved out-of-state, and told me Judith’s boyfriend murdered the building’s fix-it man, the guy who lived in the apartment right under ours. Boyfriend waited for him to come home, and shot him dead with a gun. Ugh, if we’d still lived there, we would have *heard* it. Family told me the news said it was a “crime of passion” – that Judith was secretly having an affair with fix-it man, and boyfriend found out and went beserk. They told me he got as far as Ohio, on the run, before (can’t remember) he killed himself, or cops killed him
Maybe that’s why these people, on this website, refer to her as “strange”? Um, as “wack job” and “raging alcoholic” ? http://bit.ly/bsUuys and http://bit.ly/bMURuj
If this murder love-triangle story is indeed true (my family told me this, I don’t have printed proof) – if it’s a true story – I bet the walls are REALLY talking in that building now. The walls, the televisions and radios, and… THE CATS.
I am way more proud to say I am from Detroit than to say that I live in Seattle. The thing that most people around here are lacking is this thing, oh, what’s it called, um, personality? The people who are actually from Seattle are everything that is wrong with this place. The longer I am here, the more I realize how that I look for transplants, fellow Midwesterners to kick it with because the people from here as shallow as fuck. And whoever out there thinks we Detroiters are talking shit because we are behind a computer screen, you don’t know us. Talk to one of us and you will figure it out right away-the most upfront and honest people you will ever meet. Not the phony as hell, fake to your face skills that people in Seattle have perfected. Damn this beautiful city in the Northwest is wasted on the lamest mother fuckers in America. Sad…
Laughing my ass off that she didn’t know who Plastikman was. Hope you enjoyed watching one of the world’s best dj’s play a set. He just headlined the Movement festival last weekend. Coming home party for him (he is from Windsor).
I grew up in the Cass corridor,on Peterboro and East side Detroit. It’s been almost a couple decades since my departure. Every few years I make my journey to Detroit to pay homage to my home city. Detroit is a beautiful monster. Forget NY, the “D” is the home you should make just once in your life. Detroit will brand your heart and spirit. Your senses will be amplified 10 folds-you’ll forever impress your friends with your uncanny sense of danger, muggers beware! If you make it out of the “D”, you’ll come out a better person. You will always somehow manage to see the beauty in every dark situation. I heart Detroit.
@66- Is this the same Travis that lives in Southfield? What are you about 26? Where did you grow up? It sure as hell wasn’t Detroit.
Thanks for the stories Kelly. Made me miss it a little… Cass Tech!
Great vignettes, Kelly, and I thoroughly enjoyed your writing style, as well!
For those who thought the writer a pretentious bigoted something-or-other: I am sorry for your closed-minded hate. I saw an honest article written by a woman who looks back fondly on her college adventure that was also an inner city adventure, who now picked out the choicest shocking stories from her reportoire of experiences there to share in an entertaining fashion with the public here. No doubt she also has stories that shed the city in a positive light (like the one she did share about her homeless friend) that could have balanced out the article further, but then it would not have been in The Stranger, and at the same word count, it would have meant eliminating some of what was included. I wouldn’t have wanted to read it any other way.
I, too, grew up in Day-twah, and anyone who doesn’t believe Kelly … BELIEVE HER! I do look back on the Motor City fondly, albeit with a subsequent shiver. I loved watching the Wings play at the Joe, hearing great jazz at Baker’s and the best blues at the Soup Kitchen Saloon. I don’t miss the terror of getting lost or turned around on the streets, the rampant racism on both sides, the iron bars on all the doors and windows. Detroit is a sad and beautiful place. Like Chernobyl. Or Baghdad. May it come back healthy, wealthy, wiser and stronger for its suffering.
And Kelly, just keep writing. I’ll keep reading!
This was a GREAT read! Good job 😉
Thanks for visiting my hometown and favorite city in the WORLD.
Please don’t come back, unless you plan on contributing something positive next time.
Detroit doesn’t need any more negative people like yourself.
my car got stolen from that dirt lot nextdoor!
Yo Kelly? Define up north. Were you a Yooper or upper down below?
I’ve owned property in both Detroit AND the UP.
You poke sticks in the eyes of a city…do you know how easy it would be for me to poke sticks in the eyes of a Yooper or Tawas locale? Please…..that city gave you a college education I trust, and now you wanna trash it?
Meh….
My first thought was something along the lines of “Why not spend a couple of years in Toppenish and write about that”.
But in retrospect, it’s not like your article was bad, it’s that you didn’t seem to put any effort into your time in Detroit. If you go into a city with an attitude that says “It’s gonna be bad”, by God, it’s gonna be bad. An article like this could be written about parts of any major (and many mid-sized) cities in the United States.
“Nub” as you refer him died 5 years ago. His name is Tyrone btw.
WHAT? no mention of mexican town? kelly o, you cheap racist whore.
this is garbage. what is your purpose in writing this?
I lived here 22 years and I believe it is one of the most flawed cities on earth, but nonetheless incredible, with so much to experience and enjoy. There is so much more to it than your sensationalized stories. Believe it or not, when you were there– and still today– reasonable, civilized people live in the City of Detroit. By the hundreds of thousands. Most by choice. Sounds like most of your problem was that you behaved like an idiot, went looking for the sort of trouble that you could find in ANY city if you looked, and always saw things through your own semi-racist, anti-city lens. We all make choices. You chose to drive down an urban freeway at 90 mph and confront deranged poor people on the street (using the conclusion derived therefrom to disparage an entire city decades later), but apparently you did not make it to one of the finest Art Institutes in the world or any of the landmark theatres or historic residential districts. You were immature then and are immature now.
I also recommend that you go back to your midtown Detroit campus again today. It is a beautiful section of city and functioning more highly than it ever has in recent decades, with scores of new residents and new investment along the Woodward Avenue neighborhoods.
Michigan,my Michigan…If you seek a pleasant penninsula,look around you…Kelly O, you seem like the typical Art-Fag little rich girl caught up in the wonderland that the ghettos of Detroit inspire in those of you whose daddies supply the financial means to absorb.
Get a real perspective, ala Jack Kerouac, and travel the famed mitten and north ward to discover the ultimate white flight enclaves of Travis City, Charlevoix and Petosky…..See the blond baby makers and welfare queens of the east side of the state and don’t forget your wonderful motherland, the U.P., where knuckle dragging Neanderthals still exist and poverty and lack of a work ethic outshines Detroit.
Maybe that woolen cap you wore on your head in summer’s blazing heat, to be ever so stylish in hipster chic, fried your brain. Stay in Seattle until your daddies money runs out, bitch!
Thanks for the shout out to HFH on the Boulevard. Yes, we do loves us some blood gases.
Oh, and you owe us $2K.
@66
Travis,
As a ‘journalist’ I’m sure you know that the proper term is ‘drivel’ not ‘dribble’.
Look it up if you know how.
awesome feature…
Kelly O’s writing style is uniquely her own – she’s truly an original.
I wish I had a whole book of her stories to read. a few sentences in ‘drunk of the week’ just isn’t enough. more please!
to steviewondersgoodeye:
you’re a jerk.
@ 134, lighting a candle… I did know his name was Tyrone. I’m sad to hear he’s gone. I’ve looked for him every time I’ve ever been back over the past 13 years. I always wanted to check in, just see him….
He used to call my boyfriend “Red Bone!!”… ’cause he had red hair. “Red Bone an’ Tyrone!” He was an Old Soul. The kindest – the best kind of human.
Also, we were dorks. Poor kids. Not cool. No Mommy-Daddy money…
I’m sorry so many people think I’m trash-talking Detroit, present day.
These were just a handful of *MY* memories, from back in the 90’s. As a reckless stupid college kid…
I love Detroit. And always will.
While this article touches on very true aspects of the D, it seems to be naively written. But then again I wouldn’t put it past a Northern Michigan “cracker” to ride through Cass corridor just to see what the prostitutes will verbally hurl at you next…This is why we have so many issues being white in the D. We have all these creative types who come in and see the potential in all the blight, but we laugh and marginalize the culture that is already ingrained there…
@137 sludgedaddy
You are a moron. Try reading other comments before spewing your nonsense.
I’ve never been to Michigan. If you are a prime example of the type of person I would encounter there, I’ll stay far away, thanks.
Hey, Lachine’s just a suburb of Alpena.
I went to Maple Ridge Elementary myself after leaving Dearborn. I’m in Detroit now.
It’s great that you love Detroit, but throwing shit at people is sadistic and mean. I guess you were drunk though. And no, you didn’t need to drive drunk either. You should have learned the bus system or biked or asked one of your friends for a ride and gotten your car in the morning or even passed out at the party. Look up “teens killed in drunk driving accident gratiot” on Google. One of those kids was the brother of my friend who went to Alpena High School. You’re lucky your incident ended up just as an anecdote for the denizens of Seattle.
You did seem to miss out on everything that was and is happening to make the city better though. It sounds like you went to CCS. You can’t live here and miss out on the beauty and the energy and the chaos though.
My favorite part is your description of the dogs.
I also noticed that some of the cafes you mentioned don’t exist anymore. Alvin’s just reopened though.
@145. In case you wanted to know, your northern Michigan school doesn’t exist anymore either. RIP Maple Ridge School. Ella M. White Elementary lives on bitches!
Yeah I know. They just closed Long Rapids too. And Hunan’s belongs on the lake!
Kelly O. has a unique & compelling writing style. Her respect for Detroit is evident. I hope that she continues to write and share her perspective. I like her and I like Detroit. I am a native from the Midwest and now live in the Pacific Northwest. We are all the same. Location is just a place.
I love Detroit. And have a serious, respect for my fellow Detroiters. This is my home. My friend who recently moved out to the Seattle area, sent me this. And honestly, I don’t think the situation is that deep. Being from Detroit, you have a lot of pride being where you’re from. Because you work hard. And have a family, no matter where you go. Yes, there are a lot of bad things that can happen. But we are trying to make our home better. Such as with things like, The Heildelberg Project or Theatre Bizarre. And no matter where you go, you will always have the good and the bad. But if, you do go to Detroit you will feel a sense of community that I promise you can find no where else. So please, don’t necessarily jump to conclusions without actually experiencing it for yourself.