Musings from my driveway, my home and my heart
I like to think of Father Solanus Casey as the Post-it Note priest, since the monument above his tomb on Mt. Elliott in Detroit invariably has a pack of sticky papers on top, so that the faithful can easily attach their prayer requests. More than 60,000 people will fill Ford Field here on November 18,... Continue Reading →
When I was growing up in Detroit in the 1950s and 1960s, there were 232 bars in my grandma’s neighborhood, a mainly Polish area in the city’s sixth police precinct. It’s no wonder that a river of booze ran through my family and the community. When I rode my pink Schwinn bike through the neighborhood... Continue Reading →
Someone recently asked if my grandfather, who ran a Detroit bar for 60 years, was more like the affable Sam Malone from the TV show Cheers or Moe Szyslak, the bartender from The Simpsons who was known for his bad temper and suicidal attempts. Neither. In fact, he was more like Holly Golightly in Breakfast... Continue Reading →
My siblings and I watched the Three Stooges and the Adventures of Superman on Saturdays under the doleful gaze of a 20-inch statue of the Infant of Prague in my grandmother’s living room at 5207 St. Lawrence Street in Detroit. The Infant, a copy of a revered 16th century statue in the Czech capital, always... Continue Reading →
So macho is my father that he once removed an ingrown toenail with a hand-held drill. My brother Mike and I watched him use his fists to break up trouble at places like the old Tiger Stadium in Detroit or at Little League playgrounds in our northwest neighborhood during the 1960s. As a cop, he... Continue Reading →
My grandmother outlived five of her doctors and died just 15 months shy of her 100th birthday. I took her to many of her appointments and would watch with amusement when the docs would invariably ask her about her diet. They were seeking sage advice on how to live a long and healthy life, mentally... Continue Reading →
My mother paid me an unusual compliment shortly after my honeymoon. “You’re the first bride in our family who wasn’t drunk at the wedding,” she said, referring to my large extended Polish family and the dozens of Detroit and Hamtramck ceremonies we had attended through the years. Well, that drinking comment about other brides may... Continue Reading →
My neighborhood had a certain Lord of the Flies quality in the months that preceded the 1967 Detroit riot. Many of us were the children of cops, firemen and Detroit factory workers. Like the boys in the William Golding novel, we were governing ourselves with disastrous results — including the death of one boy. Looking... Continue Reading →
I’ve done my share to kill traditional forms of media such as newspapers, periodicals and books — which is ironic, considering I’ve been a professional writer for all of my adult life. Like many people, I no longer subscribe to the local papers and get most of my news online. No wonder the newspaper industry... Continue Reading →
Just days after the 1967 Detroit riot, my father packed up the family in his Oldsmobile and took us on a terrifying road trip to Twelfth Street, the epicenter of the civil disturbance 50 years ago this month. Faded color photos from that trip are tucked away in a family album that ended up in... Continue Reading →
Anita's Way 