Going Home

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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