One Roll of Film in Detroit Michigan
February 25, 2008 Click on Thumbnails for Street Names
February 25, 2008 Click on Thumbnails for Street Names
| Copyright 2008 by Mike Rembis All Rights Reserved |
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On my way out of town one day, I
passed the exit to Interstate 94 at it's
Western terminus. You can't go any
further west on that highway than
Billings Montana. At that moment I had
reflected upon it's Eastern end - Port
Huron Michigan. To be a bit more
broad, I pondered mainly the area I-94
passes before it comes to a halt
across from Canada, Detroit Michigan.
I-94 cuts through the neighborhood I
grew up in. A giant ditch of four lane
concrete that separates Michigan
Avenue from McGraw Street. It was
here, standing at the Central Avenue
bridge, we looked down and saw
President Gerald Ford wave to us from
the motorcade as they sped into
downtown Detroit. Now, many years
later, only days after considering what
lies at both ends of this road, I was
flying into DTW, Detroit Metropolitan
Airport, and could see it below me
coursing past farms and the giant
Uniroyal tire that stands guard to
welcome visitors to our famed Motor
City - Detroit, the land of engines and
optimism.
The flight from Billings to Minneapolis
was crowded and beside me on all
sides were chattering women. This is
a sound I enjoy. I took no part in their
conversations and vague interest in
them as well, but their personable
tones soothed me. More of the same
from Minneapolis to Detroit. This time
the ladies nearby shared with each
other stories and even photos of their
children and pets. Many men I know
would have complained to no end
about the high-pitched gossipy torrent,
but not I. Hearing them delight in the
camaraderie of motherhood was just
what I needed to hear along with the
drone of the jet engines on that
particular day.
My hotel was quiet save for the guests
who turned up their TV from 11:00 to
midnight. No bother. Sleep did not
want me, not until later anyway. In the
morning, I visited my Mother before
heading into the neighborhood. Like a
car wreck, I did not want to see it as
badly as I wanted to look. Before I got
there I could only imagine what the
house looked like after the fire that
killed my sister.
When I lived in Tampa I volunteered at
the Red Cross. I went on fire calls and
awarded hotel, meal and clothing
vouchers to those hapless victims who
had lost everything. Fire is fast. And
quiet. And devastating. What amazed
me was the resilience of the people
this happened to. They may have
been in shock, but always seemed to
be as calm as if their car had a dead
battery and needed a jump. Never
much to say, I guess because there
was nothing to say. My Mom was the
same way. She wasn't home at the
time - she was at her chemotherapy
appointment.
Imagine that. Your house burning
down while you're at chemotherapy
and losing your child.
Like other fire victims she was
amazingly placid. She was grievous, of
course, but her story is completely
different from my Fathers'. He was
there. This incident for him was much
more fearsome than anything else he
had ever experienced.
My Father has the same frame as
myself, 5' 7", 200 lbs. 69 years old
with an iron will. Third degree burns
cover his head and hands. Sorrow
pours from him.
9:00 AM. In the bathroom, door shut.
In the front room of the house, Marian
slept on the couch or was watching TV.
Beside her a candle burned. A cat
roamed the house.
From inside the bathroom, he smelled
smoke, then opened the door to an
inferno. He reacted as any parent
would and rushed to save his daughter.
Marian's willpower was much stronger
than his. She froze in fear and did not
move. Dealing with the fire for her,
again, is a completely different story.
37 years old, 200 lbs., Marian had
Downs Syndrome. She was so strong
that he could not budge her. He tried.
He described flames on her back and
rushing to the sink to fill a pot of water
to douse her. He pulled as hard as he
could, her arms outstretched, he
begged her to flee.
At her last conscious moment he knew
it was too late and he saved himself.
He could not have carried her.
The coroner ruled that smoke
inhalation was indeed the cause of
death.
The butterfly effect is one tiny move
that starts a chain reaction. It's what
causes us to sneeze when we don't
know why. Perhaps a wisp of wind that
started miles away drifted into the
house that day and blew the curtain to
the flame. It may have been the poor
kitten my mother had adopted that
tipped the candle. What deadly sprite
sent a spark the wrong way? This we
will never know.
Detroit and what happened to it has
always held the same mystery for me.
Detroit is a French phrase, De Troit,
the straight. It describes how trappers
viewed the Detroit River 300 years
ago. The history of Detroit is one of
prosperity. We named cars, Cadillac,
Pontiac after a French explorer and a
native Chippewa chief. My
Grandfathers came to Detroit in the
30's and 40's to build these cars. It
was a great place to raise a family. My
parents met in the late 50's. In 1966
they bought a house across the street
from the house my father was born in.
That's where I grew up. I walked to
school for twelve years and at some
point it didn't feel safe anymore. The
murder rate in Detroit was the highest
in the nations history in 1977. The
next four years through high school I
walked quicker.
But what happened to Detroit? People
still drive cars, now more than ever. I
thought it was bad when I left in 1982,
but look at it now.
You must see this
www.mikerembis.com/Detroit
I took these pictures the day of
Marian's funeral. It wasn't this bad
when I was a kid, but now they say it's
the worst neighborhood in the city. In
my opinion it's the worst neighborhood
in the USA. I labeled the pictures by
their street or intersection. My
Mother's house is 7751 Smart, the
brown one with the boarded windows.
If you are from the neighborhood and
haven't seen it in a while, you may
recognize some houses, then again,
maybe not. I may have gotten mixed
up on Tarnow and Proctor and labeled
those photos incorrectly, but all of this
is within a one mile radius. One thing I
do know for sure, the store at Proctor
and Radcliffe has been abandoned my
entire life.
How does this happen? The short
answer is corruption according to
many Detroiters. In addition to reading
this newspaper article about the fire,
you can read three pages of opinions
by the locals. Some people directly
blame Detroit's Mayor Kwame
Kilpatrick for Marian's death.
www.freep.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AI
D=/20080227/COL27/802270364
It's not the Detroit I remember from the
1960's. I guess it started getting bad
when I saw the National Guard roll
down the street in tanks to quell the
riots in 1968. Yes, I remember that.
But I also remember days filled with
happiness. Cars looked cool. It was
safe to walk the street. A house fire
was a rare thing.
Now in the neighborhood, when a child
dies, stuffed animals are left in honor
of the victim where they lived. By the
day after the funeral it snowed and the
few teddy bears that appeared the day
before were joined by over a dozen
more. Little consolation for any loss,
but the heartfelt condolence is greatly
appreciated.
Marian used to carry around a piece of
plastic. She must have just liked the
texture in her hand. Not all the time,
but a lot, she would hold a plastic
Ziploc bag or a candy wrapper and just
carry it around all day. In the pew at
the church on the morning of the
funeral, my parents sat together and a
piece of plastic was mysteriously
stuffed into the bench before them. A
plain piece of nondescript clear plastic
that Marian would have carried around
with her. My Father mused it was her
saying goodbye and that as she
reached out in the fire, she wasn't
reaching out to him, but to God.
How else would that piece of plastic
have gotten there?
I didn't take pictures inside my
Mother's house. The ceiling caved in
where Marian died. Her brief visit with
us ended tragically and if you think too
much about it, you'll keep asking why
and still never get an answer, and that
can drive you nuts.
Like trying to figure out Detroit.
Detroit will never be the same, not in
our lifetimes. But when the snow falls
and blankets this scarred and dirty
slum, you get a glimpse of what it once
was, before it was destroyed.
passed the exit to Interstate 94 at it's
Western terminus. You can't go any
further west on that highway than
Billings Montana. At that moment I had
reflected upon it's Eastern end - Port
Huron Michigan. To be a bit more
broad, I pondered mainly the area I-94
passes before it comes to a halt
across from Canada, Detroit Michigan.
I-94 cuts through the neighborhood I
grew up in. A giant ditch of four lane
concrete that separates Michigan
Avenue from McGraw Street. It was
here, standing at the Central Avenue
bridge, we looked down and saw
President Gerald Ford wave to us from
the motorcade as they sped into
downtown Detroit. Now, many years
later, only days after considering what
lies at both ends of this road, I was
flying into DTW, Detroit Metropolitan
Airport, and could see it below me
coursing past farms and the giant
Uniroyal tire that stands guard to
welcome visitors to our famed Motor
City - Detroit, the land of engines and
optimism.
The flight from Billings to Minneapolis
was crowded and beside me on all
sides were chattering women. This is
a sound I enjoy. I took no part in their
conversations and vague interest in
them as well, but their personable
tones soothed me. More of the same
from Minneapolis to Detroit. This time
the ladies nearby shared with each
other stories and even photos of their
children and pets. Many men I know
would have complained to no end
about the high-pitched gossipy torrent,
but not I. Hearing them delight in the
camaraderie of motherhood was just
what I needed to hear along with the
drone of the jet engines on that
particular day.
My hotel was quiet save for the guests
who turned up their TV from 11:00 to
midnight. No bother. Sleep did not
want me, not until later anyway. In the
morning, I visited my Mother before
heading into the neighborhood. Like a
car wreck, I did not want to see it as
badly as I wanted to look. Before I got
there I could only imagine what the
house looked like after the fire that
killed my sister.
When I lived in Tampa I volunteered at
the Red Cross. I went on fire calls and
awarded hotel, meal and clothing
vouchers to those hapless victims who
had lost everything. Fire is fast. And
quiet. And devastating. What amazed
me was the resilience of the people
this happened to. They may have
been in shock, but always seemed to
be as calm as if their car had a dead
battery and needed a jump. Never
much to say, I guess because there
was nothing to say. My Mom was the
same way. She wasn't home at the
time - she was at her chemotherapy
appointment.
Imagine that. Your house burning
down while you're at chemotherapy
and losing your child.
Like other fire victims she was
amazingly placid. She was grievous, of
course, but her story is completely
different from my Fathers'. He was
there. This incident for him was much
more fearsome than anything else he
had ever experienced.
My Father has the same frame as
myself, 5' 7", 200 lbs. 69 years old
with an iron will. Third degree burns
cover his head and hands. Sorrow
pours from him.
9:00 AM. In the bathroom, door shut.
In the front room of the house, Marian
slept on the couch or was watching TV.
Beside her a candle burned. A cat
roamed the house.
From inside the bathroom, he smelled
smoke, then opened the door to an
inferno. He reacted as any parent
would and rushed to save his daughter.
Marian's willpower was much stronger
than his. She froze in fear and did not
move. Dealing with the fire for her,
again, is a completely different story.
37 years old, 200 lbs., Marian had
Downs Syndrome. She was so strong
that he could not budge her. He tried.
He described flames on her back and
rushing to the sink to fill a pot of water
to douse her. He pulled as hard as he
could, her arms outstretched, he
begged her to flee.
At her last conscious moment he knew
it was too late and he saved himself.
He could not have carried her.
The coroner ruled that smoke
inhalation was indeed the cause of
death.
The butterfly effect is one tiny move
that starts a chain reaction. It's what
causes us to sneeze when we don't
know why. Perhaps a wisp of wind that
started miles away drifted into the
house that day and blew the curtain to
the flame. It may have been the poor
kitten my mother had adopted that
tipped the candle. What deadly sprite
sent a spark the wrong way? This we
will never know.
Detroit and what happened to it has
always held the same mystery for me.
Detroit is a French phrase, De Troit,
the straight. It describes how trappers
viewed the Detroit River 300 years
ago. The history of Detroit is one of
prosperity. We named cars, Cadillac,
Pontiac after a French explorer and a
native Chippewa chief. My
Grandfathers came to Detroit in the
30's and 40's to build these cars. It
was a great place to raise a family. My
parents met in the late 50's. In 1966
they bought a house across the street
from the house my father was born in.
That's where I grew up. I walked to
school for twelve years and at some
point it didn't feel safe anymore. The
murder rate in Detroit was the highest
in the nations history in 1977. The
next four years through high school I
walked quicker.
But what happened to Detroit? People
still drive cars, now more than ever. I
thought it was bad when I left in 1982,
but look at it now.
You must see this
www.mikerembis.com/Detroit
I took these pictures the day of
Marian's funeral. It wasn't this bad
when I was a kid, but now they say it's
the worst neighborhood in the city. In
my opinion it's the worst neighborhood
in the USA. I labeled the pictures by
their street or intersection. My
Mother's house is 7751 Smart, the
brown one with the boarded windows.
If you are from the neighborhood and
haven't seen it in a while, you may
recognize some houses, then again,
maybe not. I may have gotten mixed
up on Tarnow and Proctor and labeled
those photos incorrectly, but all of this
is within a one mile radius. One thing I
do know for sure, the store at Proctor
and Radcliffe has been abandoned my
entire life.
How does this happen? The short
answer is corruption according to
many Detroiters. In addition to reading
this newspaper article about the fire,
you can read three pages of opinions
by the locals. Some people directly
blame Detroit's Mayor Kwame
Kilpatrick for Marian's death.
www.freep.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AI
D=/20080227/COL27/802270364
It's not the Detroit I remember from the
1960's. I guess it started getting bad
when I saw the National Guard roll
down the street in tanks to quell the
riots in 1968. Yes, I remember that.
But I also remember days filled with
happiness. Cars looked cool. It was
safe to walk the street. A house fire
was a rare thing.
Now in the neighborhood, when a child
dies, stuffed animals are left in honor
of the victim where they lived. By the
day after the funeral it snowed and the
few teddy bears that appeared the day
before were joined by over a dozen
more. Little consolation for any loss,
but the heartfelt condolence is greatly
appreciated.
Marian used to carry around a piece of
plastic. She must have just liked the
texture in her hand. Not all the time,
but a lot, she would hold a plastic
Ziploc bag or a candy wrapper and just
carry it around all day. In the pew at
the church on the morning of the
funeral, my parents sat together and a
piece of plastic was mysteriously
stuffed into the bench before them. A
plain piece of nondescript clear plastic
that Marian would have carried around
with her. My Father mused it was her
saying goodbye and that as she
reached out in the fire, she wasn't
reaching out to him, but to God.
How else would that piece of plastic
have gotten there?
I didn't take pictures inside my
Mother's house. The ceiling caved in
where Marian died. Her brief visit with
us ended tragically and if you think too
much about it, you'll keep asking why
and still never get an answer, and that
can drive you nuts.
Like trying to figure out Detroit.
Detroit will never be the same, not in
our lifetimes. But when the snow falls
and blankets this scarred and dirty
slum, you get a glimpse of what it once
was, before it was destroyed.