The two men sitting side by side couldn’t be more different.
One is a dignified former college professor who quit his university job so he could teach people how to read. The other is an animated ex-con, fresh out of jail, who visits the teacher every day just to [...]

Throughout Detroit there are still little libraries full of books that half the residents can’t even read.
Some dogs are house pets and some are strays. Then there are the unfortunate pooches who find themselves homeless because their owners live on the streets.
Hangouts come in many forms, from bars and barber shops to the stoop on a porch’s steps. No matter where they’re found, though, they’re all simply places where people can be around their friends.
“Does anybody here have a problem with taking a life?” asks 69-year-old General Laney, owner of Laney’s Guns and Supplies on Detroit’s east side. “If you’re not capable of taking a life then you’re not in the right place,” he warns, “’cause you might have to take a
Down by the river there’s a man living in a shanty.
Sleazy acts sometimes call for sleazy settings, and when people want to do sordid things they can’t do at home, they visit places like the Cabana Motel on Harper.
Akbar’s Restaurant is so off the beaten path the phone book can’t even get its name right. It’s listed as Akbar’s Coffee Shop, though it’s no such thing. “We’ve called them to tell them it’s wrong,” says Nittie Akbar, 66, who co-owns the place with husband James, “but
Death brought the birth of this little west side enterprise. And death sustains it.
In the life of some neighborhoods, a time comes when the social order falls apart, when the balance between those doing good things and those doing bad things shifts the wrong way, and the block becomes known as a place to do wrong.
There are simple things in life that many of us take for granted, things that aren’t as common for those in poverty, like dental care.
The food at El-Lynn’s Kitchen is so down home they serve grape Kool-Aid with their meals.
The main streets of the city are home to scores of little businesses with plain facades and without signs telling what they are, leaving no way of knowing at a glance what they hold inside.
In the heart of the city, little hidden gardens grow where they shouldn’t, high above us on the rooftops of buildings left empty years ago. Their summer up there flows with ours and fades just as fast when the air turns cool.
Six years ago, Glendale Stewart took a look at the world around him and decided to drop out of it. He quit working, bought an empty plot of land at a city auction, parked an old trailer on it, built a wood privacy fence around it and made
It’s a hot and sunny recent Friday afternoon, and a few men hide from the heat inside Bill’s Recreation, a pool room just south of Wayne State University’s campus. They’re playing a game called “Bank.”
For people growing up in poor neighborhoods in the city, nature is usually something ugly, little more than the weeds smothering fields or sprouting from sidewalk cracks.
You know those people who dress their dogs in sweaters and other miniature clothing, which rankles so many of us?
A few days back a bunch of kids, until unexpectedly interrupted, were atop an abandoned downtown skyscraper at night, throwing these thick, heavy pieces of the cornice onto its skylight, hoping for a spectacular crash through to the floor 15 feet beneath it. The blocks are two
He ambled half-naked down the middle of a main road, with long white whiskers and bushy white hair blowing away from his weatherworn face.
They were an odd sight — two clean-cut white kids wearing black pants and white shirts with neckties, wandering through the rubble of a burned-out house in the middle of a littered field on the east side of Detroit.
There’s an old building on lower Woodward whose interior could be part of a museum, but is instead just dirty floors in another empty high-rise.
Some places are like ghosts, not quite dead, not quite alive, but lingering between the two as faded shadows of their old selves.
Among the ugly houses and grassy blocks in an east side neighborhood is an old dollhouse of a home.
Brightmoor is like any other poor neighborhood in Detroit, with plenty of empty houses, empty stores and empty lots between it all. Many residents here are dirt poor, and though a few hundred low-income houses have gone up in little clusters in recent years, the neighborhood remains one
As spring turns to summer in Detroit, the riverfront becomes lined with anglers, their baited hooks sunk into the water, trying to fool fish into taking their last bite.
Last Friday, Woodward was lined with partiers spilling into the streets and cops trying to keep them in line. No, it wasn’t another shootout at Bleu. Or the old State. Or (insert Woodward club name here). It was the Red Wings victory parade!
From inside an old house in a bleak patch of the east side, Bilal Hajj delivers a message that proposes to transform the lives of the downtrodden.
There are times in life – at the end of a long bar crawl, for example – when you need a big, greasy meal in the middle of the night.
Some neighborhoods are nearly barren after their residents moved on, took what they could and left their houses to their fates. But little signs of their presence still remain in the wild, like driveways gobbled by grasses or stop signs where there?s no traffic anymore.
In Detroits fragile business climate, things can change in the blink of an eye.
As half the city’s residents moved away over the years, long stretches of Detroit’s main roads that were once packed with mom-and-pop businesses have become desolate and abandoned. What’s left now between empty lots are hundreds of closed little buildings, boarded up or broken into, reminders of how
In the old days, if you wanted porn you had to go buy it at a seedy store or watch it at a peep show among the raincoat crowd. Though most of them were put out of business by home media and the Internet, Detroit long a
As Black History Month came and went once again, a small, little-known museum dedicated to a local part of that history saw few visitors and little attention.
When a neighborhood empties and its buildings are locked shut, they freeze a moment in time inside. There are countless places like this around town, sealed tombs holding the decaying remains of the citys history.
Behind closed doors, in the privacy of their homes, there are Detroiters out there performing magic rituals and trying to cast spells to get what they cant get otherwise.
While small record and CD stores are vanishing as digital media takes over, one little shop on Detroits west side still thrives by selling music in handheld form.
It was Christmastime, and the little chocolate shop had been making holiday candies for a while now. Yet its display cases were meagerly stocked, with empty shelves outnumbering those that were carefully arranged with pretty candies.
As they have done every holiday season for 75 years, the Detroit Popcorn Company just finished churning out thousands of decorative tins full of flavored popcorn. But this past Christmas was the last time they were made in Detroit.
Sometimes while driving through the neighborhoods for other reasons you find odd things that add up to little glimpses of life in the forgotten parts of Detroit. Here are a few random ones:
Its time again for the North American International Auto Show press days, that swarming mass of auto execs, journalists in a hunt for gratuities, and freestanding models, all crammed into cramped Cobo Hall like tenement dwellers because L. Brooks is selfishly keeping the otherwise willing residents of Oakland
In Delray’s south end, where dying neighborhoods border the river’s edge, a ramshackle home stands out among the empty fields.
The best Christmas displays in the city are usually on houses in the well-to-do areas like the University District, Indian Village or Palmer Woods. In contrast, whole blocks in the citys impoverished neighborhoods remain unlit through the holidays. Poor people often cant afford flashy holiday displays, and some
With all the higher-tech options everywhere, it’s endearing that, even today, inserting a hand into a sock and pretending it can talk enchants children, who happily suspend disbelief and become entranced by the puppets brought to life before them.
Of all the people to find behind the counter at an antique store, most people wouldn’t expect to see two gruff, retired Detroit firefighters. Norm Smith, 65, and Joe Bozich, 69, owners of Junque Shop Antiques on Michigan Avenue near Central, are well aware of the prevailing stereotypes.
Death begins in the colon, reads the sign on the door of the Community Health Hut, on the corner of Wyoming and Eight Mile. A more arresting slogan would be hard to imagine.
Hats off Detroit! Thats was the Thanksgiving Day parade slogan this year! Excitement expressed through exclamation! In that spirit, a fitting recap! We found a parade viewing spot in front of the bleachers! A security guard then said get the hell out! So much for that!
Some guys are simply cool cats, and 76-year-old Detroiter Kasuku Mafia is one man who’s brimming with throwback hipness.
In the world of hip hop, calling someone a clown seems like it would be a major dis. But for Detroit artist DeMarcus Hughes, it’s a compliment.
Detroit is a city of bars. Over the years a lot of businesses and people have left, but there are still lots of places to drink here, hundreds of little dive bars whose customers live in the surrounding blocks and are a reflection of a neighborhood’s composition and
On a chilly Sunday, an organ plays a somber hymn during Mass at an old Catholic church in Delray, in southwest Detroit. The words of the priest echo through the mostly empty wooden pews. A handful of elderly parishioners sit solemly, some teary-eyed, all dutifully present to witness
Posts slowing to a trickle recently? Guilty. Autumn laziness creeping in? Jaccuse! Events temporarily slowing blog things down? Bingo.
While some main streets in Detroit are almost a graveyard of defunct mom-and-pop businesses, a handful of old shops still dot the landscape, having survived the changes the city has gone through, continuing their traditions and somehow thriving despite the chaos around them.
There arent many bookstores in Detroit. In a city where statistically half the population cant even read, theres not much demand for the written word.
It would be difficult to find a more unfortunate spot for an elderly man’s small business than a storefront in a crackwhore motel. But thats where 80-year-old Joe Castiglione and his barber shop have persevered for 51 years, in a little storefront facing Eight Mile Road, connected to
The city contains hundreds of neat little places; small stores or restaurants or shops tucked deep inside neighborhoods, too small for advertising budgets or media attention, which get by on their owners’ devotion, loyal regulars and word of mouth.
Minnie’s Cakes, a tiny bakery on the city’s west side, can be accurately summed up like this: it’s basically someone’s grandma in a small kitchen baking delicious little cakes for everyone.
On a blown-out stretch of Grand River, where the street was long ago stripped of life, a muraled building dappled with shards of mirrors hints at the unique things inside.
Detroit, it seems, has always been a city of eccentrics and artists who can express themselves comfortably here, with few real restrictions or worries about code enforcement. Outside of downtown, the rest of Detroit’s still the kind of place where you can paint an abandoned bus in polka
For much of its history, Detroit was a patchwork of ethnic neighborhoods, each consisting largely of immigrants from a single place. Whole sections of the city were Italian, Polish, Hungarian, or Jewish, among others. As immigrants flooded these neighborhoods and solidified their particular character, churches, stores, social clubs
The riot whose scars are still visible throughout the city began 40 years ago this Monday, on July 23, 1967, when police raided an after-hours bar located atop a printing shop at 9125 12th Street at Clairmount, and all hell broke loose.
In an age when bars often jam the walls with faux historical trinkets, load the shelves with fancy liquors, serve a few dozen dishes and stick a wide-screen TV on the wall, you don’t often find one that strips all that down to the basics of beer, a
Some things in Detroit pass so far under the radar they’re in danger of vanishing for lack of support.
Without major furniture chains within the city limits, Detroiters have traditionally had two choices: stores that sell used items in varying degrees of wornness or stainedness. or else places offering contemporary but gaudy items for people who want to force their visitors to acknowledge their appalling taste.
In a city packed with Soul Food shacks, Mama’s Place on Seven Mile stands out by offering both down-home, southern-style food and a clean place to eat it.
It’s now time for detroitblog’s summer guide!
Whether you’re a downtown office worker on their lunch hour or part of the brown-bagged bottle crowd on a permanent lunch break, the Greening of Detroit Park, on Jefferson between St. Aubin and Rivard, offers a nice little haven of flowers and trees in the middle of downtown’s
Sure, eBay’s fancy and convenient and all, but sometimes, when you’re shopping for miscellany, nothing beats looking at and pawing potential purchases up close.
Detroit is nothing if not a down-home city. The hordes of southern blacks and Appalachian whites who flooded this city seeking auto jobs during the past century have given a distinctly southern air to Detroit, from the southern accents still common among older Detroiters to the homestyle and
In 1961, when Detroit’s beautiful
Everybody loves a parade, unless it’s in southwest Detroit, apparently.
The building had been crawling with junkies, alcoholics, ex-convicts and homeless people. And that was before the building was abandoned.
Check out what I’ve got - a catalogue of the
I could sum up this story with the mad scramble from the burglar alarm while wearing a woman’s wig. Or the part where the burly weirdo who’d watched us get in the building stood outside and menacingly stared straight up at us for what seemed like forever. Or
Before it was the repository for the city’s derelicts, Cass Corridor was actually a genteel area of small, modified Victorian and Queen Anne residences in the early part of the 20th century, before downtown swelled and swallowed its bordering neighborhoods, and commercial buildings began replacing homes.
Cass Corridor looks bleak enough from the ground, but the scattered buildings and wandering people belie the true degree of its emptiness. Seen from up high, though, its desolation becomes obvious.