Going Home

Too many to personally thank now

As Thanksgiving approached two years ago, I was able to thank everybody involved with the work in and around Fletcher Field, fewer than 50 people, in a single blog post.

Less than a week before Thanksgiving 2009, I couldn't possibly guess how many folks have put their hand prints on this project.

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Thanksgiving baskets and a tree lighting

This Friday at 7 p.m. we will be at the old Holy Name convent, now the multipurpose building for Shield of Faith, putting together Thanksgiving baskets.

Our hope is to provide a turkey and all the trimmings to at least 25 needy families in the area around SOF and Fletcher Field.

If you would like to donate to the cause, please email SOF minister Imogene Johnson at wdjohnson0742@sbcglobal.net, or you can simply drop off nonperishable items or cash donations at the church on Friday.

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Gremlins at Fletcher Field

The dreams about Fletcher Field and the neighborhood come less frequently now than when I first returned there in the summer of 2007.

Back then, I was often haunted by nightmares of the blighted area -- young children traipsing through the weeds and skeletons of playground equipment in what was once the centerpiece of the neighborhood. At least twice a week, I would wake up in a cold sweat and have trouble shaking off the images so I could get back to sleep.

Last night, for the first time in months, my dreams took me home again. But this wasn't really a nightmare. Fletcher Field was as it is now -- a beautiful, safe place for children to play and dream about better tomorrows.

In my dream, I had stopped by the park as I sometimes do just to check on the place, honestly, to see if any vandalism or illegal dumping had happened there. I stood near my usual perch at Fletcher, the little barbecue on the west side of the park, just south of Mt. Olivet Street.

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Our pet teachers

Mr. Moser, Mrs. Schalk, Sister Ann Kathleen.

Those were just some of the names being tossed around during a Friends of Fletcher Field meeting last night, when we started to talk about our favorite teachers at Holy Name.

The reason for the conversation is that we're thinking about honoring former H.N. teachers during the third annual Holy Name reunion, which is scheduled for Saturday, March 20, 2010, 7 p.m. at Lakeland Banquet & Event Center in St. Clair Shores.

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Watching 'Sesame Street' from Dobel Street

Can you tell me how to get ... how to get to Sesame Street?

With a state-of-the-art (for 1970) rotary antenna attached to the top of our chimney at 8271 Dobel, "Sesame Street" was a pretty easy find for me as child: PBS Channel 56.

Depending on the cloud cover and wind, sometimes Big Bird, Oscar The Grouch and Cookie Monster were a little fuzzy to the eye, but they were always food for the mind and fun to watch over a bowl of Fruit Loops in the morning.

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What's wrong with these pictures?

I can't decide what was the more unsettling sight:

The disheveled guy I saw walking down Gratiot last week, pushing a shopping cart with all his worldly possessions inside of it.

Or the woman I saw in Los Angeles on Thursday, dressed to the hilt and pushing her dog -- which was much bigger than Paris Hilton's purse-size pooch -- in a fancy stroller.

Wonder what would happen if their paths crossed. Would dog-stroller woman help out shopping-cart man?

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L.A. hasn't burned down

I got off the plane yesterday half expecting to find most of Los Angeles on fire.

That's what it looked like from the video footage and doomsday commentary I saw Tuesday on television anyway.

Funny thing, when I've told people from L.A. that Detroit is my hometown, they seemed surprised that anybody still lives in Motown. They say that from what they've seen on TV, they perceived all of Michigan as hell on earth.

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Sticking around the old neighborhood

I left The Detroit News yesterday, started a new job today and am headed to L.A. soon for some training.

Life is good for me. But it's still not so good for the kids on Dobel Street.

That's why it matters not where I go professionally; it just matters that we stay put in the old neighborhood and stick up for the kids who need a voice.

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Community treat

It was like the days of yore on the northeast corner of Mack and Brys in Grosse Pointe Woods Saturday night.

A bonfire raged in a portable pit on the front lawn while about a dozen adults from the neighborhood sat around the hearth, drinking sodas and spirits, and handing out candy to young trick-or-treaters.

You could feel the warmth as you approached the house, not just from the fire, but from the people themselves, who were clearly enjoying the company, and welcoming the kids with smiles and compliments on their costumes. Better yet, they offered each adult passerby a beer treat for stopping by with the kids.

This wasn't the only stop that felt old-school comfortable. Most of the folks I met while accompanying my kids on their trick-or-treat trek were remarkably jovial, generous with their treats and conversation, and seemed to take as much as they gave from the experience.

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Headless Horseman at Holy Name

Each mid-October when the Detroit Public Library Bookmobile made its stop at Holy Name, I tried to nab the book before any of my classmates could.

It contained two of Washington Irving's classic stories: "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" and "Rip Van Winkle."

Fittingly, "Rip Van Winkle" put me to sleep. But "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" was and still is one of my favorite tales of the Halloween season.

I used to imagine myself in poor Ichabod Crane's saddle, trying to get away from the galloping black stallion ridden by the headless beast who held the horse's reins in one hand and a fiery jack-o-lantern in the other. Before too long, my pulse would race faster than the stallion's pace as I anticipated my, err, Ichabod's horrifying demise.

In October 1974, the Headless Horseman nearly did kill me -- and my father was his accomplice.

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Belle Isle 'Soul of the City'

From July 18 through Oct. 10, the Detroit Historical Museum played host to an exhibit on Belle Isle. This was the second time this decade that the Friends of Belle Isle were asked to put together an exhibit for them. The last one was in 2001 and focused on the tradition and history of the island. The 2009 exhibit focused on the present and future preservation of Belle Isle, using the theme "Soul of the City".

The theme was selected on the concept that when people visit Belle Isle it becomes a part of them, and they are drawn back again and again for fun, meditation and celebrations. Memories made there stay with you.

Friends of Belle Isle (FOBI) was the logical choice to create this type of exhibit since its mission is to promote the preservation of the natural beauty, restoration and preservation of historical sites and the adaptive use of existing structures on the island for the enjoyment and use by all people.

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A Hall of Fame day

I've talked with several people about Sunday's Treats 'n Trunks at the park and we all agree that what took place there belongs in the Hall of Fame of Friends of Fletcher Field events.

The fall colors around the park are breathtaking.

As for why we made that determination, well, none of us could pinpoint it quickly.

Yes, the weather was grand and the turnout was great. But we've had better weather and bigger turnouts for events at the park before and yet, at the end of the day, we didn't feel like we did Sunday.

For me, two things stand out:

First, since a major portion of the neighborhood surrounding the park has gone back to nature, which is showing off its fabulous fall colors right now, the scenery around Fletcher Field was absolutely breathtaking and served as a friendly Halloween mask for the horrifying blight in the area. No kidding, the setting made it feel like northern Michigan, not Detroit's east side.

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It's not the end

It's absolute in the movies. After the final scene, the credits roll and then it's the end -- unless, of course, there's a sequel.

But real life is more abstract. The lines are fuzzy, often making it difficult to determine beginnings from endings and vica versa.

One thing is certain: My days are coming to an end at The Detroit News. That does not mean, however, the end of this blog.

After talking to my boss yesterday, we came to an agreement to leave the blog as is, here, with me as its primary author, at least through Dec. 31, 2009. There's also a good chance that deadline could be extended.

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Behind the grill and loving it -- just like my grandmothers

Lunch for 200? No problem.

Both of my grandmothers loved to cook and were versatile enough to compete with the finest chefs in Europe and the best short-order cooks New York City has to offer.

Each could satisfy a table of one with a grilled cheese sandwich and a piping hot bowl of chicken soup in less than 15 minutes. Just as easy, they could prepare traditional Polish fare -- sausage and sauerkraut, potato and cheese pierogi, golabki (stuffed cabbage) -- for the entire Holy Name congregation in a single afternoon.

When I took leave from the U.S. Navy back in the mid-1980s, I always got dinner invitations from my grandmothers.

Grandma Lemanski made me golabki -- until the day I finally had the nerve to tell her I hated cabbage. From that day forward she served me my favorite dish -- spaghetti and meatballs -- and her famous banana-nut cake with buttermilk frosting for dessert.

Grandma Happy often surprised me with homemade pierogi, which she meticulously shaped and stuffed despite having debilitating arthritis in her hands. She then sent me home with two dozen more to support my pierogi habit until my leave ended.

Audio slideshow: 2009 Treats 'n Trunks at Fletcher Field

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Another Fletcher Field treat

I went into the weekend feeling somewhat uneasy and nostalgic, but went to bed Sunday thinking nothing but happy thoughts.

Everything went great for Sunday's Treats 'n Trunks at Fletcher Field: The weather was perfect; the turnout (at least 150) was terrific; the kids, all us really, had a wonderful time.

Nearly the entire park side of Mt. Olivet was parked up from Gilbo to French Road, the vehicles creatively decorated for the season. One featured hippies, peace signs and an advertisement for suspicious brownies. Another posed as a dentist office with human dental floss and the tooth fairy handing out candy. My favorite, a Detroit Public Library book mobile replica, belonged to Bob and Lee (Harding) Walmsley.

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Fletcher Field fall finale

Please come on out to Fletcher Field this afternoon, 2 p.m., for our third annual Treats 'n Trunks.

It's a gorgeous day, the Lions have a bye week and Fox 2 News is scheduled to come by to do a story.

CLICK HERE for details, and see you later!

CLICK HERE for directions to the park.

A murky future

I can't help but feel somewhat uneasy and nostalgic going into the weekend.

At the very least, my life is about to drastically change. Next week is my last at The Detroit News, and I'm struggling with it -- leaving a paper I delivered as a boy to the folks on Pinehurst and Huntington in Roseville.

I'm also struggling with what to do about Fletcher Field, the F3 group who supports the park and the kids who play there, and this blog.

Frankly, the neighborhood around the park continues to suffer a long, painful death, and so many kids have moved out of the area since we started this back in the summer of 2007. Some Sundays over the past summer, the place felt like a ghost town.

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Crud remedy

I woke up this morning with the post-marathon crud: fever, chills, aches and hacks. Or perhaps it's the swine flu.

Whatever it is, I'm certainly not happy about having it thriving in my body, which needs to go back to bed.

Anyway, I opened my email and found this from a friend in the old neighborhood who said to spread the word to others.

Life is short, break the rules, forgive quickly, kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably, and never regret anything that made you smile.

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Getting ready for the holidays

The local CVS is already winding down its Halloween sales and putting out its Christmas merchandise. Radio station WNIC is getting ready to go "all Christmas all the time" again. And did you see the snow up in New England during the Patriots' rout of the Titans this past Sunday?

Last year's living nativity at Fletcher Field.

Yup, it's beginning to look a lot like ... well, at least it's time to start thinking about the holiday season.

Shield of Faith minister Imogene Johnson is way ahead of the game. She has reserved Gunther the camel and some other animals from a local petting farm for the afternoon of Dec. 5, when we will attempt to put on our second annual living nativity.

Last year, we held the event at Fletcher Field on a cold, blustery, snowy day. This year, we might hold it on the grounds of SOF, formerly Holy Name of Jesus Catholic Church, to get some shelter from inclement weather.

Wherever the living nativity is held, we could sure use your help. Our little group is running on fumes these days, and some fresh fuel would be a blessing.

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On a prayer after losing wings

My wing men left me way too early during Sunday's Detroit Free Press Marathon.

The start.

One fell off our pace at about the 9-mile mark, just after we reentered the United States through the The Detroit-Windsor Tunnel. The other bowed out at the halfway point, 13.1 miles. He had warned me 11 miles in that he was struggling (he ran the Chicago Marathon a week earlier) and wouldn't be able to go the distance.

I didn't know what to do.

Less than six months removed from major neck surgery and hardly in shape to run 26-plus miles, I initially thought that I should quit, too, stop at 13.1 miles and try to feel good about being able to run that far. It seemed stupid to attempt the hardest part of the race on my own. What would I do if I came up lame at 19 miles and was all by myself?

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Running without fear

Fear is a terrible thing to embrace.

At the very least, it keeps us from living up to our full potential. At worst, it prevents us from getting out of bed at all.

Me, far left, crossing the line in 2008.

With the 2009 Detroit Free Press Marathon less than 24 hours away, I was thinking about my first marathon, also in Detroit, back in 2003. What a disaster.

I told my family to expect me at the finish about 4 hours after the start. I was 1 1/2 hours late, crawled over the line just before they left Ford Field to search for me.

My training had gone pretty well, but I went into the race scared to death. I didn't sleep at all the night before, and was literally gagging as I stood there waiting for the starting cannon to fire.

I wasted so much energy fretting about the run, how it was going to feel, I didn't have enough left in the tank to end it well -- and ended up in bed for 14 hours after the race.

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The trees turn one and another run

From time to time, I go back in time, scroll through the posts on this blog to see where we've been -- and where we hoped to be going.

One of the trees at the park during the Sept. 20 barbecue.

I was doing so this morning when I noticed that our trees at Fletcher Field have made it through the first year; with the assistance of Greening of Detroit and many others, we planted the 25 young trees at the park almost a year ago to the day.

It's going to take many more years to finally get some natural shade at Fletcher Field, but at least the roots are there for future spots to sit under and daydream during those hot August afternoons.

I also noticed this morning what my thoughts were on running the 2008 Detroit Free Press Marathon for the children in my old neighborhood. I liked what I said at the time and offer those same words to you today as I get ready to run again on Sunday:

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Energy crisis ends

The Friends of Fletcher Field reconvened last night after a nearly month-long hiatus.

As I've stated over and over again on this blog, there's a ton of energy in this group, but the events of Sept. 20 -- a benefit run at Mt. Olivet Cemetery followed by the third annual barbecue at the park -- caused a brief energy crisis.

The lights are back on, though, and we're moving forward on our next event:

Sunday, Oct. 25, 2 p.m. is our third annual Treats 'n Trunks at Fletcher Field. This has been a blast each of the past two years and we expect nothing less next weekend.

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Ram wannabe charges Detroit

Last week, while Rush Limbaugh continued his effort to buy a portion of the NFL's St. Louis Rams, perhaps as many as 50,000 desperate Detroiters rushed Cobo Hall in an attempt to get some federal assistance to keep their heat on this winter.

So what did Limbaugh do from his warm, wealthy, lofty perch?

Like a middle linebacker maddened by steroids, he took cheap shots at the city and the president who tried to help its citizens.

My colleague Laura Berman scolded Limbaugh and his proponents over the weekend with a must-read column, "Rush-ing to judgment: National commentators don't understand Detroit's plight."

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Pocket pickers

I'm tired of seeing people get ripped off -- especially when we're all pinching pennies just to get by.

So this morning, after getting scammed for a second time in as many weeks, I gave the attendant at the Zazz! gas station on Harper in St. Clair Shores an earful.

A week ago, I paid 10 cents more a gallon than the station's billboard said it would cost me, but I let it go at the time, thinking to myself that the price might have risen before the attendant had a chance to change the sign.

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A change of venue

Change is inevitable and often for the good, but from the vantage point of 8271 Dobel ... well ... show me the good.

As it was from the very beginning -- when I used those words in an audio slideshow describing my childhood neighborhood -- change has been the focal point of this blog and the work being done at Fletcher Field and the surrounding neighborhood.

We changed some attitudes, the park and, hopefully, the path of at least one child who was heading in the wrong direction.

Today, I have to tell you about a change of direction for me. I have decided to leave The Detroit News in early November to pursue other things.

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They didn't win and it's a shame

I'm a 45-year-old man with a wife, three kids, two dogs, two cats, two turtles and three fish.

I have middle-age-man problems this morning: Stacks of bills, less-than-stellar job security, a new-found oil leak in our clunker van, one kid who thinks he can get by in school by being the class clown ... My list goes on and on, as does yours.

Still, all I can think about right now is a baseball game.

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Swing away

If you were playing for the Detroit Tigers today, would you want the ball?

Would you want to be the starting pitcher in the team's biggest game since 2006?

Would you want to come to the plate, trailing by a run, with the bases loaded and two outs in the top of the ninth?

Would you want to try to close out the Twins with a one-run lead in the bottom of the ninth?

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A new teaching assignment

I used to be painfully shy and extremely nervous when talking to a group of more than five. Honestly, the mere thought of it made me gag.

I'm still somewhat of an introvert, but when it comes to talking about this blog, the work we've done at Fletcher Field and the Friends of Fletcher Field community we've established, you can't shut me up.

When I get rolling, I'm like Bishop Jennings during a Sunday sermon at Shield of Faith.

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A little boost

A Tigers victory today will do nothing to change the face of Detroit's neighborhoods.

Win or lose, when we wake up tomorrow, the lot at 8271 Dobel -- and thousands of others across the city -- will remain vacant eyesores. Hundreds of parks will still need the grass cut and be without playground equipment. The schools will continue to be way less than any kid deserves.

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Go get 'em, Tigers!

When the remnants of the 1968 World Series championship Detroit Tigers, led by manager Billy Martin, won the American League East title in '72 and faced off against the Oakland A's in the A.L.C.S., I was in the third grade at Holy Name and already hopelessly hooked on Abner Doubleday's Divine-inspired creation.

I loved baseball, the Tigers and their home on Michigan and Trumbull even more than the park on the corner of Dobel and Mt. Olivet, Fletcher Field, which helped to inspire this blog.

My dad was an Al Kaline fan. So, naturally, Willie Horton was my guy, and I would go nuts each and every time Willie found the green upper-deck seats in left field at Tiger Stadium.

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Boblo boat St. Claire still afloat

While so much around us spins out of control and eventually funnels down the drain like an unfortunate spider caught in the tub at bath time, it's nice to know that some things that really matter to us are being spared the whirlpool of death.

In today's Detroit Free Press, reporter John Gallagher updates us on the fate of the Boblo boat Ste. Claire, which is being restored at a U.S. Steel Co. facility in Ecorse. "A labor of love on our Boblo boat" says that Ste. Claire, which was built in 1910 and carried millions of fun-seekers from Detroit to Boblo Island over eight decades, might even be ready for dockside tours in the city next year.

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Simple acts, great rewards

Next time you're faced with a chance to do the right thing but, for some reason, find yourself waffling, consider this column by Neal Rubin in today's Detroit News:

Metro Detroiters reap benefits of reaching out to strangers

and the final quote in the column, which comes from John Higgins of Dearborn:

The best things in life involve loving each other. We're supposed to know that already, but sometimes it's nice to be reminded.

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The seven sign hangers

The world might never know the answer to a question posed in a 1970s TV commercial: How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?

I can tell you with certainty, though, how many people it took to hang the new Fletcher Field sign at the park last Saturday.

Seven.

Five on the ground and two on top of Jim (Kustarz) Morey's van. Yes, we both made it down intact and no worse for the climb.

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Time's take on Detroit

Often the voice of reason must come from an outsider because those of us too close to the situation can't -- or don't want to -- see the truth.

Daniel Okrent of "Time Magazine" isn't quite an outsider. He grew up in Detroit, only to leave for greener pastures. But he's back now, if only for a while, and is writing about his hometown.

His first offering in a "Time Magazine" series about our city came out yesterday. "Detroit: The Death — and Possible Life — of a Great City" is a good read and does a great job of explaining how we got to this low point in our history and how we might climb back from it.

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Is Belle Isle still a jewel for Detroit to cherish?

Our beautiful Belle Isle Park is often referred to as a "jewel." Detroiters have cherished this jewel for years, and I personally feel that this is a true statement.

I have seen the island when it looked rather trashy, but lately, I have seen this jewel shining better than ever.

Over my many visits to the island this summer, I have seen it looking cleaner than ever. The city crews have been working hard to keep it that way. The Friends of Belle Isle (FOBI) contributed funds to post signs with rules for the island and conducted an annual clean up on the last Saturday in April.

On behalf of FOBI, I recently narrated a bus tour for a group of ladies from the Bloomfield area who could not stop complimenting the island on its beauty and cleanness. Yes, there were a few pieces of trash around, but not many.

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It's the real thing

Roberta Henrion, president of Friends of Belle Isle, stopped by Fletcher Field Sunday evening.

Click photo for audio slideshow of Sunday's barbecue.

Over the past several months, I've been talking with Roberta about posting to this blog, attempting to use the Fletcher Field blueprint -- bringing former and current residents of the city together -- to work on problems and eyesores on Belle Isle.

We're giving it a try, and Lori Feret, a FOBI board member, rolled out her first post earlier this month.

Sunday I found out that Roberta didn't totally believe what was happening at Fletcher Field. When she arrived at the park, she admitted: "I wanted to come by and make sure this wasn't some kind of fantasy."

Yup, it's the real thing, and here's even more proof of Cochise the horse and all the rest of Sunday's festivities:

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The trash man

I spotted a man digging through the trashcans near the baseball diamond at Fletcher Field on Saturday evening.

He was picking out beer cans thrown out by workers from the nearby MichCon plant, which had sponsored a softball tournament at the park the night before. The man collected about a dozen cans worth just over a dollar in deposits -- not even enough to purchase a gallon of gas for the beat-up Jalopy he had left running on Mt. Olivet Street.

I was sitting on the bleachers near third base, watching Bob Walmsley drag the diamond with his SUV in preparation for the next day's festivities at the park. I had with me a stack of fliers for the third annual barbecue because I was getting ready to walk through the neighborhood to hand them out to area residents.

I got up and approached the man, whose outfit (torn, tattered and dirty everything) perfectly fit the role of garbage-picker. He eyed me with caution at first but quickly let down his guard when I handed him a flier and invited him to the barbecue. He smiled, thanked me for the invite and shook my hand before grabbing his bag of cans and heading back to his car.

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Just another ordinary day

I'd love to tell you about a life-changing moment, that something so powerful and miraculous happened Sunday that it rocked the world.

But I witnessed no such moment.

That's not to say the benefit run at Mt. Olivet Cemetery and the third annual barbecue at Fletcher Field were duds. On the contrary, they were at least a stick of dynamite apiece. I went to bed smiling last night thinking about the blown-out smiles on kids' faces as they petted Cochise, the majestic horse that stood watch at the park as part of the Detroit Mounted Police.

What really blows my mind, though, is this: What was considered extraordinary at Fletcher Field two years ago has become downright ordinary today.

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This is the moment

All I can say is, Fletcher Field -- which features a big, beautiful new nameplate this morning -- looks great and is more than ready to play host to the third annual Friends of Fletcher Field barbecue and softball game.

We finished sprucing up the park yesterday evening, then went over to the cemetery to prepare the course for the first annual Mt. Olivet Cemetery Sunrise Run for Fletcher Field, which takes place at 8 a.m., right before the barbecue at the park.

The weather is supposed to be phenomenal, as will both events. Hope to see you all there.

Still in the family

Raise your hand if you bought your first new car at Ver Hoven Chevrolet, on the southeast corner of Van Dyke and McNichols?

That's what I thought. You and your father and grandfather spent time in the Ver Hoven showroom, too, checking out the latest models, sniffing that new car smell and living the Motor City dream.

Now raise your hand if you knew that the current business in the old Ver Hoven building, Metro 25 Tire, is a decedent of Ver Hoven Chevrolet.

Yup, the building, as it has been for decades, remains in the family, and Tony Greiner wants you to know that they never left. In fact, they'll be helping us out at the Fletcher Field barbecue this weekend, grilling up and serving nearly 1,000 hot dogs.

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A horse, of course, at Fletcher Field

And now for something completely different ...

Just like Monty Python did during its "Flying Circus" days, we like to keep it fresh at Fletcher Field when it comes to our annual barbecue.

The Detroit Mounted Police will be at Fletcher Field for Sunday's barbecue.

Sunday, beginning at 11 a.m., we will be at Fletcher for the third consecutive year, celebrating the park's continued existence, the children who play there today, and the adults who used to play there and decided to go back in an effort to make a difference.

Recapturing the energy of the first barbecue, on Sept. 8, 2007, would be impossible. Trying to duplicate the family-like atmosphere from a year ago, Sept. 6, 2008, will be hard.

But, like every event Friends of Fletcher Field has held during the past two-plus years, it will be a spectacle -- and different.

Two things for sure will stand out:

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'Too good to be real'

At our worst, we can annihilate an entire city with a single bomb. At our best, we can create such beautiful music that even a believer in Santa Claus doubts that it came from this world.

My 5-year-old daughter, Amanda, still believes in Santa ... his workshop at the North Pole ... that he has the ability to visit the home of every child on the planet in a single night ... using a giant sleigh as transportation .... with a red-nosed, flying reindeer leading the way.

But she wouldn't believe it when her mother, my wife, Shannon, told her last night at Detroit Opera House that the music during a performance of "The Phantom of the Opera" was coming from the pit in front of the stage, that it wasn't a CD playing; human beings were playing instruments.

"It's too good to be real," Amanda told Shannon.

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Small airports in trouble

"I would say I understand why everyone wants to be on the aviation map, but you have to ask, 'Is this the best expenditure of the public dollar?' said former airline executive Michael E. Levine in a washingtonpost.com article last August.

In that article, "Struggling to Stay Aloft," Levine, now a researcher and lecturer at New York University School of Law, went on to describe efforts to expand and bolster small airports as "pretty classic regional pork," especially when they are within a few hours' drive of bigger airports.

An article in Today's Detroit News, "Willow Run faces turbulent outlook," would seem to solidify Levine's claim that investing in small air fields doesn't make much sense anymore.

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Easter Sunday is coming

Yvette Gerace called me last Monday and got an earful.

Feeling the pressure of having two major events -- the Mt. Olivet Sunrise Run for Fletcher Field and a barbecue to follow at the park -- on the horizon, I was starting to crack a little. The run in particular was testing my patience.

Simply to stage the thing, it's going to cost about $1,100. As of a week ago, we had only a few sponsors and were facing the prospect of actually losing money on an event that was supposed to help the park and the children who play there.

So I was testy on the phone with Yvette, a former resident of the Fletcher Field neighborhood who has been on board with this project since October 2007, even though she didn't deserve it. She is part of the solution, not the problem, and had called just to see how things were going and to ask if I could attend a meeting with her later in the week.

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9-11 again

What would Paul Revere have done?

One if by land ... two if by sea ... NO FREAKIN' WAY! THEY DIDN'T PAY ME ENOUGH FOR THIS!

That was the bizarre thought I had when, while brushing the scum off my teeth this morning, it struck me that it was Sept. 11 -- the eighth anniversary of the attacks carried out on this country by the scum of the earth.

I still can't fully grasp what took place that awful day and how the incredible sense of community we all felt after the attack fell apart almost as quickly as the towers in Lower Manhattan.

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Screaming headlines a cry for help

Just like the erratic play of the 2009 Tigers, my mood goes up and down, backward and forward when it comes to Detroit.

I know what I see on summer Sunday afternoons at Fletcher Field: intelligent, funny, talented city kids who soak up any attention they can get. It tells them that some people DO care about them, giving them hope for a better future.

It tells us, those who went back to our former east side neighborhood, that things don't have to remain the same. Kids are kids, wherever they grow up. If you care for and work with them, they'll become good, productive citizens and bring Detroit all the way back.

What almost always sets me back is a day like today, when the headlines scream at you:

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HELP!

Just 11 days left until the Mt. Olivet Sunrise Run for Fletcher Field/third annual barbecue at the park and so much to do.

Please join us at tonight's Friends of Fletcher Field meeting, 7 o'clock, at the main office of Mt. Olivet Cemetery. We need all the help we can get right now.

We also need volunteers for both the run (from 6 a.m. until 10 a.m. at the cemetery) and the barbecue (from 9 a.m. until 2 p.m. at the park). Just email me at mjhappyii@hotmail.com or call 313-222-2742 if you can give us a hand on Sunday, Sept. 20.

Last but not least, Mt. Olivet Cemetery will play host to its second annual Rosary for Peace on Friday, Sept. 11, at 6 p.m. This was a really nice, solemn event a year ago, certainly fitting for the anniversary of one of America's darkest days.

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Detroit's Big Peace

Call me a Jesus freak ... a Dylan-inspired hippie ... a pacifist ... a left-wing fruitcake.

Take your best shot; I don't care. Truth is what got us to this point and I'm not going to back down now.

So what's your vision, Mike?

I've been asked that question a number of times during the past two years as it relates to the old neighborhood and the growing coalition working in and around Fletcher Field.

It's a tough question for me to answer because this isn't really my vision. Like I've told many of you before, this whole thing began because I listened to a voice, which started out as a whisper and then absolutely shouted to me, finally shaking me out of my apathetic ways.

If you spend any time around me, you'll notice that I've grown obsessed with peace, wear shirts emblazoned with peace signs, carry notebooks with doves and the words peace, love and freedom on the cover.

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Not so happy Labor Day

What happens when hundreds of thousands of jobs in the hardest-working town in America disappear as fast as the Edsel?

Well, we're living the American nightmare today.

Here's praying Labor Day 2010 isn't another lemon. And three cheers to the Tigers, Jerry Lewis and hamburgers on the grill this weekend.

Ernie Harwell: 'The voice'

If you're hanging out near Fletcher Field on a Sunday afternoon, you might hear "a voice," that of current Tigers broadcaster Dan Dickerson, booming from a car radio near the park as those of us playing pick-up softball on Detroit's east side listen to the hometown major-league team battle for a spot in the 2009 playoffs.

Back in the day, before cable TV and Fox Sports Detroit, "the voice," belonging to one Ernie Harwell, could be heard all over the neighborhood -- every night between April and September. In fact, Harwell's sweet, soothing tone echoed across the entire city throughout the summer as he described Al Kaline's latest, greatest catch in right field or another pinch-hit home run by Gates Brown.

This morning we find out that Harwell, 91, is very sick. He told the Free Press he has inoperable cancer -- a tumor in the area of the bile duct that could kill him within a year.

Sorta hits you like a Justin Verlander fastball.

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F3 barbecue starts to cook

The third annual barbecue at Fletcher Field could be a stomping ground for the November election -- and a place where area residents can raise their voices and concerns about the neighborhood surrounding the park.

So far, council members Kwame Kenyatta and Alberta Tinsley-Talabi have confirmed their attendance. Detroit Mayor Dave Bing and the rest of City Council were also sent invitations to the Sept. 20 barbecue, which begins around 11 a.m. and will continue through the afternoon.

Thanks to Metro 25 Tire Center, formerly Ver Hoven Chevrolet, which has agreed to donate 800 hot dogs for the event -- and a team of volunteers to grill 'em up.

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Welcome aboard, Friends of Belle Isle

There was a time when almost all of Detroit was friends with Belle Isle.

You'll find that quote on the Friends of Belle Isle Website, under the history section of the site, and I couldn't agree with it more.

Planting flowers at Sunset Point on Belle Isle in May.

If you grew up in and around Detroit, Belle Isle is part of you. As I said in a post back in May, the island is to all of Metro Detroit what Fletcher Field is to the neighborhood around McNichols and Van Dyke -- our very own Central Park. And I think we would all love to bring it back to its pristine state, to see our kids enjoy it as much as we once did.

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A bizarro Rockwell setting

No way Norman Rockwell paints this scene. Too many burnt-out houses, vacant lots, tire piles and trash heaps in the area for his version of Americano.

Still, art imitates life, and Sunday at Fletcher Field had that masterpiece feel to it -- not for small-town America circa the 1950s, but for hardcore rust-belt America in the bizarro world we live in today.

If one of Rockwell's hip, gritty decedents were at the park to capture the scene, he would have found cover art for whatever might be today's equivalent of "The Saturday Evening Post."

With the aforementioned blight as a backdrop around the park, picture a blue sky dotted by puffy white clouds on a 65-degree day; 6 acres of well-manicured, lush grass; a small sunflower patch in full bloom; young kids swinging on a playground; teenagers playing basketball on a fresh asphalt court; a small group of women grilling hot dogs (Thanks, Mom!); a huge softball game on a perfectly groomed diamond, featuring players of all shapes, sizes, colors and ages -- including my 68-year-old father, who turned in his umpire gear from last weekend to swing a bat for the first time in at least 20 years. (How you feeling today, Dad?)

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Summer finale at Fletcher Field

The weather seems to be prematurely changing.

The kids running around our neighborhood last night wore sweatshirts and jackets. My daughter Amanda even donned her tacky pink Hannah Montana sock hat.

With a chill in the air and the calendar on the verge of September comes a close to our regular Sunday events at Fletcher Field. Tomorrow will be our last afternoon at the park until the Sept. 20 barbecue.

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R.I.P. John Stambolia

I've just been informed that John Stambolia, a big presence on the baseball diamond at Fletcher Field back in the day, died yesterday.

According to his sister Donna, John passed away at home.

"Don't know if his sugar dropped or if it was the pancreatic cancer," she said in an email. "He was also on dialysis. Maybe it was that, too."

Please pray for John and his family. I will post funeral arrangements when I get them.

Still root, root, rooting for the home team

For those of you who are just tuning in or don't remember, this blog has a home team: the Clinton Township Clintondale football team.

Several players from Clintondale came out to Fletcher Field last October to help plant shade trees at the park, so we adopted the Dragons, who made it all the way to the state semifinals before losing in heartbreaking fashion to Croswell-Lexington, 27-26.

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Dead dog rots with Detroit's soul

It's been three days now, but I still can't shake the image -- or the smell.

The dead pit bull on Dobel Street Sunday must have been there for a while. The carcass was rotting, full of gaping holes, including two where the dog's eyes used to be. I had to breathe through my mouth when I walked by it, then felt sick to my stomach knowing that I was eating the stench as I took in air past my taste buds.

I had walked or driven this path on Detroit's east side thousands of times in my life. The walks came mostly during my childhood. The drives happened after my family moved away; I sometimes came back to check up on what I will always consider home.

Often I left the area sad and mad, pondering how it had gotten this way and why nobody seemed to care. But I never, ever felt as repulsed and full of anger as I did Sunday, when I thought of myself as an 8-year-old and wondered how the sight of this decomposing dog would have affected me.

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Tape of the mighty Kustarz strikeout surfaces

When LeBron James got dunked on by Xavier's Jordan Crawford at Nike's LeBron James Skills Academy in June, the swoosh police were there to try to cover it up. They went after the media, confiscated evidence, videos and photos, of James' defensive lapse against the kid.

But Nike's effort to save its most prominent endorser from embarrassment failed.

Thanks to the Web and ESPN reports, word of the dunk quickly spread and, not too long afterward, a video came to light, as well.

It didn't take as long for video of Jim "Kustarz" Morey's embarrassing moment from Sunday to surface. Tape of the mighty Kustarz's strikeout during the Friends of Fletcher Field softball tournament at the park got out Monday night -- courtesy of Jim's video camera.

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We all win!

Big Bob Walmsley knocked in the winning run with a walk-off single to left. Little Nicco Saputo didn't let his lack of size keep him off the bases. Brian Happy, my little brother, fell and couldn't get up. The umpires heckled the players. And the mighty Kustarz struck out.

Players, umpires, fans and hecklers gather for a group photo after the big game.

Another classic day at Fletcher Field, the first annual F3 softball tournament, came to an abrupt end when a heavy downpour sent folks scattering to their cars. But by then Happy 1 (my team) had beaten Happy 2 (my brother's team), 9-8, in dramatic fashion, team pictures had been taken and bellies were full of hot dogs, chips and pretzels.

Bob Walmsley secured the outcome when he stepped to the plate with the bases loaded in the bottom of the ninth and promptly singled to left to break an 8-8 tie -- despite the heckling by home-plate umpire Michael Happy Sr., my dad. Dad and first-base umpire Alan Wisniewski were hardly objective officials who just called them liked they saw them; they actually did some name-calling, although they got most of the calls right.

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F3 softball tournament

How's your throwing arm these days? Have you retained your warning-track power? Will your knees still allow you to leg out an infield single? Or has Father Time relegated you to the bench?

These and other questions could be answered on Sunday when Friends of Fletcher Field plays host to its first annual softball tournament at the park. All are welcome to play, cheer or heckle.

We will begin picking teams at noon, and games will start shortly thereafter. Hot dogs and cold water will be served. If you want/require anything else, just bring it. This is a great opportunity to share your childhood field of dreams with your kids, and the weather is supposed to be terrific -- partly sunny with a high in the mid-70s.

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A Sunday tree-t

My mother, the former Marilyn Lemanski, and father, Michael Happy Sr., came out to Fletcher Field on Sunday. And despite the heat and humidity -- and the fact that they're both closing in on 70 -- they helped edge the sidewalk along Mt. Olivet Street, just outside the park.

At one point, Dad roamed down Dobel Street, around a little bend, to the vacant lot at 8271, where we called home 30-plus years ago. I suspect the short walk also served as a quick cigarette break -- away from Mom's glaring eyes.

When Dad returned to Fletcher Field, he had a big smile on his face and boasted that the biggest tree in the neighborhood, an ancient elm, continues to stand tall among the ruins of Detroit's east side, "right in our backyard."

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Neighborhoods in limbo

Real-estate limbo.

Residents of a Detroit neighborhood waiting to find out whether their homes and businesses are going to be purchased in order to make way for ...

No, not the expansion of City Airport, which has been rumored for decades in the neighborhood around Fletcher Field.

This is another real-estate debacle in another area of the city, Delray, that is being held hostage by a proposed expansion project: a second span of the Ambassador Bridge, which some studies say isn't even needed because of the downsized U.S. auto industry.

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Keeping the peace

When you bring people together for a noble cause, good things can happen very quickly.

It still astounds me to think just how fast Fletcher Field went from devastation to rejuvenation in the summer of 2007. An idea, a few meetings, a budding determination to make change, and within a couple of months there were 400 people in the park celebrating its rebirth.

But two years later, far removed from the euphoria brought on by that initial big push, the flip side of bringing people together has reared its ugly head.

I spent more than three hours on the telephone Monday trying to keep people together, to mediate a growing feud in the neighborhood that appears to be rooted in old grudges and a misunderstanding perpetrated by somebody who, to put it mildly, has a few problems.

Mind you, none of the people involved in this feud is a bad person. All want the same outcome: a nicer park, a safer neighborhood, a better way of life.

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Hacking away

No sweat.

Make that no sweat left after a weekend of hacking away.

It all started early Saturday at Warren Valley Golf Course in Dearborn Heights, where Shield of Faith International Ministries played host to a scramble event. Proceeds from the outing will help pay for school supplies for the children in the community around SOF and Fletcher Field.

Three Happys -- my Dad, nephew Austin and I -- and Jon Morgan teamed up for arguably the worst foursome ever assembled. On a scorching afternoon, we were ice-cold, hacking our way around the course in 80-plus shots and finishing the day dead last at 11-over par.

When SOF Rev. Wesley Johnson announced the scores before dinner, he just smiled and said we scored an 11, leaving out the over par part. Thanks Rev. Johnson, Sister Loretta Ware and the rest of the SOF for a wonderful day in spite of our less than auspicious round of golf.

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McNichols Road halfway open

McNichols Road, between French and Conner, remains closed -- barely.

The west side of the barrier, which went up more than two decades ago, is a gaping hole right now.

Jon Morgan took this picture after we left Fletcher Field Sunday evening. As it shows, the fence is mostly gone along the French Road side of the barricade, which is littered with debris and wide open to traffic.

With very little effort, we could have driven right out to the main City Airport runway or all the way across to attend Mass at Our Lady of Good Council. If Villanova Pizza were still open for business just east of the airport, I don't think I could have resisted the urge to take the shortcut through the half-baked barrier for the best spaghetti dinner ever served.

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The cost of judging book covers

There's people out there with good hearts. There's just not enough of them. -- Virgil Haywood Jr.

Who is Virgil Haywood Jr.? Neal Rubin answers that question in a touching column in today's Detroit News.

The column reminds me of when I first met Robert Murphy just outside Shield of Faith International Ministries, formerly Holy Name of Jesus.

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Going back to '74

Mike Lantry wide left, then wide right. Ohio State 10, Michigan 10.

Lantry wide left. Ohio State 12, Michigan 10.

Turn back the game clock to 1973 and '74. Bo Schembechler's Wolverines were among the best in the country during those two seasons, going 20-1-1, but never played in a bowl game because Lantry couldn't kick the ball between the uprights during the waning moments against Woody Hayes' Buckeyes and bowl games were still sacred; there were a dozen such games back then, not three dozen.

I have vivid memories of both the '73 and '74 Michigan-OSU games. I watched them at 8236 Dobel, where Grandma and Grandpa Happy lived, right across the street from my childhood home at 8271. Despite the fact that nobody in my family had ever attended U-M, we all were huge Michigan fans, even Grandma -- although, come to think of it, she probably rooted for the Wolverines simply to make the rest of us happy.

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Finding a link to the past

Jerry Okray got back involved in his former neighborhood more than a year ago when he made some donations to Shield of Faith International Ministries, formerly Holy Name of Jesus.

Jerry Okray pitches at the park this past Sunday.

Last fall, Jerry helped dig out a couple of horseshoe pits at Fletcher Field just in time for the second annual barbecue at the park. And each Sunday this summer, he's taken the drive from his home in Milford to the park to play softball with the neighborhood children, often pitching to the kids and offering encouraging words and tips on their batting stances.

This past week, Jerry took on the tedious task of edging the grass along the sidewalk on Mt. Olivet Street, right outside the park, which likely hadn't been done in more than a decade; there was at least a foot of grass overgrowing each side of the walkway.

Jerry spent more than three hours doing the job Thursday, eventually wearing out the blade of his edger. He then began shoveling away the detached clumps of grass when he made an interesting discovery.

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A day made for the old swim mobile

Jim "Kustarz" Morey took his shirt off (yuck) and the reading-in-the-park banner started to melt.

That's how hot it was at Fletcher Field on Sunday, which kept most of the neighborhood kids away and made the area eerily quiet -- with the exception of one blast of sirens going down Van Dyke and the laughter of children running around an open fire hydrant on Almont Street, just southwest of the park.

It was the kind of day the old swim mobile was made for, but -- from what I've been told -- the tanks on wheels that used to serve as temporary neighborhood pools in Detroit are in moth balls these days.

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Preventing spontaneous combustion

A cooling-off period.

That's what Mom used to call it when the temperature exceeded 90, a smog lingered over Dobel Street, her kids had no intention of coming inside, but she had no intention of letting them overheat.

Without Mom there to nag, errr, save us, we would have continued to play baseball at Fletcher Field even if one of us had turned into a human flame rounding third and heading for home.

But Mom, being a voice of reason, would prevent our spontaneous combustion by bringing us inside, where a small window air-conditioning unit kept our living room cool. She had to make us sit down on the couch and watch TV for a while -- quite the opposite from today's children, who have to be coaxed to get off the couch. After the cooling-off period, an hour or so, it was back to Fletcher and more baseball.

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Heart but no power or money

Joyce Jennings' bid for a seat on the City of Detroit Charter Commission came up short Tuesday night.

Joyce finished with 5,578 votes, roughly 3,000 shy of reaching the field of 18 candidates that will vie for nine seats on Nov. 3.

Considering Joyce went into the primary election with virtually no budget or name recognition, she finished remarkably well. Her Hail Mary email and Facebook push in recent days put her ahead of 12 of the 44 candidates.

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A performance fit for a pope

When Pope John Paul II visited Detroit in Sept. 1987, the pontiff got an earful from some current Friends of Fletcher Field.

The St. James adult choir sings for the pope at Hart Plaza.

The adult choir from St. James Baptist Church, which later became Shield of Faith International Ministries, performed for the pope in Hart Plaza that fall.

I have talked with some of the people involved with that performance and they all have fond memories of it. They say that the pope appeared to enjoy himself, too.

Ironically, a few years later, St. James moved into a former Catholic church building, Holy Name of Jesus, which sits just two blocks southwest of Fletcher Field and was attended by many other F3 members.

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A nap at the park

Never before had I considered taking a nap at Fletcher Field.

When you're a young boy at the park, pretending you're Willie Horton or sucking on a grape Popsicle or plotting your future as a world traveler while watching the planes from nearby City Airport take off, naps are for babies.

Where did you go, Willie Horton?

When you go back there as a 43-year-old without all the information, find the place in shambles and nobody left in the area looks like you, you're too afraid to sleep.

But two years later, when you're a little smarter, the place looks great again, you're surrounded by old and new friends and you worked into the wee hours the night before, a nap is just what the doctor ordered.

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Joyce Jennings runs for office

I introduced you to Joyce Jennings two years ago when this whole thing started.

Back then, Joyce worked for the City of Detroit's 311 operation. I was introduced to Joyce by Marvel Cheeks, who was heading the city's Adopt-a-Lot/Park program at the time. The three of us met in July 2007 to discuss how to fix up Fletcher Field, which sits in the middle of Joyce's neighborhood.

In addition to being an area resident, Joyce is the daughter of the pastor in the neighborhood, Bishop James Alvin Jennings Jr., who leads the congregation at Shield of Faith International Ministries, which used to be Holy Name of Jesus Catholic Church. That's the church and school I attended through the sixth grade.

Small world.

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Quitters never win and winners never quit

My kid's in a slump. Worse yet, I'm pretty sure he's given up.

After failing to connect for a hit since the Grosse Pointe Farms summer league opened on July 13, Louis seems to have lost his nerve -- and his joy. He's facing pitchers mostly two years older than he is and, in recent games, has quit swinging altogether, hoping to get on base by walking because his bat speed cannot keep up with the 12-year-old arms.

"It's not fun anymore," he told me last night.

"Not fun anymore" in Louis-speak means he's done with it. My wife, Shannon, and I have seen this many times over the past decade. When situations challenge Louis too much, his first reaction is to surrender, and it's very challenging for us to keep him from waving a white flag.

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Two years and going strong

I just happened to look at the related-links rail to the lower-right of this post and noticed the date on the audio slideshow that was the genesis of this blog and the community, Friends of Fletcher Field, these nearly 700 entries helped create.

A 1970s snapshot of Fletcher used in the 2007 audio slideshow that started it all.

Audio Slideshow: 1967 aftershocks rock Dobel Steet is dated July 21, 2007. Wow, we've been at this for more than two years now. It doesn't seem possible -- until you take the time to think about all that has transpired, the major events we meticulously planned and carried out.

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Human-on-human crime

A tree toad has joined the menagerie of family pets, upping the tally to 10: two dogs, two cats, two turtles, three fish and the toad, officially named Hoppy Happy.

There's every chance the number will go back to nine soon, though, as the cats have a keen eye on Hoppy -- a.k.a. breakfast, lunch or dinner.

Translation: Hoppy's likely toast.

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The sad story of Henry Louis Gates Jr. vs. the Cambridge, Mass., police

In a perfect world, here's how the story of Harvard Prof. Henry Louis Gates Jr. and the Cambridge, Mass., police officers would have unfolded:

Officers, tipped off that there might have been a breaking-and-entering offense at Gates' home, arrive at the scene:

Knock, knock.

Gates opens the door and asks, "May I help you?"

"We're investigating a possible break-in here," say the officers. "May we see your identification?"

"Sure," says Gates. "Sorry about the confusion. I locked myself out and had to force my way in. Was in China for a while. It's been a long day."

The officers check Gates' identification, hand it back, apologize for the intrusion and offer a parting, "Get some rest, Mr. Gates. Have a nice day."

End of story.

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Under the rainbow at Fletcher Field

Officially, we were rained out at Fletcher Field on Sunday.

Ominous clouds blew in from the west about 3:20 p.m. Minutes later, they opened up and a cool, hard rain drenched the park. Mostly everybody went home.

Under the rainbow at Fletcher Field on Sunday.

But six of us sat in cars parked on Mt. Olivet Street, waited out the first wave of storms, which lasted about 20 minutes, then headed over to the baseball field to take batting practice and shag some fly balls. (Some of us really need our weekly baseball fix, and the diamond is in such good shape these days, it can take quite a bit of water before getting sloppy.)

The weather cooperated for about an hour -- one round of at-bats for each of us -- before the skies darkened again and a breathtaking cold shower sent us running back to our cars, with several stops along the way to pick up the equipment: balls, bats, gloves, a jug full of lemonade and a kite my son Louis had flying over French Road. But, even before we could get everything packed, the rain stopped again, the sun popped out and a full rainbow appeared to the east, right over City Airport.

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RIP Frank A. Migan: Feb 4, 1918 - Jul 22, 2009

I got a telephone call today from Barb Kaczmarek, Holy Name class of '67, reporting the death of a H.N./Fletcher Field giant.

Frank A. Migan, husband of Teri Migan, died after a lengthy illness on Wednesday. The Migans were big-time players in the old neighborhood. Teri coached girls softball and basketball at Holy Name, and Detroit rec softball at Fletcher Field in the 1960s. According to Barb, Frank was Teri's right-hand man, "was always by her side."

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A Sonny night in Detroit, which turns 308 today

Almost every kid who grew up in Detroit during the early 1970s could immediately recognize Oopsy the Clown and Sonny Elliot.

Oopsy the Clown

Oopsy -- with his red hair, big checkered shoes, sparkling green suit and top hot with a daisy sticking out the top of it -- had a must-see-for-kids weekend television show on WWJ. Sonny, the war-hero weatherman with the deadpan delivery on WWJ, predicted the sunny summer days at Fletcher Field and the snowstorms that sometimes closed down Holy Name.

Somewhere in the Happy family photo archives, there's a '70s-vintage picture of me and my younger brother, Brian, at the Belle Isle Zoo. In the picture, Brian is seated on Oopsy's lap and I'm planted on the right knee of Sonny. We're all wearing big smiles on a cloudless day in the city.

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Dumping on Belle Isle

I took a ride around Belle Isle on a beautiful sunny day last week, and it looks like a garbage dump. The waterfront is strewn with the cast-offs of fishermen -- empty bait boxes, packages that once held rods and reels, milk jugs and broken lawn chairs.

The fields are blooming with crumpled fast food bags. Nearly every foot of pavement is covered with glass fragments. Meanwhile, the trash barrels scattered every hundred yards or so are empty.

This is a real dump and looks nothing like Belle Isle.

The above is part of a May 19 column by Detroit News editorial page editor Nolan Finley -- words that cut at the heart of Roberta Henrion, Friends of Belle Isle president. She said so during Monday's meeting with me and Jon Morgan at the Big Boy's on Jefferson, just west of the island.

"It's just not true," Henrion said of Finley's observation of Belle Isle. "Everybody works so hard to keep the island clean. It's not perfect, but it's no garbage dump."

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A combo platter on Sept. 20 and a golf outing on Aug. 15

Now for something you can really sink your teeth into -- after getting a healthy dose of exercise first.

A lengthy, lively debate last night brought together two September events: The Mt. Olivet Cemetery Sunrise Run for Fletcher Field and the third annual barbecue at the park.

Part of the motley crew at the 2008 barbecue.

The barbecue, which has drawn more than 400 people each of the last two years, was originally scheduled for Saturday, Sept. 12. But it just made more sense to push it back to coincide with the run, which will take place Sunday, Sept. 20, at 8 a.m. and benefit the park's programs and upkeep.

After making room for burgers and hot dogs by completing the 1.5 mile walk, 5K run/walk or 10K run at the cemetery, runners will be invited to take the short walk/run/drive to the park for the barbecue, which will begin around 11 a.m. and continue through late afternoon.

Stay tuned for more details on both of these events, but make sure to circle the date on your calendar.

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Faith in justice

There is no justice in this world.

That was my immediate overreaction to the old man by the sea's failed attempt to make history at the British Open Sunday.

It just wasn't meant to be for Tom Watson.

When Tom Watson's 10-foot par putt at Turnberry's 18th hole went wide right, I flung a pillow at the television and went negative on The Man Upstairs.

How could He let this happen? This isn't how it's meant to.

Still, like it or not, as Walter Cronkite used to say, "That's the way it is."

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Graduation Day

Graduation Day is a special time for students, parents, grandparents and friends. A lot of hard work. Sometimes poking and prodding, but, now, Graduation Day.

It's a joy to receive an invitation to attend a graduation. In June, I received a phone call inviting me to attend Ebony's graduation ceremony. I was so excited to hear about her graduation. Although I could not attend the graduation exercise, I did have a chance to go over to her home and see her in her gold cap-and-gown. She was beaming.

Ebony was a member of puppet ministry, the choir and the youth group of Shield of Faith. Ebony and her family lived at 8272 Dobel for over ten years. Her family moved when the home they rented was sold to the city in the mini-take.

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The neutral zone

Stuck in neutral is not all bad.

The engine runs. The radio sings. The air conditioner keeps out the stifling July heat and humidity.

The only problem is, you're not going anywhere. You're not moving forward.

I've been feeling that way lately about our work in and around Fletcher Field.

Yes, every Sunday there's hope and happiness in the park. Last weekend's Mt. Olivet Sunrise Run II was a hoot. The second annual neighborhood reunion in March was a gas. There will be another grand barbecue at Fletcher Field in September.

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A term of endearment, a racial slur

If you go to my wife's Facebook page, you'll see a photo album entitled "My little Monkies."

Shannon is usually a pretty good speller, but she gets a failing grade here for her plural of monkey, which should be monkeys, but that's beside the point.

The title of the photo album is a term of endearment for our three kids, all of whom grew up loving Shannon's performances of the poem "Five Little Monkeys." Very often you'll hear Shannon call out to our children, "Come on, little monkeys, we have to go." She also uses the moniker when she's trying to gather them up for dinner, teeth-brushing or bedtime.

I've never heard Shannon call our children monkeys when she's angry. Her Irish temper makes her much more impolite than that. It's only when she's feeling lighthearted and full of love for Louis, Shaun and Amanda that the three of them become her monkeys.

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The idea man

My friend and partner on this blog, Jon Morgan, is an idea man. Like The Omnipotent One, his brain moves in mysterious ways and never stops churning.

As a result, Jon hardly ever sleeps, constantly suffers from migraines and has serious difficulties keeping track of time. But his ideas are often wonderful, and just might save the newspaper industry and the City of Detroit someday. He's already made an enormous difference in the neighborhood surrounding Fletcher Field.

Me, Bob Walmsley and Jon Morgan before Sunday's 10K at Mt. Olivet Cemetery.

Jon's ideas also come with a big helping of heart, which have helped them capture the imagination of many over the past couple of years. Most recently, a Crain's Detroit Business publication, Detroit Make it Here, featured an article about one of Jon's concepts.

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What to expect when you're expecting

Two years in, this little project on Detroit's east side has lost its ability to surprise.

Today, you expect somebody whom you haven't seen in 33 years to show up at an event, track you down, start reminiscing about our childhood neighborhood and then dreaming about better tomorrows for the area. (It was great to see you again, Connie Burke!)

Like many of you, I was kicked out of Mt. Olivet Cemetery while riding my bike there as a kid. Saturday night while setting up for Sunday's run, my son Louis rode without getting tossed.

You expect 300-plus people to wake up at the crack of dawn on a Sunday to run or walk at the old cemetery, Mt. Olivet, and then scarf down mounds of pancakes under a grand tent set up amongst the graves of our ancestors. (RUN RESULTS: 5K | 10K)

You expect more than 100 people to come to the old park, Fletcher Field, on Sunday afternoon to play softball, read books, eat hot dogs, swing, sing, climb, laugh, hope and hug.

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Something's going on

In the wake of Kwame Kilpatrick's fall from the top of Detroit government, much has been made about the need for transparency in the way the city is run.

What happened today in and around Fletcher Field makes me wonder if anybody in power in Detroit really means what they're preaching.

Edith Floyd, who runs the neighborhood patrol in the area around the park, called Jon Morgan at approximately 2 p.m. to inform him that at least 25 vehicles with two police escorts were at Fletcher Field. I was finishing up for the day at the office and decided to take a drive by the park on the way home to see what the commotion was all about.

Upon arriving at the park, I didn't find anybody around except two young girls playing on the swings. I did, however, see a lot of cars parked on French Road, just south of Fletcher Field, then saw Edith driving north on Gilbo. I flagged her down and asked her to tell me what happened.

She said that when she approached the entourage in the park, she was stopped by a police officer. Edith said that she proceeded to tell the officer that she ran the neighborhood watch and wanted to keep area residents informed; they were nervous about all the strange cars and subsequent foot traffic near their houses.

According to Edith, the officer responded by saying: "Just keep moving. There's nothing going on here."

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Back on the road again

At the very least, I'll be a little sore Sunday afternoon. Worst case scenario, my head falls off near the finish line.

But I will not be deterred.

I finished 9th overall at the cemetery last year.

Several of you have asked whether I will be running the Mt. Olivet Cemetery Sunrise Run on Sunday. The answer is a resounding YES.

Nearly two months since the surgery that removed a herniated disc from my neck and replaced it with a steel plate and cadaver bone, I feel pretty good. My doctor told me to wait until the end of July to start running again, but (as is usually the case) I didn't listen to him.

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Mt. Olivet Sunrise Run II

Mark Gracely, director of Mt. Olivet Cemetery (a neighbor of Fletcher Field), had a novel idea last year -- turn the graveyard grounds into a cross-country course to benefit the Make-A-Wish Foundation.

After the cemetery gates closed for the evening, Gracely often put on his running shoes and completed his daily workout before heading home. He enjoyed the tranquility of the cemetery, its lush green grass, majestic shade trees and miles of rolling roads -- getting a run in without worrying about getting run over by a car.

Mark Gracely

Gracely thought that others might like running in the cemetery, too, and came up with the idea of playing host to a 4-mile run/pancake breakfast, with the proceeds going to Make-A-Wish. The inaugural Mt. Olivet Sunrise Run brought out about 100 runners and dozens of volunteers last July, raising thousands of dollars for Make-A-Wish, so Gracely is doing it again this year -- twice.

The first run at Mt. Olivet, again funding Make-A-Wish, will take place this Sunday at 8 a.m. Events and prices are as follows:

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A late-inning rally

If you keep yours eyes and ears wide open during jury duty for the Wayne County Third Circuit Court, you'll learn a whole lot about what's keeping Metropolitan Detroit down.

To say the least, I left the courthouse this afternoon more than a little shaken up and disgusted.

The old baseball diamond at Fletcher Field got a lot of use on Sunday.

But we'll leave that sad story for another day.

This evening, I want to finish telling you about yesterday's happenings at Fletcher Field, how the old baseball diamond again breathed some life into a neighborhood that certainly needs it.

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Game on

Jury duty this morning. Grrrr. Barely had time to shave and even less to write.

But come back this evening to hear about our second Sundays-in-the-park event at Fletcher Field and the rebirth our summer softball games.

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A pair of Detroit jewels

"Say Nice Things About Detroit."

Whether you actually followed through on the 1970s and 80s slogan or not, you must remember it and, perhaps, the woman who dreamed it up.

Emily Gail back in the 1980s.

Detroit News columnist Neil Rubin did a nice column today, Singing the city's praises, about Emily Gail, who now sells real estate and hosts a radio show in Hawaii but was among the first Motor City boosters.

Also today, The News' David Josar writes about Belle Isle's two faces: Island jewel, lawless landmark.

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Holy Name/Shield of Faith/neighborhood softball tournament

Once upon a time I drank a little wine.

Actually, it was a whole lot of wine.

By night's end, I reportedly had kissed Mt. Olivet Cemetery director Mark Gracely on the top of his bald head -- and almost everybody else who attended the Holy Name keeping-in-touch party back in March.

The drunken sailor in me still surfaces on the rare occasion when pent-up pressure meets big party with an open bar.

Anyway, I'm still piecing that crazy night together and recently remembered promising several people that I would arrange a Holy Name/Shield of Faith/neighborhood softball tournament at Fletcher Field this summer.

Consider it done: Sunday, August 23, at 2 p.m.

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A word from Dean Koontz

Fire, ice, asteroids, and pole shifts are bogeymen with which we distract ourselves from the real threat of our time. In an age when everyone invents his own truth, there is not community, only factions. Without community, there can be no consensus to resist the greedy, the envious, the power-mad narcissists who seize control and turn institutions of civilization into a series of doom machines.

My college roommate turned me on to author Dean Koontz nearly 20 years ago. Two decades later, he's still my favorite read.

He's been tagged as a horror writer, but he's much deeper than that. Koontz understands the world in which he lives and masterfully weaves it into his fictional worlds -- often making the unbelievable seem totally plausible.

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It came just the same

It started in low. Then it started to grow ...

I thought about that line from Dr. Seuss' "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" while our first Sundays-in-the-park event of the season unfolded this afternoon at Fletcher Field.

Chris Kempa is back at the helm of the Reading in the Park program again this summer.

Just like the Christmas celebration in Who-ville following the Grinch's dastardly deed, it took a little while to get going. But when it did reach its pinnacle, well, NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!

Kids everywhere: reading, swinging, climbing, playing ball, flying a kite. Parents getting reacquainted and enjoying the company and gorgeous weather. Me back behind my favorite little barbecue in the whole world, grilling up 120 hot dogs -- none of which went to waste.

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Night at the museum

It was the kind of day in Detroit that threatened to zap any remaining hope that we can all come together and rebuild this once great city.

A Jackson fan shows off a prized possession early Saturday morning.

Detroit City Council Pro Tem Monica Conyers goes to court and admits trading her Synagro vote for cash. Oakland County Executive Al Brooks Patterson, during a radio interview on WWJ 950-AM shortly after Conyers' court appearance, essentially calls the City of Detroit a joke and irrelevant to Michigan's future. The city's black newspaper, The Michigan Citizen, has a screaming headline that claims Conyers was framed by the media.

But around 1 a.m. Saturday, none of the above really mattered to me any more. And I was plenty hopeful that the time has come for real change around here -- if only the politicians and media would take a cue from the regular folks who they're supposed to be leading and protecting.

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Losing our Elvis and Marilyn -- on the same day

He might have been crazy -- maybe even worse -- but he was my generation's Elvis Presley.

During a career that spanned decades, Michael Jackson taught us our ABCs, called on us to live off the wall, thrilled us, sent MTV on its way, helped feed the world and left this world with 13 No. 1 singles.

To lose The King of Pop at just 50 is stunning enough. But his death hit even harder because it came on the same day that Charlie's hottest angel, Farrah Fawcett, died at 62.

A massive heart attack reportedly killed Jackson. A long bout with cancer claimed Fawcett.

Like most of my friends, the famous Fawcett poster from the 1970s hung on my bedroom wall -- a monument to, well, a weird feeling that was just starting to stir below my belt. I also had a blue T-shirt that sported Fawcett's sexy swimsuit pose, which -- I'm pretty sure -- excelled my journey through puberty.

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A date at 'The Corner' with Tram

Alan Trammell watched his Fletcher Field, Tiger Stadium, continue to come down on Tuesday -- and I had the unbelievable opportunity to be there with him. (This is the best job in the world sometimes.)

Hanging with Tram on Tuesday.

The former Tigers shortstop, and later their manager, is now the Cubs bench coach and is in town for a three-game interleague series at Comerica Park. He decided to take the opportunity to say goodbye to 'The Corner,' a place still near and dear to his heart.

"... my years of playing in Tiger Stadium were very special to me," he told Tom Gage for a story in Tuesday's Detroit News. "I want to see it one more time."

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You don't get this stuff on Facebook

The deaths of a father and a cousin. The murder of a close friend. A severely ill grandchild. A bout with prostate cancer. A divorce. Jobs lost. A son's knee ripped up in a post-game celebration. Another son shipped off to Afghanistan. A neck surgery ...

Our community, Friends of Fletcher Field, has had its share of setbacks and heartbreaks in recent months. So much so, there have been times when I actually second-guessed helping bring this group together.

It's just a fact: The more people you know, the more tragedy you bring into your life.

But the flip side of that equation makes it all worthwhile: The more people you know, the more love you bring into your life.

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A PB on Father's Day

Being a long-time runner, both at the collegiate and recreational level, I'm a big fan of track-and-field competition. I'm even geeky enough about the sport of running to watch three-hour telecasts of major marathons, such as the one in New York City.

During these telecasts, you often hear the announcers talk about records: course records, U.S. records, world records and then there's the runners' PBs (personal-best times).

To me, the PBs are the most important of all.

Whatever your challenge in life, if you do your personal best, leave it all on the field, there are no regrets -- win or lose.

I offered that advice to my 10-year-old son, Louis, before his baseball team played for the Grosse Pointe Shores-Woods Little League AAA title today.

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Back at Balduck

"Blankety-blank is dead to me now."

A friend of mine used that phrase a couple of weeks ago after somebody really ticked him off. The hyperbole made me belly laugh; it just sounded so excessive for the offense committed against him.

I was thinking about that over-the-top statement last Saturday as I sat watching my son Louis' baseball game at Balduck Park, where the place was packed with families -- and at least 97 percent of them were black.

I honestly believe, to many white suburbanites, most of Detroit is dead to them now. Although they miss their former homes, neighborhoods and hangouts, they think it's impossible to go back and not become dead themselves.

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Back in the saddle again

Doc says the cadaver bone and steel plate did the job. My head still sits firmly on my surgically-repaired neck, which X-rays indicate is healing nicely.

So it was back to work today. Actually, I made a cameo appearance at the office for Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals last Friday. But just like the Wings, I faded out -- had to take a couple of more days off to recuperate.

"Reunity" is the perfect title for what this whole thing is all about.

So, finally, I returned today and was greeted with some nice surprises.

First, Charlotte Massey, a friend and colleague, had attained the rights to publish a video, "Reunity," about this blog and the Fletcher Field project.

Click here to view Charlotte's video, which took second-place honors in the COM1600 documentary division of the Wayne State Moving Media student film festival.

Read more! »

Affordable summer fun

I’m in! Even though I couldn’t find a way to be them, I found a way to join them.

I got the invite today to the VIP rooftop party during the Target Fireworks next Wednesday. As a Parade Company volunteer, I will be working the event, unlike the paying guests, but at this stage of the game, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’ve come to realize that folks like me, who weren’t born with a silver spoon in their mouth, can enjoy the pleasures in life, while serving others in the process. It really is the best of both worlds - volunteers are some of the most genuine and interesting people to be around.

Summer fun doesn’t have to be expensive. While we’re anxiously awaiting the kick-off of summer activities at Fletcher Field, here are some ideas for simple activities to keep your family (and pocketbook) happy:

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Up in the air

I was feeling so down today that I went to see “Up”, the new Disney Pixar movie.

Normally, my box office choice would have been “The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3”, a summer action film with two of my favorite actors, together for the first time. But I was looking for something a bit more uplifting on this gloomy day.

I heard all good reviews about “Up” but almost let the 3D keep me away. I wasn’t really in the mood to sit there with a cardboard bridge over my nose between one red lense and the other blue. I was pleased to see that 3D glasses have come a long way – including a recycling bin right on the way out.

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Have I told you lately that I love you?

My adopted sister passed on so suddenly to a bigger and better life this week.

Ramblers may remember her as Barbara Wnetrzak – class of 1965.

Residents of the old neighborhood may remember her as the girl with the St. Bernard named Woodstock, who lived in the house with a double-decker porch, and drove a butterscotch MG Midget.

But I will always remember Barb as my cousin who was more like our tenth sibling.

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Help support the children around Fletcher Field

Times are tough all over. But, as is always the case, when the economy crumbles those at the bottom of the heap feel it the most.

Shield of Faith International Ministries (formerly Holy Name of Jesus Catholic Church) -- as it has for so many years -- is continuing to do its part to help needy children in the neighborhood around Fletcher Field despite these difficult times.

The church still intends to hold its annual back-to-school rally and distribute school supplies to the kids in the neighborhood at the end of August. To make this possible, SOF will hold a couple of events to help pay for the supplies.

Read more! »

Need to lead

There are many great leaders today, but even a casual glance at our society shows there is an even greater need for more.

It’s a tough situation though, because we can hardly agree on what or who our leaders are. John Quincy Adams succinctly put it, “If your actions inspire others to dream more, learn more, do more and become more, you are a leader”.

There’s the old nature vs. nurture debate, on whether a great leader is born or developed. Both arguments, of course, apply. Even the most gifted child will not become a great leader if deprived of positive environmental feedback and social interaction.

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Wait and hope

I don't think you ever fully realize how bruised and burnt out you are until something brings you to a complete halt for a while.

Then, when that stop sign finally goes up in your life, it all hits you like a bankrupt GM.

WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED AND WHY IS IT SO HARD TO GET OUT OF BED IN THE MORNING?

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Lunar effects

The most classic phase of the moon is the crescent, straddling the new moon. But I’m completely captivated by the full moon, which fully illuminates when the moon is on the opposite side of the Earth from the sun.

On Sunday, the Flower Moon will show itself for the month of June. That's one of the things that intrigues me, the tradition of assigning each month’s full moon a special name, like Old Moon for January, Egg Moon for April, and my very favorite, the Harvest Moon in October. When that huge orange celestial body starts rising into the evening sky, it stops me in my tracks every time.

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Let's make music

Can music really soothe the savage beast or arouse the sleeping spirit within us?

Throughout time, man has used music as a primary form of communication and expression. And, like mankind, music has continually evolved.

My son’s teenage “flava” for rap and my fascination with Toni Morrison’s novel, “Jazz”, cross over in my mind, especially because both forms of music were considered radical at their origins. During the 1920’s, the music was becoming more complicated in the ways of rhythms and styles, and the main melody went freely in whatever way the players wanted to go. A sort of free and easy style that made many people uneasy with jazz.

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What a ride!

I don't know who to attribute this to. It was part of an email that had gone through a whole string of people last week.

But since we've been talking a lot about fear lately -- of surgeries, bankruptcies, foreclosures, unemployment, Detroit's neighborhoods -- I thought it was appropriate and inspirational:

Val and Jon Morgan.

Life's journey is not to arrive at the grave safely, in a well-preserved body, but to skid in, totally beat up, shouting: "Damn, what a ride!"

It was also a great comfort this past weekend when God gave me the strength to take my totally beat-up body to Jon and Valerie Morgan's wedding, which was an absolutely wonderful, beautiful occasion.

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Timeless toys

I’m hoping that one of the positive outcomes of this fiscal fiasco is that we all get to play more with less toys.

Toys that mean more than a great bargain acquired during a traditional gift-giving event. Ones that last for generations and help to bring those generations together. Quality not quantity.

I’m as guilty as most, who want to give their children more then they had growing up. The fact is that my three had more than all nine of us put together. But I never rented storage space to house toys that wouldn’t fit in our living space, like some folks I know. And this was way before the family routine revolved around “play dates”.

I’m just trying to age gracefully during the worst economy since the Great Depression, so I’m working on truly adopting this strategy. My latest gifts to our newest family members have not come from China, with questionable lead content, and limited life-span.

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To the almost newlyweds

Two of my best friends in the whole world, Jon Morgan and Valerie Moreno, will be getting married Saturday.

They are near and dear to many people -- and places, including Fletcher Field and Detroit's neighborhoods, which brought them here from New York a couple of years ago.

Please join me in wishing them a happy life together.

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Gordie or God?

I think I saw God on Tuesday.

I was feeling pretty good in the morning, so I went for a stroll, which turned into a 4-mile walk. My doctor condemned running for at least two months because of the jarring impact it would cause on my healing neck, but said walking was fine -- even the night of my surgery.

About 3 miles into Tuesday's walk -- on Vernier, halfway between Lakeshore and Mack -- I felt almost invincible and very proud of myself. Less than a week after major surgery, I was actually POWER walking.

Then, out of the corner of my left eye, I caught a glimpse of a rather tall elderly man. Since I couldn't turn my neck to get a full view of him, I turned my whole body to the left and, much to my amazement, saw an 80-something man on roller blades. He had a hockey stick in his hands and was moving quite briskly down Vernier.

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Spreading the love

The pain medication makes me loopy. The inability to do my daily run makes me grumpy. The neck brace makes me feel like a staked tomato plant.

But the thoughts, prayers, cards, telephone calls and even a lavish bouquet of fruit from all of you have been such awesome blessings.

As they were wheeling me into surgery Wednesday, I panicked for a moment. I thought about my dad, how he always regretted that he never told his grandfather that he loved him. My head wasn't in such a good place, was certain that once they put me to sleep for the surgery, I was never going to wake up, was never going to have the chance to tell certain people that I loved them.

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Lazy is as lazy does

Community gardening is hard work. Even though this is not high-tech hydroponics gardening, getting all of the right elements working together is very tough.

Fletcher Field Community Garden

It's all about investing in the future – spending time and energy to clear out the weeds and then plant the seeds. Past experience (our own or as lovingly passed down to us) has taught that there is hope for a bountiful harvest – that the time and energy exerted will produce worthwhile results.

Gardening is like most things in life – in the simplest terms, the seeds grow – it just happens. But, as we develop our thoughts on the subject and take a closer look, taking time to study its intricacies, we find that it is infinitely more complex.

Then, when I look out beyond the park at the surrounding community homes, the complexity of issues expands outward, too. Are some of these home in decay simply because their inhabitants are "lazy"?

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A time to remember

God bless America! (from Photobucket.com)

"Memorial Day is a United States federal holiday observed on the last Monday of May (May 25 in 2009). Formerly known as Decoration Day, it commemorates U.S. men and women who died while in the military service. First enacted to honor Union soldiers of the American Civil War (it is celebrated near the day of reunification after the Civil War), it was expanded after World War I to include American casualties of any war or military action." - from Wikipedia page on Memorial Day

First, I would like to pause and remember all those who have given their lives for the freedom and the liberties we as Americans hold so dear. We thank God for them. With the war still going on in Iraq and Afghanistan and conflicts around the world, we thank God for our soldiers, men and women who serve us in these war torn areas. We pray that God will protect our soldiers and we ask Him to bring them home safely.

When I think about Memorial Day, I think of the blessing of memories. I remember every year as a child, for a week during the summer, my parents would take us to the Mashpee area on Cape Cod. My mother loved to go deep sea fishing and catch blue crabs. During that time, haddock, cod and flounder were very plentiful. We would also walk down the unpaved sandy roads picking wild blueberries.

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Birthday traditions

Our birthday – the anniversary of the day we arrived on planet Earth – now there’s something we all have in common (we’re here) – yet another way we choose to express our vast diversity. We have so many birthday traditions and we celebrate our birthdays in many unique ways:

Polish birthday greetings!

Birthday greetings – singing "Happy Birthday" (English), "Sto lat" (Polish), "La Bhreithe Shona Duit" (Irish), "Bonne Fete" (French), "Tanti Auguri a te" (Italian), "Zum Geburtstag Viel Gluck" (German), "Feliz cumpleanos a ti" (Spanish), "Ilanga Elimndandi Kuwe" (Zulu), and "Zhu ni sheng ri kuai le" (Mandarin Chinese) and many, many more.

Birthday cake (& candles) – dates back as far as the Middle Ages, when the English would conceal symbolic items such as gold coins, rings and thimbles inside the cake – each item associated with a prediction.

Birthday parties and gifts (complete with balloons and streamers, or piñata) – common for people to receive gifts; however, in some cultures the person celebrating their birthday treats their party guests instead.

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Caring enough to show the real Detroit

As much of the Detroit auto industry has collapsed and been taken over by the government, national media outlets covering the business and politics of the story have also tried to show how this crisis is affecting the city.

Most have focused on how bad things are in Detroit, showboating pictures of abandoned buildings and shuttered factories and generally acting like it is their first time away from gilded Manhattan (do they realize that parts of the Bronx, Brooklyn, Manhattan and Queens look just like parts of Detroit?).

Detroit is in rotten shape in some ways, but there is still good here, even in neighborhoods that appear beyond hope (as readers of this blog well know), and while it's good that people are trying to humanize the city, much of this coverage does as much harm by not giving the complete picture as it does good by focusing on the city.

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Prayers for healing and long life

Our faith-filled founder’s surgery went well, and with rest and recovery, he’ll be up and around soon.

Getting stronger every day...

Michael approached this life challenge as he has faced other challenges before – with faith winning out over fear – good winning out over evil.

Happy is a fine example of a leader who acknowledges when something is not as it ought to be, and then takes action toward making it better. He embraces and treasures life, instead of making excuses or simply looking the other way, and leaving the broken untended.

When the still small voice of God is whispering hope in one ear and evil bellows fear in the other, Michael listens, takes it to heart, and trusts the outcome will be in keeping with God’s will and plan – no greater value can a man place on life then adopting a belief that embraces the bigger (eternal) picture.

Please pray for the healing of Michael’s body, along with the healing of Detroit’s neighborhoods, which are very near and dear to his heart too.

Still afraid of the park

I'm afraid of a lot of things:

The dark ... high places ... giant squids ... sharks ... polar bears ... neck surgery.

But I'm not afraid of being in the old neighborhood anymore. Like I've said on several occasions, perception does not match today's reality in and around Fletcher Field.

Despite all we've done, seen and shown others, some remain terrified of the neighborhood.

Read more! »

Friends at it again

Even though the sun did not cooperate, teams of dedicated Friends were hard at work on Saturday to help Fletcher Field shine.

The interior of the park was too soggy after several days of rain to do much mowing or gardening, but a devoted squad spent hours cleaning up and planting flowers near the entrance to the parkway at Gilbo and Mt. Olivet.

In addition, we had a great crew who spent many hours cutting the grass and weeds around the perimeter of the park – with only one weed-whacker casualty -- sorry Larry!

Another outstanding troop worked dumpster detail. Their back-breaking work to get the trash and tires loaded will really help to cut down on the mosquito population in the area - if only the devilish dumpers would quit.

Read more! »

A pain in the neck

Thanks to the hearty group who showed up Saturday to clean up the grounds at Fletcher Field and on the Shield of Faith campus.

By all accounts, it was cold, damp and dreary, but that didn't stop about 20 people from going to work -- and getting really muddy.

I was not one of those 20 individuals, nor will you see me in the neighborhood for at least the next month. My blog posts will also be kind of spotty in the coming weeks.

Like the park and its surrounding neighborhood, I need some work right now. That shoulder pain I had in February was not the result of a rotator-cuff injury after all. I've got a neck problem that requires surgery, which will take place on Wednesday morning.

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Dobel's twin

Dobel Street has a twin: West Robinwood Street, east of Woodward and north of McNichols.

According to an article in today's News by Charlie LeDuff, "It is a haunted, damnable portrait of what we've become."

Said a West Robinwood resident quoted in the article:

"Do I live in Hell? Yes I do and no I don't," said Jerry Williams, who lives at 666 Robinwood and spoke through a steel gate dressed in a bathrobe and dirty socks. "It would be Hell if I was dead, but I ain't. So that just makes the place ugly. The most ugly thing that human beings can create."

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We're here! We're here! We're here!

Now we know how Horton and the Whos must have felt.

"We're here! We're here! We're here!" ... at Fletcher Field ... at Shield of Faith Church ... at Mt. Olivet Cemetery ... at Metro 25 Tire Center ... in the neighborhood.

But according to Tuesday's Detroit City Council Agenda, nobody's here anymore -- "The property is abandoned."

Item No. 72 on the agenda, under the heading of PUBLIC WORKS DEPARTMENT, starts with the following statement.

"Submitting report in response to request for information relative to City of Detroit Water Board Trucks parked at Van Dyke and Six Mile Road."

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Voice lessons

What can I do about it?

It's a question we all ask from time to time -- probably more so in recent months. With all the garbage going on in the world right now, it's extremely difficult for most of us to imagine that one voice matters, can make a difference.

I still find myself wondering if any of what we've done in the area around Fletcher Field really matters. And then, inevitably, I see or hear something that douses the doubt for a while

Yesterday, I got an email from a person who has been watching from a distance for quite a while but, I think, is poised to get involved at the park this summer. The email included a number of pictures taken in the old neighborhood and at the park. Part of her message said:

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Adopt it and clean it on Saturday

I got a flurry of emails and then an encouraging telephone call on Friday regarding Fletcher Field.

According to an email from the mayor's office -- err, the outgoing mayor's office -- the park is not for sale and is up for adoption. Brad Dick, deputy director of the city's general services department, also left me a voicemail saying as much.

Under the Kilpatrick administration's adopt-a-lot/park program, we renewed the adoption papers for Fletcher Field -- which were originally filed in August 2007 -- last August. But with the revolving door in the mayor's office, I suspect those papers got lost in the shuffle. And so we will call Mr. Dick back today to officially make Friends of Fletcher Field the park's step parent once again.

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Leveling the old neighborhood?

If what has been reported to me during the last 24 hours is true, then Fletcher Field and the surrounding neighborhood could be history by the end of the summer.

First, I was informed by a friend via email last night that Fletcher Field had just appeared on a list of 100 city parks slated to be closed or sold. This didn't bother me so much because, for all intents and purposes, the park was already closed when we started this project back in July 2007. Only through the city's adopt-a-lot/park program and a lot of hard work by so many did Fletcher Field become a usable playfield again.

The final season at Fletcher?

What did bother me was a telephone call I received this morning from an area resident who has heard an increase in airport-expansion rumblings in the neighborhood recently and then watched the Detroit City Council session on television Tuesday night.

She says that City Airport director Delbert Brown gave his budget address to council last night, during which time he also announced that all phases of the French Road mini-take will be completed by July.

That means all the remaining houses in the airport buffer zone -- between Lynch and McNichols and French and Van Dyke -- would be purchased and leveled in the near future. Fletcher Field is also in that buffer zone, as is Shield of Faith Church, formerly Holy Name.

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Expansion vs. Progress at The City Airport

Over the last few months, I've developed a love-hate relationship with The City Airport. After hours of poring over documents, going through the backlog of Detroit News articles since the airport’s opening in 1927, and leaving messages for Delbert Brown, the current director of the airport, I can honestly say I am going to miss reading, writing and discussing the airport so frequently.

Aerial view of City Airport

While I am still no expert on Detroit politics, I feel confident saying that what is going on at the city airport is an elephant that has been sitting so comfortably in the room that people don’t even notice now when he knocks a hole in the wall.

Many people have been quick to tell me that nothing I could write will change what is happening, and that may be so, but I am going to talk about the airport all the same.

There have always been, and always will be, people who oppose the airport, and for a number of legitimate reasons. I remember the first time I heard Pat Bosch explain a study that showed low flying planes in residential areas and its correlation to elevated blood pressure. While I still don’t doubt the findings of the study, it didn’t sound to me like the kind of argument that would get the attention of lawmakers. And it wasn’t.

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Business on Six Mile

At Marcus Hamburgers, on Six Mile Road west of The City Airport, the sign above the door says "Est. 1929." I had been driving around all morning and I needed lunch. I was told the food there was good, so I stopped.

Marcus Burgers, at 6349 E. McNichols Rd., west of the airport.

I sat down and ordered a BLT. As I ate, a few people came in and ordered Marcus Burgers, normally two at a time. Before I paid my check, I asked the waitress if the business had really been there since 1929. She said it had. I asked her if there was anyone who could talk about how business was impacted when Six Mile closed in 1987.

Mike, the owner and cook at Marcus Hamburgers, came out of the back to talk with me. "I remember people used to cruise down Six Mile," he said, but since the road was closed for the airport's expansion, business has slowed significantly. "I remember my business being hit the very first day they closed it down," he said. Since then, it has never been the same.

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Davis Aerospace Academy

What is now known as Davis Aerospace Technical High School was originally known as Aero Mechanics High School. According to The Histories of the Public Schools of Detroit Volume Three, published by the Detroit Public Schools in 1967, the school began in 1941 as facility to train aviation mechanics for WWII. In 1943, it officially became a high school, and before the war effort was done, 15,000 workers had been trained there.

Davis Aerospace Technical High School

After the war, the school became much like it is today, requiring students to apply for enrollment and providing them the opportunity to specialize in different fields of aerospace mechanics.

Since that time it has changed location, and in 1982 it was renamed after Air Force General Benjamin O. Davis, one of the famous Tuskegee Airmen. In 1986 flight training was added to the curriculum along with an Air Force JROTC program.

Davis is the only high school in the country in which students can get their pilots license as part of the curriculum. Each year, four or five students graduate either with licenses or having flown solo.

It is also one of the most positive things about City Airport.

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The wonder-what-the-heck-happened years

A U.S. sailor far from home and quickly losing the innocence of my youth, I fell in love with the "The Wonder Years," which ran for six seasons on ABC, from 1988 through 1993.

The show was set between 1968 and 1973, and it dealt with the social issues and historic events of that time as seen through the eyes of young Kevin Arnold, whose family, friends and neighborhood reminded me lot of my Dobel Street years.

Homesick and aching for simpler times, I always tried to find time to watch Kevin's oh-so-familiar story unfold and cried like a baby when the show concluded its run with a narrative by an older, wiser Kevin:

Growing up happens in a heartbeat. One day you're in diapers; the next day you're gone. But the memories of childhood stay with you for the long haul. I remember a place, a town, a house like a lot of houses. A yard like a lot of other yards. On a street like a lot of other streets. And the thing is, after all these years, I still look back ... with wonder.

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We're all Friends of Belle Isle

Have we caught lightning in a bottle at Fletcher Field -- or could this grassroots effort to bring former and current residents of the city together to work on problems expand well beyond the park?

That's the question being pondered by some at the paper right now.

I firmly believe that we have come up with a blueprint to move into other neighborhoods almost immediately, tackle eyesores and sore spots across the city.

Still, others are skeptical, are not willing to allocate our limited resources to this project without having duplicated our success at Fletcher Field in some other spot.

Which got me to thinking last night: Where would be the best place to go next -- a spot that means a whole bunch to all Metro Detroiters, a landmark we would all love to return to its pristine state, to see our kids enjoy it as much as we once did? Then it hit me.

Belle Isle -- our very own Central Park.

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With a little help from my friends

A friend of mine sent me a link to a New York Times article this past week with a little note attached to it:

"Guess this one reinforces what we already knew ... "

Joe Cocker at Woodstock.

The article, "What Are Friends For? A Longer Life," talks about a 10-year Australian study that found that older people with a large circle of friends were 22 percent less likely to die during the study period than those with fewer friends.

Yes, Charlotte, everybody who yearns for the community we once shared on Detroit's east side -- and those of us who have reconnected with that community through this blog and Fletcher Field -- I think, will totally agree with these findings.

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For, lo, the winter is past

Ernie Harwell, the longtime voice of the Tigers, had a traditional opening for his first broadcast of spring.

Harwell, who retired in 2002 after calling Tigers games for 42 years, would begin the season by reciting Song of Solomon 2:11-12:

For, lo, the winter is past,
The rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth;
The time of the singing of birds is come,
And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.

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Peace offering

Peace be with you.

Those words meant nothing to me when I attended Holy Name as a child. When the moment arrived during Mass for the peace greeting, I would halfheartedly offer my hand to the people sitting around me, limply grasp theirs and systematically stick with the script during the awkward handshakes.

"Peace be with you," I would say without enthusiasm, sometimes rolling my eyes in the process.

It's not that way anymore.

Now during the offering of peace at Mass, I use two hands, sometimes go with a full hug and always kiss my family members.

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Bird watching in the old neighborhood

An avid hunter back in the day, my father used to get really excited every time he spotted one of the birds in the neighborhood.

Actually, we rarely saw pheasants in the residential area around McNichols and Van Dyke. But the pretty birds with distinct green bands around their necks and the red eye masks were all over the greens in the neighborhood: Mt. Olivet Cemetery and Detroit City Airport.

Often on our drives east on McNichols -- perhaps for a pizza at Villanova or an ice-cream cone at Baskin-Robbins -- dad would suddenly point toward the cemetery grounds and shout: "Did you see that?"

Sometimes the rest of us in the car did catch a glimpse of a pheasant; often they were too quick for us and we saw nothing but mausoleums and tombstones.

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Moving forward at the old gym

It's a real fixer-upper.

The roof leaks. There's no heat. Several windows are broken. The paint is peeling. The bathrooms are devoid of plumbing.

But it has character -- and a history that makes it so special to so many.

A group of about 15 of us met at the old gym/auditorium on the campus of Shield of Faith on Saturday to assess the building and determine if it has a future. By the end of the afternoon, if was no longer part of the discussion. We're putting together a plan and a team to return the building to its former glory.

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The Plan on File

The 1992 City Airport Master Plan (see end of post for complete PDFs)

Anyone at the last TOUCH meeting at Shield of Faith can tell you about the collective spirit of determination and enthusiasm for the future of the neighborhood evidenced there. But every discussion, every dream, seems shadowed by the fact that eventually we are going to have to talk about what is going on with The Detroit City Airport.

While everyone seemed familiar with the mini-take, the area just west of French road that the city has been trying to buy for more than 20 years, some people seemed surprised when I told them that the current plan on file includes the city eventually buying all the property between French and Van Dyke.

According to Mark Noel of the Michigan Department of Transportation (MDOT) and Tony Molinaro of the FAA, the currently approved plan for the airport is the August 1992 Master Plan. The Master Plan, which includes plans for several new runways, calls for the acquisition of all the land between French and Van Dyke, and was supposed to be completed this year.

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The cost of doing the wrong thing

The people of the neighborhood aren't the only ones paying the price for the city's always expanding, but never really expanding, policy toward The City Airport. Ironically, the city is paying heavy price as well.

In 2004 and 2005 Detroit lost two reverse condemnation suits claiming that the city had purposefully blighted the area, and significantly restricted the property value of Merkur Steel Supply, Inc. According to Mark Demorest, the attorney for the steel company in both lawsuits, it cost the city $14 million.

Demorest said that there is also another lawsuit that is currently taking place, meaning that the total cost to the city for the mismanagement of this area may continue to rise.

To put this in perspective, one of the more recent Airport Layout Plan Updates estimated that the entire mini-take expansion project would cost somewhere around $50 million. This means the city has already paid out a fourth of that amount with nothing to show for it.

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An Earth Day message

Leon Nolan started the greening of Dobel Street on Friday.

He took his rotary tiller across the street to two lots, 8286 and 8302, and began to turn the soil, prepping the property for an urban garden.

The houses on 8286 and 8302 are gone. One, 8302, was leveled by a gas explosion in the 1970s. The other was torn down by the city last year.

Leon started at 8286, the bigger of the two lots, but he didn't get very far before the rugged terrain tore up his rotary tiller and, at least, postponed work on the garden.

That's one of the major problems in this neighborhood and, I suspect, throughout the city. Even when blighted property comes down, the demolition effort is often shoddy. The soil remains polluted with bricks, pieces of foundation, glass and even lead. Edith Floyd plants her garden in boxes because of pollutants in the soil on Mt. Olivet Street.

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Time to engage

Engage.

What an awesome word.

It conjures up images of Luke Skywalker engaging in a climactic attack on the soft spot of the Death Star in the original "Star Wars."

Luke Skywalker engages in an attack on the Death Star.

It reminds me of a magical moment on Christmas Eve 1993 when Shannon, my wife now, said yes when I popped the question and we got engaged.

It also strikes a cord because of our engaging work in the neighborhood around Fletcher Field.

Today, while driving into work, I noticed a huge billboard on the back of the newspapers' parking garage on the corner of Third and West Lafayette. I usually don't see that side of the building, but because of a brief stop at Burger King this morning, I took a different route to the office.

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Eggs-ellent day

Dennis Wisniewski came up to me after Saturday's Easter egg hunt on the grounds of Shield of Faith Church, gave me a hug and had this to say:

"If you had told me back when I was running around this neighborhood causing trouble that 40 years later I would be in the old convent -- home of the nuns -- on a beautiful Saturday afternoon cooking spaghetti and then washing dishes, I would have called you crazy. Thanks a lot, Mike."

No. Thank you, Dennis, who was only kidding when he offered the sarcastic thank you to me after another wonderful event in the old neighborhood.

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Friends of City Airport

This Saturday I had the opportunity to sit down with Beverly Kindle-Walker, the executive director of Friends of City Airport. I found out that at the core, Friends of Fletcher Field and Friends of City Airport have a lot in common.

Friends of City Airport was started in the early 1990s to combat the anti-airport political groups that were growing in Warren and the Grosse Pointes. Today, the organization's focus has shifted to getting community children involved with the airport in the hopes of captivating imaginations and getting them to think about the possibilities in their future.

Kindle-Walker also told me that that as a group the group does not necessarily support the expansion of the airport. She views the airport as a good enough point-to-point for private aircraft and general aviation. The group is not be opposed to the reopening of Six Mile, either; she even recognizes it as something that should have been done some time ago.

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He is risen celebration and gym assessment

Come on out to Shield of Faith Church (formerly Holy Name of Jesus, 13600 Van Dyke Street, Detroit) on Saturday at noon to celebrate the Easter season with us.

We will hunt together for the treasures of life (Easter eggs and more) on the grounds of Shield of Faith starting at noon. Please sign in at the gate by the Doyle Street garages.

There will be activities for all ages, including adults, followed by a spaghetti lunch. And it's all FREE!

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The Bird flies up to Heaven

"Get in here, kids. There's a guy throwing for the Tigers who talks to the ball."

Those were my dad's words on that Saturday afternoon in 1976 when Mark "The Bird" Fidrych made his pitching debut for the Detroit Tigers. My brother, Brian, and I were playing basketball in our backyard at the time. Dad was watching the Tigers and Cleveland Indians on television, totally enraptured by the lanky kid with curly blond locks and an enthusiasm for the game of baseball rarely exhibited before.

Certainly, we'll never see it again.

Fidrych reportedly died sometime today at the age of 54, the result of an accident. He was found pinned under his dump truck at his farm in Northborough, Mass.

I'm on vacation right now in Frederick, Md. A friend of mine back in Detroit called this evening to tell me the bad news. Now I'm really sad.

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FAA Order 5190.6a

FAA Order 5190.6a (click to download PDF)

It didn't take me long to realize that there are a lot of conflicting opinions over what should be done with The City Airport. It also didn’t take long to realize that people on both sides need more information on why some of the more obvious solutions haven’t already happened, and why doing them is so difficult.

Today, I am talking about those people who want to see the airport closed.

When a governing body, like The City of Detroit, takes money from the FAA to build an airport, they are liable to the FAA for that money for the next 20 years.

Because the newest runway in the airport was built over 20 years ago, this should be good news for opponents of The City Airport. It should be, except there is a catch.

FAA Order 5190.6a states that if the FAA gave the city money to acquire the land that the airport was built on, then the city is liable for funds provided by the FAA indefinitely (for more details, download the FAA PDF of the order, and see Ch. 7, Section 3 - Grant Agreements).

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Happy’s Windmills

The future of City Airport?

When someone tries to discuss other possible uses for the property on which City Airport stands, most people in a position to make a change pay no attention.

That's why it was surprising to hear that Mike Happy's suggestion to turn the area into a wind farm actually generated some interest among people from the city.

Wind farming is a great idea, it is good for the environment, it would make money for the city, and it would show commitment to Obama’s plan for the future of our country. The question is, can Detroit get one up and running anytime soon?

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Happy Easter 2009!

I'm resurrecting this post from a year ago because it will always be fitting during the Easter season:

The resurrection window at Shield of Faith, formerly Holy Name.

Now after the Sabbath, as the first day of the week began to dawn, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came to see the tomb.

And behold, there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat on it.

His countenance was like lightning, and his clothing as white as snow.

And the guards shook for fear of him, and became like dead men.

But the angel answered and said to the women, "Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified.

"He is not here; for He is risen from the dead, and indeed He is going to Galilee; there you will see Him. Behold, I have told you."

So they departed quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy, and ran to bring His disciples the word. -- Matthew 28:1-8

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The fence line: before and after

Two years later, it's hard to picture the devastation anymore.

Contrary to the blighted neighborhood surrounding it, the revitalized Fletcher Field is now a beautiful 6-acre oasis.

The current Mt. Olivet fence line.

Perhaps the most amazing transformation at the park from June 2007 to now is the fence line along Mt. Olivet Street. I remember it being overgrown by vegetation, to the point that there was concern over the area being a potential haven for illegal and illicit activity. But, like I said, my memory of pre-cleanup Fletcher Field is fuzzy and I couldn't locate any before pictures of the fence line to compare them to what it looks like now.

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Growing beauty on Dobel Street

The house was completely gone and the lot was littered with debris -- old tires, hubcaps, furniture, clothes. Of the 30 or so houses that made up our end of the block back in the 70's, about a quarter of them were gone and another quarter of them were boarded up. It looked like the scenes from New Orleans after the levees failed.

Edith Floyd's garden, right down the street from Fletcher Field.

I wrote that nearly two years ago when I attempted to visit my childhood home at 8271 Dobel on Detroit's east side, only to find it MIA. Recalling now what some of my thoughts we're on that day back in June 2007, I know there was this one:

I should plant some flowers or something on the property to make it look nicer.

I'm certainly not alone in thinking that way; there are urban gardens on vacant lots all over the city, including one just down the street from Fletcher Field. And there could be another one in the neighborhood this summer

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A dead dog and a bad dream

Jon Morgan and I went to Fletcher Field on Sunday to bury a dead dog.

I spotted the poor little guy last weekend along the Almont Street fence, approximately halfway between the playground and the baseball diamond. I couldn't make out the dog's breed because of the sorry condition of the corpse, but it was about the size of a Chihuahua. Perhaps it was a puppy mauled by something much bigger.

I didn't have a shovel a week ago, so I made it a priority to promptly return to the park as a gravedigger -- not wanting the neighborhood kids to discover the gruesome scene. Thankfully, somebody beat us to the burial. When we arrived Sunday, we found a freshly covered grave where the dog had been.

The trip to park wasn't wasted, though. Several friends from the neighborhood stopped by to talk with us as the afternoon turned to evening and the skies got even grayer, an April snowstorm on its way.

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Anger management

Fourteen dead, including the shooter, in Binghamton, N.Y., on Friday.

Three police officers shot and killed in Pittsburgh on Saturday.

It's an angry world we live in, and I suspect the tumbling economy will make it even angrier if things don't turn around soon.

Anger and fear, fear and anger. What a waste of intense energy. Worse yet, that energy is often burnt off in violent ways.

I was thinking today about how much energy we've wasted in Metro Detroit over the years. Angry suburbanites pointing fingers at Detroit, and mad Detroiters pointing their fingers right back at 'em.

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A tiny breath breathes life into gym

A two-on-one basketball game takes place on the east side of the gym floor. On the west end, two young children toss a purple Frisbee back and forth. One story below, in the old auditorium, three people carry on a conversation about the future of the building, the church campus and the entire neighborhood.

I bounce around the action: attempt a three-pointer en route to jumping into the Frisbee toss and then head downstairs to see who's in the building.

All around there's movement, sound, laughter, joy -- LIFE.

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A strong reaction to '6 Mile and Van Dyke'

It was like when Bob Seger played to the Cobo crowd in 1975.

Hey, Detroit, yeah!

Seger.

Or when Journey's Steve Perry emphasized the hometown lyrics of "Don't Stop Believin'" during a Motown show in the 1980s.

Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit.

When Dave Macker said "6 Mile Road and Van Dyke" Saturday night, his audience clapped and let out a collective WHOOP.

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Good news, bad news

We spent the weekend immersed in hope: first, at a grand party Saturday night in St. Clair Shores, then in thanksgiving and worship Sunday on the campus of Shield of Faith.

The 1970 H.N. grads who attended Saturday's party.

And when I say immersed, I mean it. I didn't see or hear a news report until the clock radio went off this morning at 5:30.

Now I don't feel as hopeful.

U.S. shreds auto plans; Wagoner forced out at GM; Cobo deal could blow up today.

Thank goodness for the MSU Spartans, who will play for state pride next weekend in the Final Four at Ford Field.

Anyway, the Holy Name keeping-in-touch party was a complete success. The final tally was right at 300, the food was great and everybody seemed to have a wonderful time.

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A prayer for the children

There is nothing more tragic than a dead or suffering kid.

No matter where you live or what color you are, children matter the most. They are so precious -- and fragile. They count on us to lead the way and not to let them down.

It's so true what Robert Fulgham once wrote:

Don't worry that children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you.

Oh, yes, they watch ... learn ... follow our lead.

I've had so many conversations in recent days about what reportedly happened outside Fletcher Field last weekend that my voice is horse. Amazingly, nobody has backed away in fear. Instead, there is even more resolve to move forward

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A tragedy outside Fletcher Field

By all accounts, something really bad happened just outside Fletcher Field last weekend.

The memorial on Gilbo.

The story started to unfold for me Monday night, when I was approached by two area residents, who want to remain anonymous, with news of a shooting in the neighborhood. I was told that a harsh exchange of words between a group of teenagers at the park eventually escalated into a scene one man described as "unbelievable."

"I haven't witnessed anything like this in the 35 years I've been living here," he said.

A woman from the neighborhood who didn't actually see the incident said she heard between 15 and 20 shots.

"It was so incredibly loud and scary," she said.

I didn't get many solid details Monday but was told that three kids from the neighborhood were dead. A makeshift memorial just outside the park, consisting of a few tattered teddy bears, seemed to verify the deaths.

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Three days and counting until party time

All systems are go for Saturday's Holy Name keeping-in-touch party.

I talked with Bobby at Lakeland Banquet & Event Center in St Clair Shores yesterday, and he's ready for 300-plus to show up around 7 p.m. to begin the celebration. (FYI: I left some wiggle room for the procrastinators who still haven't sent me an RSVP to mjhappyii@hotmail.com or decide to come at the last minute.)

So what are we celebrating this weekend, given the grim headlines since we gathered together a year ago?

Well, how 'bout old friends, new friends, dearly departed friends?

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Hearing and listening

About five weeks ago, I woke up on a Sunday morning and decided to go back to church.

Given my rocky relationship with Catholicism over the years, it was totally out of sorts that I got out of bed that morning with an overwhelming feeling that I needed to go to St. Joan of Arc in St. Clair Shores. Still, I followed my gut -- that inner voice we all hear but often don't listen to -- and attended the noon service.

It was such an uplifting experience, I haven't missed a Sunday noon service at St. Joan since.

I have become particularly attached to one of the priests at St. Joan, Father Gerry, who usually says the noon Mass. To me, Father Gerry is the real deal. He is so full of the Holy Spirit, he literally dances during his sermons.

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Holy Name party update

On Sunday, we met for the last time before next Saturday's Holy Name keeping-in-touch party at Lakeland Banquet & Event Center in St Clair Shores.

Like it did a year ago, everything seems to be falling into place nicely. We're expecting a crowd of between 250 and 300. The Mr. V. tribute is a go and should be very touching. And we will all worship again together at Shield of Faith the following day at 4 p.m.

One thing we would like to work on before Saturday, though, is some picture boards of last year's reunion. We have some pictures but could use quite a few more to tell the whole story of that remarkable weekend in March 2008.

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Going to church on March 29

For a myriad of reasons, mostly related to time and resources, it's very unlikely we will be able to pull off another interfaith service at Shield of Faith this year.

In lieu of a full-blown joint service, Shield of Faith has invited former Holy Name parishioners to attend a 4 p.m. service on Sunday, March 29, the day after the H.N. keeping-in-touch party.

Additionally, the old H.N. school and gym will be open to tour again from 2 p.m. until 3:45 on Sunday.

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Whom do you trust?

I turned my back on my two youngest kids and then thought to myself: "Am I a bad parent?"

Almost immediately I dismissed the thought and went about the business of inspecting the work on the basketball court at Fletcher Field on Sunday.

So what made me question my parental ability? Well, I had left 6-year-old Shaun and 5-year-old Mandy playing on the swings in the company of a man from the neighborhood. He was swinging with them and, every once in a while, jumped off to push my kids higher.

I've known this man for about a year. I know he spent time in jail. He sometimes resorts to stripping abandoned houses to pay for food. On trash day in the Grosse Pointes, he drives his beat-up pickup truck across 8 Mile Road, looking for treasures among the garbage of the more fortunate.

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Being President Barack Obama

He's a good kid, a smart kid, a thoughtful kid.

But he's still just a kid and susceptible to doing childish things -- like giving in to peer pressure and accepting what's said on the playground as absolute truth.

President Barack "Louis" Obama.

That's what my eldest, 10-year-old Louis, did last October, when he listened to his peers rather than trust his own beliefs about black people. He came home one day, right before a mock presidential election at school, and told me that he would be voting for John McCain.

I totally accepted Louis' first two reasons for supporting McCain:

1. He's a war hero.

2. He won't raise taxes.

It was Louis' third reason that blew me away, especially since he spends so much time around absolutely wonderful people of color.

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An unscheduled park meeting

Sure, misery loves company. Well, I think that joy does, too, especially when the company comes unexpectedly.

Full-court basketball returns to Fletcher Field.

That's what happened at Fletcher Field on Saturday, when the spring-like weather coincidentally brought together a small group of us at the park.

I woke up, stuck my head outside and immediately decided to visit the park to check on a few things: the young trees we planted last October, the condition of the grass (I was worried about lawn jobs) and if any progress had been made on the reconstruction of the basketball court.

My wife, Shannon, and oldest son, Louis, had gone to help one of my nieces move into an apartment. I was on babysitting duty until dinner time, so I piled 6-year-old Shaun and 5-year-old Amanda in the car around noon, and picked up Jon Morgan en route to Fletcher Field.

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Wasted talent

Who would have thunk it? I CAN dance after all.

This past Friday night, nine weeks into our ballroom dance lessons at Grosse Pointe War Memorial, I was totally feeling it. My wife, Shannon, and I had all the right moves -- and right on cue.

As Irene Cara sang during the 1983 movie "Flashdance:" "I am rhythm now."

Shortly before class ended, our instructor, an 80-something woman who has been teaching dance for more than 50 years, approached us and gave me a mind-blowing compliment.

"You really move with the music," she said. "Have you studied dance or music before this?"

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Father Nick will join us

Father Nick.

I heard back from Rev. Nicholas Zukowski, whom I recently sent an invite to the March 28 Holy Name keeping-in-touch party.

Father Nick, who currently serves at St. Mary Queen of Creation Parish in New Baltimore, is a Holy Name alum, class of '68. During the interfaith service at Shield of Faith last March, he gave a stirring sermon on the awfulness of exclusion, which was so fitting for the occasion.

Click here to listen to Father Nick's sermon.

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A tiring problem

Discarded tires. You see them all over Detroit, particularly in its most-blighted neighborhoods -- a reminder of what built this city and what's tearing it apart now. Kevin St. George recently spotted hundreds of the big, inedible rubber donuts in the area around Fletcher Field.

Kevin is a senior at Michigan State University, where he's studying journalism. As part of a tandem program -- a community journalism partnership that includes The Detroit News and the MSU School of Journalism -- Kevin has been assigned to work with us in the neighborhood around Fletcher Field this semester. The following is his second offering to the blog:

A tire pile on French and Almont.

Three weeks ago I set out to do a story about the number of old car tires strewn around the Fletcher Field neighborhood. I went down to the area with my camera to see if I could get a feel for just how many there are and how long they had been there.

Paul Weekes of Otto Schemansky Sons -- a grave-markers business across the street from Shield of Faith Church -- was the first person I talked to, and he had a lot to say about the tires. This is a problem he has been dealing with for quite some time. A huge mountain of old tires sit in a vacant lot across from his business, which -- aside from being an eyesore -- becomes a cesspool for mosquito breeding in the summer. By his estimate, there are probably 500 or more tires lying around the neighborhood, and some of them have been there as long as 10 years.

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Mr. V.'s counterpart: Harriet Weatherly

Harriet Weatherly meant absolutely nothing to me until Sunday evening, when her name came up twice within three hours.

Around 2 p.m., former Holy Name stalwart Dennis Suszynski arrived at planning meeting for the March 28 H.N. keeping-in-touch party and told me that he had tracked Harriet down last week. When I gave him a quizzical look, he informed me that Harriet worked for the Detroit Rec Department at Fletcher Field during the same era as Frank Verbanac, Mr. V.

Dennis said he looked Harriet up online and then visited with her at her home. He said she's in her 70s, retired, doesn't drive at night anymore, but remembers fondly her work in the old neighborhood.

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From the giants' perspective

And so they do live happily ever after, in this time and that time, if you believe in the possibility of the impossible.

Those were the closing words of a television miniseries from 2001, "Jack and the Beanstalk: The Real Story," which I finally caught tonight on the ION Network.

Are you seeing a trend here? I watch very few first-run television shows.

Anyway, in this story -- directed by Brian Henson as a co-production of CBS and Jim Henson Television -- the giant is the good guy and Jack is a thief. Jack's greed kills the benevolent giant and brings famine to the world above, which had thrived and lived in perfect harmony because of the gold-laying goose and musical harp Jack eventually steals and takes home to mama.

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'That 70's Show' a classic

I recently discovered a television gem, "That '70s Show," which I failed to connect with during its eight-year run, from 1998-2006, on Fox.

Now in syndication all over the TV dial, I watch the show all the time -- often for hours at a time during marathons on The Network for Teens.

If you haven't seen "That '70s Show," it's mostly about a group of teenagers coming into their own during the late '70s. They spend a great deal of time in the basement of the Forman household, watching television, engaging in idle chat, trash-talking, playing Pong and smoking pot.

The main adult characters -- the Pinciottis and the Formans, next-door neighbors in the fictional town of Point Place, Wis. -- deal with the social and economic issues of that era: i.e. factories closing down, wives heading off to work, and raising hippie kids who have sex and smoke pot.

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Holy Name party update

I received the following email from Nancy Harding last night in regards to the upcoming Holy Name keeping-in-touch party:

Michael,

Count us in for five (William Harding, Nancy Harding, Greg Kliesinger, wife and guest). We had a blast at the last one.

Thanks.

Five more puts us well over the original number I thought might attend: 100. Given the RSVPs I've received by word of mouth, there's a very good chance we'll go over 200.

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Tear down this wall

Bravo to Mayor Cockrel for what he said today after vetoing City Council's vote to kill the Cobo deal.

"We can no longer afford political games, the us-versus-them, the blaming and the finger-pointing that make progress impossible," Cockrel said. "It's time to put Detroit first."

Can I hear an AMEN!?

I hearken back to President Reagan's words in 1987: "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!"

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A counter punch to history

A counter punch. That's what Metro Detroit needs right now: A solid comeback to the Jim Crow laws that didn't come off the books until the mid-1960s, the violence that occurred here in the summer of 1967 -- and all the crap that followed.

For more than 40 years now, the entire region has been on the mat, floored by laws and events that continue to hinder any real progress -- worse yet, stop the ball before it even gets rolling sometimes.

Monday night, I really started to get hopeful that we've already begun to fight back in a big way with this coalition.

We had another meeting at Shield of Faith, in a bigger room, and even more people showed up than two weeks ago. In all, I think there were about 75 people there, including some folks who work for the city: a sheriff from the Wayne County Prosecutor's Office, an employee of Detroit City Airport and a former official from the neighborhood city hall. The crowd was diverse, looked like one of those big black-and-white cookies you find at a corner bakery shop and go great with a huge glass of milk.

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Hot-button issues

"I'm going to beat the bleep out of him; that's what I'm going to do."

That was my first response to a family crisis my wife brought to my attention early last week. I was driving to a video-training session in Novi on Tuesday when Shannon reached me about 8:30 a.m. to tell me that somebody had done something incredibly mean-spirited -- potentially devastating -- to somebody I deeply care about.

I immediately saw deep red and went into a verbal tirade, which Shannon has grown used to over the years. Once a potty-mouthed sailor with a bad temper, always a potty-mouthed sailor with a bad temper.

And I guess that's the point here: No matter how much education you have ... or amount of times you go to church ... or how big your heart is ... or how much you want to change, I think there's a default switch in all of us when somebody pushes a certain button.

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Happy anniversary, Bishop Jennings

On behalf of the Friends of Fletcher Field and remnants of the Holy Name community, I would like to congratulate Shield of Faith pastor Bishop James Alvin Jennings Jr. for his 19 years of service to the church.

Bishops Jennings, who gave a rousing sermon during last year's interfaith service, has been a key figure in the neighborhood around Fletcher Field since his church took over the building at 13600 Van Dyke Avenue shortly after Holy Name closed in 1990. He is currently working with F3 on an initiative to refurbish the old gym on the SOF campus and reintroduce it as a centerpiece of the neighborhood.

Bishop Jennings' assistant, Dr. Kirk Walker, says the church will be celebrating the bishop's anniversary the entire month of March and invites all of us to join in this auspicious occasion.

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Flagged for crumbling porches, not crumbling buildings

So I'm listening to 760-AM WJR this morning and hear Frank Beckmann talking about the fight to build a second Ambassador span over the Detroit River.

On his radio show, Beckmann lauds Matty Moroun's bid to put up the bridge rather than back a government initiative. Beckmann believes the Detroit businessman, who already owns the original Ambassador Bridge, is the right man for the job, at least partly, because if the government does it -- cue up the typical Republican response to any government program -- "they're spending your tax dollars."

Beckmann then takes a phone call on the air. The caller bashes Moroun, questions the guy's integrity, says the billionaire is paying off public officials.

An angry Beckmann hangs up on the caller, says there's no proof to tag Moroun with a crook label and ends the on-air discussion by saying to his audience that the caller should get back in touch when he has any evidence of Moroun breaking the law.

To which I say to Beckmann, consider this:

I know of at least six individuals in the neighborhood around Fletcher Field who have been warned or fined by the City of Detroit for little things: having crumbling porches, sagging roofs, or trash cans on the curb too late or too early for garbage-collection day.

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Snow ball

On the bright side of the hoop-dream saga at Fletcher Field, the mid-winter installation of a new stanchion, backboard and rim on the south end of the court did not go unnoticed by the children in the neighborhood.

Shortly after it all went up -- and just a few days after a major snowstorm -- I stopped by the park and saw that the kids had shoveled off the part of the court nearest to the new basket. Neighborhood resident Edith Floyd said the kids brave the weather just about every evening to play basketball at the park.

I got real kick out of that, especially because it reminded me of my childhood:

A backboard and rim hanging on the peak of our one-car garage on Dobel Street. At least 6 inches of snow and ice covers our makeshift court -- the driveway leading from the side door of our house to the garage door, which is badly dented because of errant shots. The side window of the garage is boarded up, the result of a wild hook shot by Dad, taken all the way from the house's side door during a game of H-O-R-S-E. Dad likes to think he's Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, but the window says otherwise.

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Hoop dream gone wrong

I've been holding back on a story for nearly a year now, but this whole Freman Hendrix thing -- his attempt to kill the Cobo deal because it's "not in the best interest" of Detroit -- makes me believe it's time to tell it because the system is so badly broken.

A limp rim at the park in November 2007.

This is not an indictment on all Detroit businesses, nor is it a personal attack or an attempt to get anybody fired. In fact, I'm not going to name names at all and will readily admit that my own ignorance of the hiring process for contractors in Detroit cost the kids in the neighborhood around Fletcher Field $800.

It all started back in September 2007, shortly after our first barbecue at the park. An executive from the Chrysler plant near Fletcher Field came to the park celebration on Sept. 8, 2007 and later contacted us about the possibility of a grant from the Chrysler Foundation.

Chrysler wanted to know if there was a project at the park that needed funding. We pointed out the basketball court, which had just one functioning stanchion, backboard and rim and an asphalt surface that had crumbled and cracked under years of weather, wear and tear.

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Detroit's best interests? Don't think so

Currently on detnews.com: Hendrix to Detroit council: Kill Cobo deal

An excerpt from the article reads:

DETROIT -- Mayoral candidate Freman Hendrix sent a letter to City Council President Monica Conyers today, urging her and colleagues to reject the Cobo Center expansion plan because it's "not in the best interest" of Detroit.

Hendrix wrote that Detroit would have too little say over the new authority formed by the legislature to run the facility and he is concerned with the lack of preferences for Detroit-based businesses landing contracts. Hendrix wrote that he supports the expansion plan but "the need for regional actions must not trump Detroit leaders' responsibility for protecting Detroit's interests."

I implore you, Mr. Hendrix, to rethink this statement. Just like it's shortsighted and wrong to scream "buy American" when -- like it or not -- all of our pocketbooks count on a global economy these days, killing a deal that would finally expand Cobo just because of a lack of preferences for Detroit-based businesses landing contracts is just plain stupid.

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Looking for Mr. V. pictures and more

Stories, pictures, memorabilia, whatever else you might have that would bring to life those summer afternoons playing ball at Fletcher Field under the guidance of Mr. V., Frank Verbanac.

At the interfaith service last year, we honored longtime Holy Name organist Fernando Reyes. This year, at the March 28 Holy Name party, we're going to pay tribute to Mr. V., the legendary Fletcher Field coach of the past.

Several members of Mr. V.'s family, including his wife, will likely be in attendance, and we want to do justice to a man who is an inspiration to all of us working with the children at the park today.

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The Faberge effect

I was thinking this morning about the 1970s TV commercial for an organic shampoo called Faberge.

The gist of the commercial was that soon everybody would know the wonders of Faberge because: "I'll tell two friends and they'll tell two friends and so on and so on and so on ..."

The 1970s Faberge ad.

That's what seems to be going on with the Friends of Fletcher Field coalition. Last night's meeting at Shield of Faith, formerly Holy Name, attracted about 40 people. The group packed into the SOF boardroom like a 300-pound man stuffed into a middle coach seat on a Boeing 727. And not everybody involved in F3 could make the meeting.

A year ago, this group was basically a committee of about a dozen people, working on a neighborhood reunion. Now, partly because of the reunion, it's more than triple in size and focusing on a number of important issues in the neighborhood around SOF and Fletcher Field.

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Learning to dance from the Shield

I went to church today at St. Joan of Arc in St. Clair Shores. It was my first Catholic service since Easter 2007. When I woke up this morning, I just felt like I needed it.

Church is a tough sell in my house, so I pitched the idea to the only one I knew who would bite: my middle child with the big heart, 6-year-old Shaun. He finds joy in everything -- even the monotony of Catholic mass in the company of his old dad.

Turns out, the noon mass wasn't so monotonous. The choir, more of a folk group, was very good. I caught Shaun humming and swaying to the opening song. I found myself doing the same thing during a mighty fine rendition of the Gloria -- then broke out in a huge grin because of my new-found boldness.

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New details revealed for March 28 H.N. party include Mr. V. tribute

You Holy Name folks were spoiled by the old Polish women who used to prepare meals for events in the basement auditorium.

Mrs. Preblick, Mrs. Gayda and Mrs. Lemanski made you crave for their bigos, pierogi, golabki and potato pancakes.

Now when we try to put together an event with simple hors d'oeuvres, everybody screams for a scrumptious, belly-filling meal.

In light of all the we-want-dinner emails I have received since announcing the March 28 Holy Name keeping-in-touch party, we've made revisions to the menu.

Honestly, a full dinner isn't really an option. With the economy the way it is, I think it's too pricey -- will keep people from joining us and enjoying themselves. Instead, we've beefed up the hors d'oeuvres spread and added a dessert table.

I met with the catering director, Kelly Engel, at Lakeland Banquet & Event Center in St Clair Shores on Friday. We finalized the arrangements, which are as follows:

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F3 on TV

It's true that television adds a few pounds -- to your nose. The bright lights also highlight how thin your hair is and where it no longer grows at all. Man, my forehead is enormous.

I learned that just the other night while watching myself and Jon Morgan talk about the Friends of Fletcher Field coalition on the little screen.

John Prost

You see, when Jon and I made a presentation to the Detroit Rotary Club last November, we met John Prost -- a jolly, 60-something who greeted us with an uplifting poem after our speeches.

Mr. Prost hosts a weekly television show ("The John Prost Show") on local-access station WMTV-5, which can be seen in all the Grosse Pointes and Harper Woods. He was excited about our F3 coalition and asked us to talk about it on his show.

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Former hyperoptimist looking for a miracle or two

I've always been the optimist in the family.

When the U.S. hockey team faced overwhelming odds against the U.S.S.R. at the 1980 Winter Games in Lake Placid, N.Y., I believed -- no, I knew -- the Americans would prevail.

My dad kept telling me before the game not to get my hopes up, but I wouldn't listen. My hopes were as high as Whiteface Mountain, and Mike Eruzione and the boys didn't disappoint.

From that day forward, optimist didn't quite categorize how I viewed life. "The Miracle on Ice" made me hyperoptimistic.

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Cage fighting at Macomb Mall?

Last August, I wrote about how quickly things can change in the neighborhood around Fletcher Field.

The blog post told the story about a meticulously-kept bungalow on Dobel, how it was full of life one Sunday and then the picture of death the next.

I've noticed over the past six months that unpleasant surprises are not reserved for the area around the park anymore. They don't stop at Detroit's borders, either.

The economy, what's happened to the domestic auto industry, is quickly changing all of Metro Detroit -- and certainly not for the better.

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Deacons watching over us

The sorrow in the church actually felt like it had substance, the ability to penetrate you like a flesh-eating virus. It emanated from every pew, from every corner of the building. Even the beautiful stained-glass windows lacked their usual luster during the funeral service for Deacon Charlie Tom Cranford.

On this day, the windows of Shield of Faith seemed to tone themselves down in respect, like a flag at half mast, saying that this man's death had left a great void in the world -- one that likely never would be filled.

I experienced that same intense sadness about four months ago at a funeral service for another deacon, Raymond Lubien. Hearts were just as heavy at Temrowski Funeral Home that night in mid October, when "sorry for your loss" just didn't cut it.

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Us as we

After a manic week of high highs and low lows, I decided to kick back and relax with a flick. When I'm in this state of mind, I usually pick a title that reflects the issues of the week. And since I've been thinking a lot about what it means to forgive lately, Clint Eastwood's "Unforgiven" jumped out at me. Maybe I could learn more about what it is from what it is not.

Afterward, I decided I like Mr. E. He sure is able to get things done, without even raising his voice. Great western, but it didn't really answer my lingering questions about forgiveness in Detroit in 2009.

So I decided to turn to the Good Book. It is, after all, the book that our chosen leaders choose in this country of choice to take their oath of office -- sometimes twice. There I found three passages that have provided much guidance: 2 Chronicles 7:14; Acts 26:18; and I John 1:7-9. And, of course, there's Our Lord's Prayer, which leaves no room for ambiguity at all.

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Deacon Charlie Tom Cranford goes home

It was said during a "going home" service at Shield of Faith today that there are many great people in this world, but there are way too few good folks out there.

Everyone who eulogized Deacon Charlie Tom Cranford remembered him as being one of those rare good guys.

He was the keeper of the keys for Shield of Faith, often the first person to open the church in the morning and the last to leave at night. In between, you would find him patrolling the area around the church campus in a van with a yellow light on top of it.

I didn't know Deacon Cranford very well, but he did bestow some of his goodness on me one afternoon last February as I stood freezing outside the old gym on campus with my oldest son, Louis, who was nine at the time, by my side. I had parked my minivan at the church and walked over to the gym, where Louis and I were to meet SOF minister Imogene Johnson.

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Homeland security

The words were at the same time profound and perplexing.

"The buildings on this campus are what bring us back."

Part of the SOF campus, formerly Holy Name.

Glenn Porzadek -- a liturgical musician who used to be in the folk group at Holy Name -- voiced that opinion during Monday's Friends of Fletcher Field meeting at Shield of Faith, formerly Holy Name.

It's an opinion I agree with. There's just something about being on the church campus that makes many of us feel whole. Visiting Fletcher Field does the same thing, hits us like a spiritual tsunami every time. It's more than an unexpected payback for giving the neighborhood children a nice place to play and something to do on Sunday; it's food for the soul.

But why?

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New Center: Hats off

I am Leslie Cleage and am enrolled in the Community Journalism class at the University of Detroit Mercy. My reporting beat is the New Center Area.

While becoming familiar with the area, I noticed a cluster of shops that filled one block of Woodward between Milwaukee and West Grand Boulevard. I also noticed Mr. Song Millinery. Several weeks later I learned that this same hat shop created a hat for a famous client.

Local hat maker Luke Song created a strikingly odd hat for the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin. Franklin wore that hat while singing at the inauguration of President Obama. Song's creation will be placed on display in the Smithsonian Institute.

I wonder if he thought that this personalized creation for Franklin would find its way into American History?

University District: A whole new world

Hi!

We're Roshelle Vogel, Mike Martinez, and Natalie DeBoer and we are students at the University of Detroit Mercy, taking Mike Happy and Jon Morgan's Community Journalism Course.

College can be a scary place when you're a freshmen, especially when you're told not to go outside the gates of the university or you'll get shot.

Because of this class and despite the better judgment and advice of priests, professors and friends we finally ventured outside of the iron gates.

We found out they were wrong.

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Bum rotator cuff could lead to awesome things

OK, so my neck, shoulder and arm pain, a doctor tells me today, is the result of an inflamed rotator cuff.

He gave me a shot of cortisone, some anti-inflammatory meds and prescribed physical therapy for my right shoulder during the next 30 days. After 30 days, when the inflammation presumably goes away, he will likely do an MRI to see if the rotator cuff is torn.

Which got me to thinking about my future and what surgery on my shoulder -- in my wildest imagination -- might do for me, my family and the neighborhood around Fletcher Field.

You've probably already seen the based-on-a-true-story movie "The Rookie," in which a middle-aged man has an operation on his throwing arm and, post surgery, miraculously has the ability to chuck a baseball like Joel Zumaya did in 2006.

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A new endeavor at the old gym

Part of the reason we met at Shield of Faith, formerly Holy Name, Monday night was an attempt to rekindle the strong connection between the past and present tenants of the church campus -- a bond that reached its pinnacle at the interfaith service at SOF last year.

Inside the old gym.

That day was like Christmas on steroids. We all left the church on a higher plain, singing songs of praise and feeling goodwill toward all people.

Unfortunately, that Alleluia, love-one-another state -- as is almost always the case -- dissipated during the ensuing months. Holy Name and SOF collaborated on a few projects in the neighborhood in 2008, but nothing lived up to the expectations we all had on March 30.

Monday night, we started to rethink how we might work together in a more meaningful way, talked it out for more than two hours and then left the church feeling hopeful we had gotten back on track.

Today, Dr. Kirk Walker, assistant to SOF pastor, Bishop James Alvin Jennings Jr., sent me an email. Dr. Walker said that Bishop Jennings would like to work with Friends of Fletcher Field this spring to rehabilitate the old gym on the SOF campus so it can be used by the community, giving the neighborhood children a safe place to play during the winter months.

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A shouting match

How difficult is it walking this tightrope -- uniting people (young and old, black and white, urbanites and suburbanites), keeping them together and working in the neighborhood around Fletcher Field?

Well, tonight I found myself in a shouting match with a dear friend in the board room at Shield of Faith, formerly the conference room of the Holy Name rectory.

After a Friends of Fletcher Field meeting, we started a discussion about the merits of bringing up former Detroit mayor Coleman Young on this blog, which I did last week. The discussion turned heated in a matter of minutes and then ended abruptly minutes after that. I responded to one of her criticisms with a rolling of the eyes and sarcastic "whatever;" she then left the building in a huff.

The whole thing lasted about 5 minutes and taught me some more valuable lessons:

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Save the fair

A royal pain in the neck.

That's what I have today. Actually, I've had pain in my neck, right shoulder and arm for more than a week now. So I cannot comfortably sit and write this morning. In fact, I'm headed to see a doctor very shortly.

But I wanted to make a quick comment on a story in today's Detroit News, State Fair in jeopardy.

Bottom line: Our children deserve better.

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The icy truth

Jon Morgan and I had a lengthy conversation Wednesday night with our Detroit-Mercy community journalism class about the importance of truth in journalism.

We both believe, among all the principles of journalism, truth matters most.

But, as was obvious during our class discussion, defining truth is no easy matter. We all have truths. The problem is, what one considers truth usually doesn't mesh with another person's truth.

That's because simple perception is often defined as hard truth.

We, as journalists, must put aside our perceptions and gather as many facts as possible in an effort to come to a logical conclusion, the truth -- or as close to it as possible.

In today's Detroit News, reporter Charlie LeDuff tells the disturbing story of a body found frozen in a block of ice inside an elevator shaft of an abandoned warehouse in Detroit. The story ran on the front page with a graphic picture of the corpse's two legs protruding from an icy grave.

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Don't look back to Mayor Young

Coleman Alexander Young, Detroit's first African-American mayor, once said: "You can't look forward and backward at the same time."

I couldn't disagree more. To be a truly effective leader, you must figure out a way to do both in tandem; you have to look back to ensure you don't make the same mistakes as you move forward, plus you have to keep an eye out for things that have helped us all live up to our full potential in the past.

I wish the city's current and potential leaders would follow that rule -- especially the ones who continually invoke Mayor Young's name and words as if he were someone we should all emulate.

The latest to do so was Detroit mayoral candidate Sharon McPhail, who has a picture and 1993 endorsement from the late mayor included in a recent campaign mailing to Detroit residents.

No doubt, Young -- who took office in 1974 and remained in power until 1993 -- did some awesome things for African-Americans during a not-so-awesome time in the city. For one, he took on police brutality in Detroit, where a predominantly black city often suffered the wrath of a disproportionately white DPD.

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First impressions

Kevin St. George is a senior at Michigan State University, where he's studying journalism. As part of a tandem program -- a community journalism partnership that includes The Detroit News and the MSU School of Journalism -- Kevin has been assigned to work with us in the neighborhood around Fletcher Field this semester.

He will be covering some in-depth stories, such as the history of City Airport and whether the airport still can be a viable player in Detroit's future. He will also take a look at some alternative uses for the airport property, including green technology, and further explore what the closure of McNichols, between Conner and French, did to the surrounding community.

His first task was to go into the neighborhood and write a first-impressions piece. We told him to be honest. If he thinks Jon Morgan and I are idiots and we should quit doing what we're doing, he should write that.

The following is what Kevin submitted today:

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A hat from the park comes back

Some cities wear suits and Fedoras. In Detroit, we wear blue jeans and ballcaps.

I betcha every person with male parts in Metro Detroit owns at least five baseball hats, and most of us probably have a dozen or more.

My huge collection of ballcaps, from all over the globe, is too big for the hat tree my wife bought at a garage sale several years ago. That wooden faux tree with branches for about 20 hats sits in one corner of our bedroom, and is surrounded by dozens of ballcaps that won't fit and look like fallen leaves -- which seems appropriate for the Honolulu blue one with a Lions logo on it.

Even when I worked in the land of suits and Fedoras -- New York City -- I often went to the office with a Tigers caps on, the brim pulled down to just above my eyebrows to hide my receding hairline. In fact, hats bearing the Tigers' ole English "D" logo were no stranger to NYC. I saw them all the time on the heads of, presumably, tourists from Detroit who were out exploring the Times Square area.

Given this town's affection for ballcaps, it didn't surprise me when David Piner said he still possessed a hat he wore at Fletcher Field back in 1971, when he played for the Expos, a 13-and-under softball team.

Today, David sent me a picture of the hat next to the runner-up trophy the Expos won that season. He also sent the following note:

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Shaun for president

"If my eyes get wet, it's just because I'm thinking about the geese."

That's what my middle child, 6-year-old Shaun, said while he was watching a CNN report about the US Airways plane that went down in the Hudson River last week.

Wayward geese sucked up in the plane's engines reportedly caused the wreck. All 155 on board survived the incident. The same cannot be said for the birds.

I was thinking about Shaun's remarkable comment -- his empathetic nature -- during Tuesday's inauguration, when I was also considering which of my three children I'd like to see at the head of our country one day.

All of them are incredibly bright, although Shaun in a more artsy, abstract way. He can't remember his telephone number -- but can find deep meaning in episodes of "SpongeBob SquarePants."

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At last ...

Wow! How classy and exceptional was that?!?

Michael: Did you pick up a few new dance moves?

Terry: The question is not whether President Obama talks too white; it's really whether he cares enough. And his track record shows the answer is an affirmative, yes indeed.

Mr. Obama is the first to admit that he's only human, and yes, the poor will always be with us. But balancing the needs of all requires caring, knowledge, and the ability to build bridges over the vast divide.

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Holy Name neighborhood keeping-in-touch party on March 28, 2009

Go here for more information on the 2009 Holy Name keeping-in-touch party

We put on the Holy Name neighborhood reunion and interfaith service with Shield of Faith last March for a couple of reasons.

First, we wanted to bring people together, reconnect a community that had been fragmented, spread out across the state and country.

Reunion 2008.

We also wanted to bring light to the plight of that community's former neighborhood, in hopes that people might be willing to join with the current residents of the area around Fletcher Field to work on what's broken there.

What I've learned from your testimonies throughout the past year is, as much as the old neighborhood needs the helping hand of the Holy Name community, Holy Namers need each other. Time and again, I've been told that emerging from that neighborhood in one piece happened because we always had each others' backs.

Given what's transpired since last March -- massive loss of jobs, foreclosures, uncertainty, fear, sickness and even death -- I'm pretty sure the company of old friends, their sound advice, ability to help us network and shoulders to cry on would do us all some good right now.

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Skinny white boy in the 'hood

Detroit's own Terry Foster said he was trying to "keep it real" when he threw out a question to his listeners on 97.1 FM, WXYT, this evening:

Does President-elect Barack Obama talk too white to be accepted in the 'hood?

Now, I love Terry Foster, who writes for The Detroit News' sports section in addition to his radio gig.

Terry Foster

When I left the U.S. Navy in 1991 after seven years as a military journalist, he was one of the only members of the local media who responded to my S.O.S. email looking for advice on how to crack into the business. In fact, Terry actually took the time to call me at home one night and offer some words of encouragement.

Even if Terry has forgotten his act of kindness, I never will.

But that still didn't keep me from getting more than a little angry at Terry for the question he posed on the radio because it was so divisive.

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Wanted: Homecoming kings and queens

Cautiously optimistic.

That's how I approached Sunday's meeting of Friends of Fletcher Field, our first of 2009.

Part of our F3 gang.

Although none of the people involved in F3 has ever given me any indication that they're running out of steam, I still went into this meeting walking on eggshells. Knowing how much we put into this effort in 2008, I led off the meeting saying that perhaps we should cut back a little this year -- maybe stick to three or four events.

By the end of the discussion, we had 10 major events on our calendar, plus another dozen reading and sports Sundays at Fletcher Field. The pinnacle event will be our third annual barbecue at the park, on Sept. 12, with a significant addition -- a homecoming parade preceding the barbecue.

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Hope for the future

President-elect Barack Obama embarked on an inaugural whistle-stop tour to Washington today. But before he left Philadephia, Obama had this to say:

"Starting now, let's take up in our own lives the work of perfecting our union," he told several hundred people gathered inside a hall at Philadelphia's historic 30th Street train station. "Let's build a government that is responsible to the people and accept our own responsibilities as citizens to hold our government accountable. ... Let's make sure this election is not the end of what we do to change America, but the beginning and the hope for the future."

We will continue to do our part on Sunday, when we hold our first Friends of Fletcher Field meeting of the year. We will gather at the usual spot, mom's house in Roseville, at 3 p.m. Please email me for directions (mjhappyii@hotmail.com) if you haven't been to one of these meetings before and would like to join us.

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No dog umbrellas allowed

I was on a treadmill at the gym before work this morning, watching "The Today Show" while putting in my 7 miles. There was a segment on the show that featured gimmicky items to help get you through bad weather.

One of the items was an umbrella -- for dogs. When the picture of an umbrella-toting miniature Collie hit the flat-screen TVs spread around the gym, a groan immediately reverberated throughout. One man actually shouted, "You gotta be (expletive) kidding me!"

That's what I love most about Detroiters: They're real and aren't afraid to speak their minds when they see something really stupid.

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The outsiders' perspective

Seeing Detroit for the first time -- or coming to the city occasionally, with huge time lapses in between visits -- gives one a completely different perspective on the city's decline.

Charming or alarming? It's all about perspective.

It's kinda like seeing your college roommate for the first time in 10 or 20 years. Back in the day, he was a jock, had abs of steel and golden locks. Suddenly, he's a couch potato, has a beer belly and a China-sized bald spot.

For the first-time-ever viewer of your college buddy, what he is today is, well, what he is.

It's not as stark for those of us who live here. For us, it's like the couple who has been married for 20 years and barely notices the 20 extra pounds each bears that wasn't there on their wedding day. The incremental changes are ignored, forgiven or things we just learn to live with.

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First F3 meeting of 2009

The Christmas tree finally came down yesterday, and we all mourned the end of another holiday season in the Happy household.

My youngest, 5-year-old Amanda, says we should have kept the decorations up until spring. I agreed, told her that it's cruel to have to face the coldest, grayest days of winter without the glow of festive lights.

The two of us decided that next year we would wait until mid-December to deck the halls and then leave everything up until Valentine's Day. That resolution will have to pass the rest of the House before it becomes official, though.

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Fighting back

If you're from here -- or spend enough time in the area -- you get it.

You know what matters, what resonates, what will work and what won't. You have a chip on your shoulder, but you're not mean-spirited. You don't mind getting your hands dirty and will help a buddy paint his garage as long as there's free beer involved.

You also have a love-hate relationship with Detroit. But our city is like a little brother; we can beat it up anytime, but God help the outsider who takes potshots at it.

True to form, Free Press columnist Mitch Albom did a little fighting back for Detroit in the latest issue of Sports Illustrated. Whether you love or hate him, Albom gets it and hit a Cecil Fielder-like grand slam with this column, which the Free Press reprinted in Sunday's edition.

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My dance partner

I'm an awesome dancer -- in my mind.

My lifetime dance partner, Shannon.

I see myself as Michael Jackson, Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire all wrapped into one. I can moon walk to "Billy Jean," sing and glide through the rain, and lead Ginger Rogers around a ballroom like no other.

In reality, I've been told I look more like Jerry Lewis' nutty professor when I strut my stuff.

So it was no surprise Friday night that I struggled through my first ballroom dance lesson -- a Christmas gift for my wife, Shannon. My foxtrot (left, right, left, right, touch, sidestep, glide ...) was more like a turkeytrot (left, right, trip, trip, gobble, gobble).

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Jack Gayda pays a visit

The blues had turned into the blahs and were heading toward the boo-hoos.

I was having a crappy day at the office on Thursday, letting everything get to me and thinking negatively about the coming changes at The Detroit News.

Yes, those of us left here are so lucky to have jobs, but there's immense pressure to make all the right moves in the weeks and months ahead. We're either gonna be the folks who reinvented the newspaper industry -- or the ones who killed a paper that has been around for more than 130 years.

It really is do-or-die, and you can feel it every time you walk into the building now.

Anyway, it's about 4 p.m. Thursday and I'm cranky as hell -- well into the blahs. An unknown gentleman who appears to be about 65 years old approaches the online department and asks where Mike Happy sits.

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Back at U of D

Back in the winter of 1981, when I was a senior at Harper Woods Notre Dame High School, I took a campus tour of the University of Detroit.

I was in awe that day.

The buildings were huge; there were so many of them; the architecture was cool; and it was exciting to see Calihan Hall, where John Long, Terry Duerod and Terry Tyler had once graced the court under the direction of coach Dick Vitale.

I remember leaving the university that day feeling inspired. I had found where the next chapter of my life would unfold as a mass communications student.

The feeling didn't last, though. My 17-year-old head wasn't screwed on straight. I lacked direction, discipline and whole lot more.

So when my mom -- fretting about the cost of an education at U of D -- asked me if I was sure about my decision to go there, I said no and opted for a semester at Macomb County Community College first.

A failed semester at Macomb, followed by a year as a printer at Valassis in Livonia, led me on a path to the U.S. Navy, where I finally righted my ship and sailed off on a career in journalism.

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I don't want to take the tree down

For most of the past 20 years, I celebrated the end of the Christmas season more than I made merry during the holiday itself.

The hustle, bustle and financial tussle usually left me so stressed out, the tree and all the decorations couldn't come down fast enough after the ball dropped in Times Square on Jan. 1.

I feel differently this year.

I keep tuning into 100.3 WNIC, hoping to hear Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" just one more time. And our beautifully decorated tree remains planted in the living-room picture window -- a retro rotating star (sorta like a disco ball) atop the fake evergreen, continually painting the ceiling with all the colors of the rainbow.

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Still dumb and stubborn

Gilbo Street was hotter than Farrah Fawcett.

Often my feet would develop blisters the night after playing the game, which years later seems way stupid but tells me a lot about myself.

There was no rhyme nor reason, we would just jump out of the 3-foot above-ground aluminum pool in the backyard of 8271 Dobel and head west to Gilbo Street, which was paved with asphalt.

On a sunny, 90-degree afternoon, that asphalt would heat up to the point it would soften, and I'm pretty sure you could have fried an egg on it. If Farrah Fawcett was the hottest thing around in the 1970s, then the pavement on Gilbo was hotter than Farrah and Princess Leah combined.

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A Superdome comeback

August 2005.

The images were staggering -- as were the reports coming out of the Louisiana Superdome in August 2005.

The "refuge of last resort" from the swath of destruction caused by Hurricane Katrina had turned into a panic-filled death trap and a cesspool of filth usually not found in this part of the world.

Seeing the pictures of the Superdome back then, it was hard to believe the venue, which opened in 1975, had played host to Super Bowls and other major events. During the 1980s, a Rolling Stones concert drew 87,500 people there.

Even if you could envision the Superdome's lustrous past in August 2005, you likely couldn't see much of a future for the place. Too much sadness, destruction and garbage seemed to stand in the way.

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2008 it's-done list

Shield of Faith minister Imogene Johnson doesn't believe in leaving things to chance.

For Imogene, it's all about prayer and thanksgiving. In fact, she put together a group of "prayer warriors" about a year ago to help pave the way for a successful Holy Name reunion and interfaith service.

Her warriors have continued to communicate with the Man Upstairs ever since, particularly before big events.

Yesterday, New Year's Eve, Imogene sent out a note of thanks to the prayer warriors, which included a list of accomplishments in 2008. Below is the very impressive list compiled by Imogene:

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